#back with the duck agenda

[jeeklaart]

taking the train going anywhere 🚃 🌱

( find me here )

[aduckwithears]

insp

[amzyspinkarch]

In Nottingham, a popular nickname to be called is “duck.” Duck…ducklings…juniors.

Do with that information what you will.

[sanguineterrain]

YES. BODYGUARD JASON TODD.

He's used to being looked over, just seen as meat & muscle (he doesn't mind, it's part of the job) but you're the first "job" who actually sees him, talks to him, makes him laugh 🫠 he doesn't know what he'll do if someone actually tries to put their hands on you 🙂

hiiii aud thank you for the scrumptious jaybird thoughts <3 so begins my bodyguard!Jason agenda!

bodyguard!jason todd x gn!reader. fluff, pining, and tension so thick you could cut it with a batarang.

All fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Y'know, I think you just keep me around to carry your bags."

You grin over your shoulder where the Red Hood trails behind you, always five paces behind. Your takeout bag is in one hand, your new shirts in another. He wears a red mask over the lower half of his face, like always. Only seeing his eyes used to unnerve you, but now it's a comfort, finding his gaze in a crowd.

"That's not true. I also keep you around for something nice to look at," you say.

He tilts his head. Your belly flutters. "Flattery will get you nowhere, trouble."

"Flattery got me outside of my hotel, Red."

He sighs. "Tricking the hotel concierge doesn't count."

You laugh. "Sure it does. I think it does." You stick your arm out. "Will you walk next to me?"

"You know my rule."

"But you can easily cover me if you're next to me! And I'm so good at ducking. See?"

You duck and straighten a few times in a row to demonstrate. A few people stare. You ignore them. Hood's eyes crinkle in a way that tells you he's smiling.

"Mm, incredible technique. Wonder who taught you that. A ruggedly handsome bodyguard, perhaps?"

"Always hungry for the credit," you say. "Despicable."

"Ain't I?"

You turn around and stop. He stops five paces behind. You take a step forward. He takes a step back.

"I wanna see your face when we talk," you say, face pinched.

"Not in public, trouble. It's for your safety. You know that."

"Can't you come a little closer?"

None of your friends are like this with their personal guards. A moment from a friend's birthday party resurfaces.

It's almost like you'd rather be with him than us. You know he's just doing his job, right?

Hood stays exactly where he is. "This is the ideal spot for covering you. Now, c'mon. Thought you wanted to shop."

You sigh and let your arms flop to your sides. He must be nervous today. You can't imagine why.

"Fine. Be that way."

You hurry ahead. Hood doesn't lag behind. Stupid long-legged bodyguard.

"You can be mad at me as long as you stay safe," he says.

You turn again, about to really bitch about how strict he's being. But his proximity stops you short. He's inched closer, so close that you can properly see his eyes.

"This close enough for you?" he asks.

Hood's eyes are warm in the light, mossy and rich. His lashes and brows are dark and thick. Once or twice, you've seen a splash of freckles across his nose. The bridge of his nose is crooked like it's been broken one too many times.

Dear God, you yearn to know him.

Your stomach does more flips. Hood watches you, half-lidded.

"What're y'doing, trouble?"

His voice is soft, the way it gets when he's trying to smooth over a tiff between you. You can't figure out why he does that. You always get over it. And so does he. He has no choice.

"I'm looking at you, Red," you say.

"Yeah? What're y'lookin' at me for?"

"'Cause I want to."

He blinks. "Me? Not much to look at."

You look at each other for another minute. The want bubbles up again, spills out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"Please walk next to me," you say. "I need to know you're there."

He leans in to speak, black curl tumbling over his forehead. He smells sweet, like apples and spice. You almost appreciate the danger in your life because it keeps you in the Red Hood's line of sight.

"Wha's the matter? Y'nervous? I'm right here."

Oh, you're nervous, alright. Just not in the way he thinks. The way you ought to be.

You turn around. For your sake and his.

"Not nervous. Just... just... never mind. You pick where we go next, Red."

"It's your day. 'M just the driver," he says.

"If you won't walk next to me, the least you can do is pick where we go."

"The least I can do, huh?"

It's clear he isn't going to choose. So you watch him instead. You turn the corner and sneak glances over your shoulder. You don't care much about shopping anymore anyway. It's only an excuse to go out. To be alone with him.

Your answer comes. It's only for a split second, but you catch it anyway. He taught you to notice things after all. Says it could be the difference between living and dying.

You immediately change course. Hood follows you easily, and you breeze through the bookstore's entrance. You sneak a look to gauge his reaction. He's looking around, but that could just be him clocking the exits and obstacles. You grab his hand. He looks at your joined hands, then at you.

"Feeling lost?" he asks.

"No. Just trying to keep you present. Nothing’s gonna happen in a bookshop, Red."

That crease in the middle of his forehead returns. "'S my job to plan for the worst. Keeping you safe is the only thing that matters."

"Not the only thing."

His eyebrows rise. "Whaddya talking about? 'Course it is."

You look at your joined hands. This is bad. This is really, really bad. You'd might as well pull your heart out of your chest and let Hood carry that too.

You start to walk, fingers slipping out of his. Hood doesn't try to rejoin them.

He stays closer in here, close enough that you can talk quietly and smell his apple pie scent.

"What do you like to read?" you ask.

Hood glances at you. "Clocked that about me, did you?"

"I was taught by the best," you say sweetly.

He hums. Doesn't joke or laugh. Just makes a soft sound. It's not often you render him speechless.

"I loved Frankenstein as a kid. I always hoped he'd love his monster, but..."

Hood disappears for a moment, lost in his head. You take his hand, heart be damned.

"Red?"

He looks at you again. His eyes are wild. Sometimes, it seems like they glow.

"My... my dad used to read it to me," he says. "One time I asked if he'd love the monster anyway. He promised he would."

You rub his knuckles. He flinches, like he's forgotten where he is. 

"Someone's devotion to our monstrous parts is something we all want," you say.

You spend more time in the bookstore. Hood attracts a few stares, like always, but you're left alone. He carries your shopping without complaint, without strain, and you wonder if your friend was right, if this is just a job.

You buy a special edition of Frankenstein under his attention. Then you turn around and hand him the book. He keeps it under his arm.

"Ready to head back? Y'hungry?"

"That's for you," you say.

"Hm? What is?"

"The book. It's for you, Red."

Silence. The second time that you've stunned the words out of him. You're on a roll.

"Y'don't have to do that," he says, gentle as can be.

"It's a present for you. A thank you."

Hood shakes his head. "You don't need to thank me for protecting you. Just doing my job."

"I'm thanking you for being my friend. Because... you are, right? My friend?"

This time, Hood's eyes on you are heavy. You wonder if he can see your heart beating, see your belly fluttering, see the real reason why you get nervous around him.

"Yeah, trouble," he says, book cradled to his chest like it's precious cargo. "I'm yours."

[prettiestlovergirl]

RIDE-ALONG

tw: MDNI; fem!reader; tour bus sex; riding; unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it); slight breeding kink; praise kink; light hand job; light thigh riding; hickeys; drummer! luke

a/n: pushing the drummer! luke au agenda!! bcos it is hot as fuck and makes me very happy. n YES, i'm using mami as a nickname, bcos i'm a latina, and i'm deeply obsessed with being called mami. unedited, lol. enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

it had been three long months since luke had gone on tour with the band.

you were proud of him, of course you were proud, but you missed him so much. the phone calls, text messages, and face times just weren't cutting it anymore!

you were supposed to fly out a visit him next week, but you just couldn't wait any longer. you booked the next flight out, asked his bandmate chris which bar they were heading to once you landed, and called an uber.

luke had been ecstatic to see you, not even giving you a few minutes to greet the rest of the band before practically mauling you. "fuck, mami, what are you doing here?!" he had grinned, his hands instantly finding your waist and pulling you close.

before you could even attempt to explain, he had muttered a quick "fuck it, i don't care why" and dragged you right back out of the bar without another word to his friends.

they teasingly whistled and cheered as you walked out, but you couldn't care less. they could tease all they wanted; you were the only ones guaranteed to get laid that night.

neither one of you wanted to wait and uber to a hotel so... the tour bus was really your only option.

the second the door closed, luke pounced on you. his hands grabbed your ass, squeezing it roughly to hear you moan against his lips. "'m so fucking glad you're here, mami." he groaned, his fingers traveling to the front of your shorts to start pulling them off.

"fuck, me too, couldn't wait anymore" you panted, hands gliding under his shirt to feel his smooth skin before tugging the fabric up. he pulled away from your lips, just to get his shirt off before instantly bringing his lips back down to yours.

you quickly slipped off your own shirt before he moved onto his small bed, just barely wide enough to fit you both. you buried your fingers into his hair, grinding down against him while you both moaned in desperation.

your lips trailed down to his neck, kissing and nipping at the skin while he brought his hands down to quickly get his jeans off. you weren't usually one to leave marks along his body, but not seeing him for months turned you a bit possessive.

"so fucking hot." he murmured, groaning as your teeth sunk into his skin again. he moved his hands back up to your hips, helping you grind faster against him.

you felt like a fucking teenager again, grinding against him with the thin layer of your panties and his boxers keeping you from the skin on skin contact you craved more than anything.

"need you, luke." you moaned, fingers reaching down to tug off his boxers, tossing them off along with your panties. they scattered around with the rest of your clothes you'd have to pick up later.

"i know, mami, i know, fuck" he hissed, head falling back against the pillow as your spit-covered hand wrapped around his angry, swollen cock. pre dripped out of his tip as you started slowly jerking him off, grinding your soaked pussy against his leg.

luke's hands gripped your hips, helping you grind against his thigh while your hand moved in steady strokes. your pussy leaked arousal onto his skin, making it easier to gain friction against him.

"can't wait anymore, need you inside me." you whimpered as he nodded, holding your hips tighter as you lifted yourself up, ducking a bit so you wouldn't smack your head into the top bunk.

you let out a guttural moan as you finally started to sink down onto him, nails digging into his skin desperately as he filled you up, inch by delicious inch.

"fuck" he moaned, his hips bucking up into your wet heat, forcing you to take more of him. you let out a gasp as he thrusted up, making you whine as you sunk down until he was completely inside of you.

it knocked the air out of you both, you were both so fucking desperate for one another you nearly came on impact. "fuck, shit, shit, hold on, mami, shit." he groaned, holding you for a second to keep you from moving.

"gonna cum if you move right now just, fuck, give me a second." he panted, closing his eyes for a second and trying to go through his list of horrifically unsexy things to keep from cumming in you instantly.

you pressed your palms against his chest, mouth open as you tried to catch your breath while he stretched your poor, needy pussy wide open.

"need to move, please." you begged, biting your lip as you looked down at him. you did your best not to rock against him, but god it was so hard, you craved the friction he'd been depriving you of for months.

after a beat, he nodded, signaling you could finally start to move. immediately after receiving the okay, you started to rock your hips back and forth, moaning out in pure bliss. he felt so fucking good inside you, you just felt so full.

"aw, come on, mami. i know you can do better than that." he groaned, bucking his hips up into you again just to hear you squeal. you pouted a bit but dug your knees into the mattress as you started to bounce up and down on his cock.

luke moaned as you bounced up and down, loving just how fucking tight you felt around him. so much better than his hand, nothing could possibly feel better than having you here like this.

"yeah, just like that mami, good girl." he praised, bringing one of his hands to start rubbing your swollen n puffy clit. you moaned out happily, speeding up your pace as you continued to bounce on him.

it wasn't long before you started getting closer and closer to the threshold, your pace starting to get uneven and sloppy. his eyes were fixed on where your bodies connected, relishing in the creamy white ring your arousal created at the base of his cock.

luke pulled his hand away from your clit, holding onto your waist tightly before starting to thrust up into you again and again. he kept you steady as he thrusted, practically bruising your cervix with every thrust as you moaned out loudly.

he thrusted into you as you gasped out his name, doing your best to roll your hips with every thrust to create more and more friction. "fuck, gonna make me cum, mami. gonna cum inside you, fuckin' fill you up." he grunted.

"yes, please, fuck." you nodded, rolling your hips faster as your back arched.

"you like that idea, huh? me filling you up?" he let out a slightly strangled chuckle as he continued to thrust, and your hips continued to roll and grind down against him.

he bucked up into you a few more times before his grip loosened, his back hitting the pillow as he came deep inside you. your hips continued to roll against his until your own orgasm came crashing over you and you practically collapsed onto him.

you didn't know how long you laid there like that, his hands around your waist, thumb brushing over your tender skin. you didn't say anything, you didn't have to, there would be time to talk tomorrow. right now, you were both content to lay in your bliss.

well, lay in your bliss until chris started banging on the door. "are you two fuckers done in there? the rest of us have shit to grab!" he called out, making you blush as luke simply groaned.

"fuck off, get it tomorrow! 'm nowhere near done."

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

[bruisedboys]

also also!!!!!! peter x clumsy!reader might be the best pairing. because his spidey senses ugh he’s always catching you before you trip. like an arm around your back and then he dips you down to be dramatic and you get all flustered. and!!! if you’re not in arms reach he definitely shoots a web at you to pull you into his chest before you can do any damage. you both have several heart attacks a day because you’re such a klutz.

I am always on the peter x clumsy reader agenda!! they are so special to me!!! also the thing you said about him catching you and dipping you down omg I could die.

fem!reader 0.7k words

You’re still in the process of patching yourself up when Peter gets home, your knees scraped and a box of big Band-Aids waiting for you on the coffee table. You were hoping to be done by the time he got home, to save him the worry. No such luck. You hear the front door open and you don’t have time to hide your fresh wounds, your evidence of yet another accident.

You’re sure you look quite pathetic when Peter emerges in the doorway.

“Hi, dove! I missed— are you bleeding?” His smile drops and so does his bag. He doesn’t bother taking his jacket off. He strides across the room and gets to his knees in front of you. His hands find your thighs, thumbs just shy of your fresh scrapes.

“Oh, honey,” he coos. He’s not shocked, at least. You think maybe it’s happened so many times it doesn’t phase him anyway more.

His eyebrows pinch together as he scowls at your poor knees, his hands squeezing your thighs. He gives your injuries a once over before lifting his head to look at you sadly. “What happened?”

You frown. “Tripped in the driveway,” you admit moodily. “I’m fine, really. Looks worse than it feels.”

Peter huffs morosely, “I wish I was there when it happened. Could’ve caught you, baby.”

You melt. You’re endeared by his care for you. You smile at him and reach out to push his hair from his forehead, his curls soft under your fingers. You drag your hand down the side of his head, fingers heavy, and let your palm rest over his cheek. Peter’s eyelids flutter under your touch.

“It’s okay, Pete,” you tell him brightly. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

Peter laughs, his smile blinding. “Thanks, babe.” He twists his head so he can kiss your palm, a warm press of his soft, wind-bitten lips. “Let’s get you patched up now, hm?”

Peter patches up your knees, hands gentle as he cleans your wounds and presses Band-Aids over them. He’s a practiced hand, having done this plenty of times, on your legs, elbows, fingers, you name it. Though you must admit, you’re far less prone to accidents with Peter around. He catches you more times than he doesn’t. Today was just bad timing.

When Peter’s done fixing you up he lays a kiss on each of your knees, over your fresh white Band-Aids.

“All fixed,” he says happily, sliding his hand up your thigh to give your hip a squeeze.

You beam and cover his hands with yours. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter stands and pulls you up with him. Your knees sting, but only a little, and it’s nothing you’re not used to.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, head ducked so he can meet your eyes, his hair tumbling into the space between your heads. “I can get you some ice, if you like?”

You shake your head. You’d much rather have him stay this close forever. “I’m okay, Pete.”

Peter still looks unconvinced, a frown tugging at his lips. He thinks for a second, then, “Do you want a hug? ‘Cos I know I do.”

You giggle. You’d kill for a hug right now. “Sure.”

You push your arms under his and he circles you in his strong hold, pulling you as close as he can to his chest. He’s careful to avoid your knees bumping his, legs moving so yours are between his. You push your face into his firm chest and breathe him in, his smells, his cologne and the wind on his clothes and that lovely scent he carries around with him everywhere, like old books and coffee shops.

Peter’s face falls into your neck and he sighs, practically melting into you, latching onto you like glue. He’s warm and he’s soft and he’s Peter. The pain in your knees is completely unnoticeable when he’s holding you like this.

“My poor, clumsy girl,” he says eventually, mostly fond, but there’s a whisper of cheek that you don’t miss.

You scowl into his chest. “M’not clumsy,” you whine, though you definitely are and you both know it. “The pavement is uneven.”

Peter pulls back, his big hands on your upper arms. He’s smiling like an idiot. “It is?”

You nod fervently. “Yeah. S’why I tripped.”

Peter nods slowly like you’re telling the truth, like the pavement in the driveway isn’t perfectly even.

“Stupid pavement,” he says.

You giggle and hide your face in his chest again.

-

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 1

Hey, guys! Sorry I'm late uploading today, but I went to bed early last night and forgot to schedule this.

Oops!

But! Welcome to what I've been calling Steve is a History Nerd agenda. We see in season two on Steve's essay for colleges that he can link his grandfather's military service with his prowess on the basketball court.

It is also surprisingly well written. *shakes fist at the Duffers stop telling us he's stupid and then showing the opposite, please! Let him be smart, too!*

Summary: The Renaissance Fair is finally back in Hawkins after three year absence (Starcourt was built on the fair site and after the fire it was bulldozed back to it's original field). Everyone is excited, even Steve to everyone's amazement. But Steve is hiding other hidden depths as he offers to help the kids make their costumes for the Fair.

Lucas is struggling with being both a nerd and a jock and fears the judgment of his friends. Steve sets out to help him overcome those doubts to be himself.

Tagging the untaggable: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

***

Nobody expects Steve to be excited for the Renaissance fair. Dustin, Will and Lucas spend hours plotting bribes, schemes and out and out manipulations to get Steve to agree to take them. Even Robin expected him to side with her about the dust and the filth. Eddie expected him to be dismissive of the fantasy aspect of it.

Boy were they all wrong.

For it was Steve to bring up to the group after a rather successful D&D session.

In his hand was a bright pink flier and a wide grin on his face.

“Guys! The Ren Fair is back this year,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “I’ll finally be able to show off that tunic I’ve been working on.”

All heads turned to Steve in shock.

There was a cacophony of questions.

“Since when did you know how to sew?”

“What do you mean back? I didn’t even know Hawkins had one to begin with!”

“You want to go to the Ren Fair?”

“Why would you want to spend all day in the heat and dirt?”

Steve looked around at all off his friends in shock.

“Guys, I love the Ren Fair,” he muttered. “Didn’t you guys know?”

All their jaws dropped.

And Eddie? Eddie felt an icicle to the heart at the sight of Steve’s hurt expression.

“You���ll pardon the peasants, my liege,” Eddie said, bowing grandly. “I’m afraid we have all be harboring under the delusion that Ren Fairs were beneath your notice.”

Steve blinked at him a moment. “But I love that stuff. It’s the history and sword fights and jousting. It’s the like medieval Olympics. It’s the romance and chivalry of knights fighting for a fair maiden’s hand. It’s getting to dress up in fancy clothes and rip into turkey legs like a savage. What’s not to like?”

Dustin frowned. “Who here knew Steve liked history?”

Robin and Nancy raised their hands. They looked around waiting for me people to join them. But they stayed down.

Steve ducked his head and scuffed the floor with the edge of his sneaker.

“The ex-girlfriend I’ll buy,” Dustin continued. “But Robin didn’t become friends with Steve until after he graduated so how did she know?”

Robin blinked at them owlishly. “You mean you guys don’t know?”

Everyone looked around each other and then shook their heads.

“Steve was in my AP history class my junior year,” she said as if this was know fact.

“You do know that AP stands for advance placement, right?” Mike asked.

Eddie smacked the back of his head. “She was in it, dude. Don’t be an ass.”

Steve looked up at him and smiled a little.

Good, Eddie thought. Nothing like a little Mike violence to cheer up Steve.

“He wrote an essay for early placement college exams,” Nancy said. “He didn’t get a chance to turn it in because of our second go round with the Upside Down, but it was really good. It needed a little neatening up with the actual writing, but the history was solid.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks.”

Dustin looked skeptical. “What’s your favorite part of history?”

Steve opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I liked hearing about my grandpa’s time in the US army during WWII, but that was more because he made it interesting. But I really like the Industrial Revolution. Or rather the first Industrial Revolution. There have been four. The first one was from 1760-1840 and featured heavily in the textile movement.”

The room was silent.

“Why textiles, Stevie?” Eddie asked as the silence grew awkward.

Steve lit up like a child at Christmas morning and he began talking about the British textile movement.

“What the hell?” Dustin huffed, breaking into Steve monologue.

Steve ducked his head again and blushed. “Just because I’m not interested in science and fantasy doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” He straightened up. “And yeah, sometimes I get things wrong. But everyone does at some point. In fact I get a hell of a lot more flack for my intelligence than Eddie does and he repeated his senior year twice!” He took a deep breath and then ran his fingers through his hair.

“No offense,” he said waving to Eddie.

Eddie looked up at him with earnest eyes. “None taken. I concur.”

They all looked around at each other in shock. Like they hadn’t realized that they had done that.

After a few moments, Steve put his hands on his hips and pointed at all of them.

“So do you guys want to go or what?”

Eddie sat back with a smile as everyone roared their approval.

*

“No corsets,” was Robin’s only firm and fast rule for Steve when it came to dressing her up for the Ren Fair.

Steve looked her up and down. “Why on earth would I want you in a corset? Have you looked in the mirror?”

“Uh...” Robin said. “Is that a trick question? Of course I have. I don’t what that has to do with saying no to corsets though...”

Steve rolled his eyes. “In order to give you the curve you need to match the proper silhouette you would need to be cinched to hell. And as this is supposed to be fun.”

He grabbed her hand and started hauling her toward his car.

“Where are we going?”

“Thrifting!” he said with glee.

It took three different stores and a stop at the mall to get everything he needed.

“Give me three days,” he told her when he dropped her off at her house. “And I think you’ll like what I come up with.”

Robin eyed him warily. “If you say so.”

Steve laughed.

He crashed the next D&D session, showing up early to pick them up.

“What is everyone wearing to the Ren Fair?” he asked with a note pad on his lap and wagged the pen in his fingers.

“You want us to dress up?” Mike asked, eyes wide.

“Why not?” he asked with a shrug. “I’ve made my costume and currently reworking some thirfted threads for Robin’s outfit.”

Eddie blinked. “You made your costume?”

Steve shrugged again. “Yeah. I like sewing.”

There was suddenly an uproar and he held up a hand. “I can’t make you a full outfit before the Fair, but I can make over already made clothes to make them more historical. And maybe for next year I’ll have the time to make something special for everyone.”

Dustin eyed him suspiciously. “Like what?”

“Like tailoring pants to a tighter fit,” Steve explained “adding a sash or belt, turning old coats into vests and cloaks, things like that.”

They still weren’t sure how that would work out.

“Now I talked to Joyce and Claudia,” he continued. “And they’re both willing to help out in making sure everyone has something nice to wear. That includes Max and El.”

“Are the fair maidens joining us?” Eddie asked.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Joyce is doing El and Will, Claudia is doing Dustin and Mike, and I’m doing Lucas and Max. Eddie said he already had a costume, so I didn’t have to worry about him.”

Eddie grinned. “You better believe it, pretty boy.”

Steve ducked his head and blushed. “So we’re all going thrifting with a $5 limit for each of you. But I wanted to brainstorm some ideas of what you wanted to go as so we don’t waste time wandering around.”

Everyone started shouting at once and it took Steve a good ten minutes before he got everyone calmed down enough to get what they wanted. Dustin wanted to go as a hobbit, but Steve had to nix that one.

“You don’t want to go running around the grounds barefoot,” he explained with a wince. “It’s not safe.”

“I’m going to have to agree with Stevie on this one,” Eddie said. “You guys have never been but there is all sorts of stuff laying around. It’s not indoors and the pathways are dirt lined. Think the state fair. It’s more like that then going to comic book convention.”

Dustin grumbled but conceded the point. Steve got them to decide on... well not quite peasant gear, but more rough around the edges than what Steve would be wearing.

Well, all but Lucas. He didn’t want to wear what they were wearing but he refused to say what he did want to wear.

So Steve dropped him off at home last.

They pulled into his driveway and Steve turned to him. “Do you not want to dress up? Because I won’t make you.”

Lucas picked at the loose string on his sweater. “It’s not that. I just remember the last time we did a group costume and they all thought I should be Winston because I was black like he was.”

Steve frowned for a moment. “The Ghostbusters, right?”

Lucas nodded. “I knew if I brought it up they’d shoot me down again.”

“So what did you want to go as?” he asked.

Lucas huffed out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid pipe dream anyway. Especially since you have to make Max’s dress and Robin’s costume, too.”

He opened the door to get out, but Steve reached over and slammed it closed.

“One, Robin’s costume is almost done,” he said counting out on his fingers. “Two, do you really think your girlfriend is going to want to wear a dress? And three, let me be the judge on what’s too much for me, okay?”

Lucas huffed a laugh at his second point. “Yeah, that was dumb of me.”

“So what is it?”

Lucas looked down again and heaved out a sigh. “An elf.”

Steve’s mind was whirling with the possibilities. “What colors?”

“What?” Lucas asked, not sure he heard Steve right.

“What colors would you want it to be?”

He pulled out the notebook and scrambled for a pen. Lucas pulled a pencil out of his bag and handed it to him.

“Uh I was thinking of a light blue and with a silver trim?” he said hesitantly.

Steve sketched something out. “Like this?”

Lucas leaned over to look at the drawing. “A little shorter so I’m not tripping over it and maybe those puffy pants?”

Steve adjusted the drawing and Lucas nodded.

“Yeah, like that.”

“All right,” Steve said. “I know exactly what to do and how to do it. It won’t be perfect because I don’t have time to do it right so I’ll be doing a lot of cheating. But yeah, it’s doable.”

Lucas gave him a hug. “Thanks, man.”

*

Steve called the one person he knew he could help him.

“Eddie,” he said the second the other man picked up. “I need your nerd connections to do a huge favor for Lucas.”

“Wha’cha got, big boy?” Eddie asked with a grin.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any Trekkies would you?” Steve asked chewing on his bottom lip.

“That depends, Stevie,” Eddie replied, “what’s the need?”

“Pointed ears.”

Eddie hummed. “I’m assuming you’re thinking Trekkie because of Spock and that’s a good thought. But I’m guessing since we’re going to the Ren Fair our stalwart ranger is wanting to be an elf?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Do you know anyone who can help?”

“Better than that,” Eddie said. “I know where to get the ears in the right... shade?”

Steve perked up. “Oh? I’m guessing Jeff?”

“Right in one, darlin’,” Eddie said with a soft smile. “I’ll give him a call and then call you back.”

“Thanks, Eds,” Steve breathed. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, doll.”

****

I am so excited for this, guys. You have no idea. I'm little history nerd myself and this really fun to play around with.

Just a heads up. We WILL be addressing Mike's casual racism from the Ghostbusters scene because I don't like that it's never been addressed.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @artiststarme ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual

[rikibsf]

you’re hired! → nishimura riki.

— synopsis: the idol life? definitely not for you, but you’ve quickly become one of the highest ranking choreographers in korea. what happens when the multinational entertainment corporation ‘HYBE Labels’ invites you for a quick meeting at the company?

— genre: high school au, social media au, crack, fluff, includes some written chapters!

— pairing: idol!riki x fem/choreographer!reader

— featuring: ENHYPEN, eunchae (lesserafim), haerin + danielle (newjeans), rei + liz (ive), taki (&team), jongseob (p1harmony), kyujin + haewon (nmixx)

— warnings: swearing, bickering, inappropriate jokes (older members), y/n and riki are very very very oblivious, |<¥$ jokes

— author’s note: i gave up on my other smau lets hope i don’t do the same with this one…

— start date: 230629 (ongoing) | taglist: OPEN!

— updates: every few days <3

profiles:

1 (decelis) | 2 (enhypen) | 3 (extras)

chapters:

01. BACK OFF LIZ

02. single ladies unite!

03. who is hybe

04. why riki kinda..

05. we’re on a mission

06. my heart did a thing

07. you’re hired

08. a little surprise

09. i will fart on you

10. this jungwon boy kinda cute!

11. he’s a fanboy

12. someone like me?

13. click the accept button

14. don’t miss her too much

15. rikiyn agenda

16. i want your number

17. i have a crush

18. SHE LOVES DUCKS

19. i think i’m in love

20. you owe me 50 bucks

21. SHE ALREADY HAS PLANS

22. sleep with one eye open tonight

23. blabbermouth

24. IS THAT NI-KI FROM ENHYPEN???

25. like crazy

26. liz wants her ex back

27. no we are not dating

28. WALK OFF A BRIDGE

29. engenelover3000

30. i like you

31. date and stuff

32. i hope she’s single

33. kitty boy

34. ur her biaswrecker btw!

35. WHO’S DOING IT LIKE OH HAEWON???

[rollingsins]

Quinn Bailey Must Die, p4

p1 | p2 | p3 | p4

summary: Tara puts her plan into action. YN loses a bet. all hers universe.

warnings: (+18), Tara is (was) Ghostface, language. Sexual content.

pairing: tara carpenter x reader, sam carpenter x quinn bailey

word count: 2.9k

a/n: ass agenda rise.

Tara’s plan comes to fruition over cups of black coffee, your scrambled eggs and a half-eaten set of Mickey Mouse waffles. 

Mindy’s brow is pinched as she drafts up the first message. 

You’re a little restless, Tara’s hand on your back doing nothing to soothe you. 

“There,” Says Mindy, after a moment, “How’s that?” 

Tara takes back her phone. 

“Hey,” She reads out, “What u up 2?” 

Tara blinks. 

“This is what took you five minutes to draft?” She asks, voice scathing. 

Mindy huffs. 

“No,” She says, “That’s just a primer. You can’t go in all guns blazing, Tara, she’ll get suspicious.” 

Tara rolls her eyes.

“Been thinking about u lately,” Tara continues, “Feels weird how we left things.” 

You clench your jaw. 

Tara rubs your back, absent-mindedly. 

“How r u doing? Sorry when my gf gets crazy like that there’s nothing I can do.” 

You scowl. 

Mindy ducks behind her coffee cup. 

“Mindy, I don’t type like this,” Says Tara, hotly, “Where’s the grammar? This sounds like it was written by a fourteen year old boy.” 

“Fourteen year old boy is Mindy’s spirit animal,” Says Chad with a grin, throwing a blueberry between his lips. 

“Shut up, Chad,” Groans Mindy, “Tara, fine, you can change the grammar. But the rest of it? Does it work?” 

Tara purses her lips. 

“I suppose it’s not terrible.” She offers. 

Mindy smiles. 

“Skip a bit,” She suggests, “Get to the good stuff.” 

Tara scrolls, and reads out the rest of Mindy’s text. 

“I always thought u were sexy,” Tara reads, “You know Ginger Spice was always my favorite spice girl.” 

Tara raises an eyebrow. 

You snort. 

“This is the good stuff?” Chad asks, “Mindy, you could have a billionaire dollars and you still wouldn’t be able to talk a thirty dollar hooker into bed with you. No wonder you can’t get a girlfriend.” 

Tara sniggers. 

Mindy shoots a glare his way. 

“I can too get a girlfriend,” Says Mindy, voice hot, “I just don’t want one right now. Girls are high maintenance, I don’t have time for that.” 

“Amen.” Mumbles Tara. 

You nudge an elbow into her side.

“Ow.” 

“You can not have a girlfriend too, if I’m too high maintenance.” You say, and Tara shakes her head. 

“You’re worth the maintenance baby,” Says Tara, as you dodge her kiss, “You’re like a really nice lawn. No house is complete without it.”

“Romantic.” You deadpan, “How come you’re a house and I’m just a lawn?” 

“You’re a mansion, baby,” Tara assures, “A ten million dollar mansion with an infinity pool.”

Mindy huffs. 

“Can we get back to the mission?” She asks, sounding annoyed, “If you don’t like my pickup lines, you’re welcome to try out your own, Casanova.” 

“I don’t need pickup lines,” Assures Tara, “Isn’t that right, baby? One look and you were smitten.” 

“And one sentence and I have the ick.” You say, crinkling your nose. 

Tara’s smile drops. 

“Babe.” She whines as Mindy snorts. 

“Give it to me,” Chad says, with a sigh, “Apparently I’m the only one around here who can talk to a girl.” 

“‘Wanna come watch me lift weights?’ is not the pick up line you think it is, Chad,” Says Mindy, voice wry, “Besides, it won’t work coming from Tara.” 

“I lift weights,” Tara says, with a frown, “I’m getting super strong, see?” 

She flexes her bicep. 

You roll your eyes. 

Mindy raises an eyebrow.

“You’re like 4’11, Tara,” She says, “I could snap you in half without flinching.” 

“I’m 5’1 and I’ll snap you in half if you don’t stop talking.” Growls Tara. 

“Guys,” Says Liv, flailing her hands, “Stop. Chad’s got it. Show them, babe.” 

Tara takes back her phone, still scowling.

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” She reads, “Should have kissed you. Sorry I didn’t.” 

Mindy tilts her head.

“It works,” She admits. 

“And if she just shows Sam the message?” You ask, “Then what?” 

“She won’t, babe,” Says Tara, squeezing your arm, “Do you even remember how hard she worked for me?” 

You do remember. 

You wish you didn’t. 

Tara presses a quick kiss to your cheek. 

“And besides, if she shows Sam the messages, Sam will know how serious I am about this.” She kisses you, “It’s going to work, babe, I know it.” 

“When are you going to send them?” Asks Liv. 

Tara thinks. 

“When she’s away from Sam,” Says Tara, “Maybe tonight. We’ll rope her into a movie night, right babe? That way we’ll know Quinn’s nowhere near Sam.”

You sigh. 

“Come on,” You say, voice a little glum, “We better head back. With any luck, they’ll be done and she’ll be gone.” 

-

“What’s your favorite breakfast food?” Asks Quinn, head pressed against Sam’s pillow. 

“Eggs,” She answers, “With Arugula, preferably. Maybe a little balsamic vinegar. 

Quinn wrinkles her nose. 

“Most people say pancakes,” She teases, lightly, “Or bacon.” 

Sam frowns. 

“I believe you should only put good things into your body.” She says. 

Quinn smirks.

“Nice to know I’m a good thing, then.” Smiles Quinn. 

Sam’s cheeks turn red. 

“You know what I meant.” She says. 

Quinn leans over and kisses her. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Asks Quinn. 

Sam shrugs. 

“It’s Sunday,” She says, “I was just going to relax.” 

Quinn bites her lip. 

“How about we go and get some Eggs with arugula? My treat.” 

Sam bites her lip. The thought of spending more time with Quinn is surprisingly, not that unpleasant. 

“Alright,” She says, with a smile. Butterflies flutter in her belly, “If it’s your treat.” 

-

“Sam?” Tara calls, as she cracks open the door, as if she’s scared of what’s behind it. 

You press against her back, impatient. 

“Baby, hold up,” She says, gently, “I don’t want you seeing something.” 

“They’re not going to be fucking on the dining table, babe.” You say with a roll of her eyes as you push past her. 

“Someone should.” Says Tara, voice pointed. 

You look around. 

The apartment is quiet. 

Not a peep from Sam’s room. The door is open, the bed messy and unmade. But it's empty. 

Tara drops her bag over the counter. 

She picks up a small, handwritten note. 

“Out for the day, back later.” She reads. 

“With Quinn?” You dare ask. 

But Tara only smiles back at you. 

“Not for much longer,” She says, sounding pleased with herself, “As soon as Sam’s back and out of Quinn’s clutches, I’ll send the texts.” 

She moves forward and loops an arm around your waist. Presses a hot kiss to your next. 

“Now, about that thing you wanted to do this morning,” She says, voice low. 

You cock an eyebrow. 

“I think it’s safe to say the moment has passed.” You say. 

You squeeze her hips.

“But, babe-“ Tara says, with a whine, “You said-“ 

“Another time,” You promise, “Besides, don’t you have a test to study for?”

Tara sighs. 

“I’m majoring in film, babe, I don’t need to study.” 

She looks up, bottom lip in a pout. 

“Why don’t I quiz you?” You suggest, “It’ll be fun.” 

Tara thinks.

“And if I get all the answers right then I get to rail your ass?” 

It earns her a smack. 

“You’re not going anywhere near my ass if that’s what your intention is.” You tell her. 

“I’ll go slow, babe, I promise,” Tara assures, taking your earlobe between her teeth, “I’ll go so slowly you’ll be begging for it by the time I’m done with you.” 

Your stomach flutters.  

“Maybe later tonight,” You think after a moment, “If you nail it.” 

Tara brightens. 

“Not the only thing I’ll be nailing tonight.” She grins. 

“Don’t make me change my mind.” You warn. 

-

Sam comes back mid-quiz. 

Tara hasn’t gotten a single question wrong, and you’re starting to sweat. There’s a hungry look in her eyes, as if she’s hunting down her prey. 

You welcome the distraction. 

“Hi girls,” Sam says, as if nothing in the past twenty-four hours has changed, “Do you want lunch?” 

“We just ate Sam, thanks,” You say, and she hums. 

You catch Tara’s eye. 

“Sounds like you had a good night.” Says Tara, a little snarky. 

Sam sighs. 

“Don’t start, Tara.” She warns. 

Tara folds her arms. 

“Just don’t come crying to us when she breaks your heart.” She says, a little pointed. 

“Tara-” You say, but Sam just rolls her eyes. 

“Noted. What do you want for dinner tonight? Cauliflower tacos or lentil spaghetti?”

Tara wrinkles her nose. 

“Why don’t we make dinner for you, Sam?” You interject, hurriedly, before Tara can speak, “It’s the least we can do. You cook for us every night.” 

Sam blinks, a little surprised. 

And then she smiles. 

“Alright,” She says, sounding happy, “That sounds nice.”

Sam disappears into her room. 

Tara pulls out her phone, giving you a pointed look. 

She taps a few buttons and then smiles, pleased with herself. 

“Operation you-know-who-must-die is in action,” She mumbles, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, “Now finish the quiz. I’m ready to take my prize.” 

-

Tara aces the quiz.

Not a single question wrong. 

In truth, there’s a part of you who had hoped she’d fail. But there’s another part of you positively gleeful she hadn’t. 

Tara kisses you with a victorious grin, and then smacks your ass with her hand. 

“Go get ready for me,” She says, voice low, “I’m all ready for you, baby.” 

“It’s 4PM,” You say, biting you lip, “Maybe we should wait until tonight-” 

Tara groans. 

Your skin feels sensitive, tingly. The anticipation over the last few questions has you in a hot flush. 

It feels exciting. New.

The fact that your girlfriend is preening only adds to the excitement. 

“You promised,” She whines, “Stop moving the goalposts. You want me to beg? I’ll beg. Please, baby, let me fuck your ass-”

“Tara.” Sam groans as she emerges from her room, gym bag in hand, “Boundaries, we talked about this-”

Your face flushes red. 

You’d die on the spot, if the option were possible. But Tara doesn’t miss a beat. 

“I don’t think you can lecture me on boundaries considering the noises that were coming from your room this morning.” Tara says, curling an arm around your waist. 

Sam huffs. 

“I’m going to the gym,” She mumbles, “YN - something healthy for dinner tonight? Please?”

“You got it, Sam,” You mumble, face bright red. 

But Sam is unperturbed. Nothing phases her, at this point. She leaves the apartment with a click of the front door. 

“All alone,” Tara murmurs, looping her arms around your waist and squeezing your ass, hard, “So you can be as loud as you want, baby.” 

You bite your lip. 

“Let me get ready,” You mumble, “Meet you in the bedroom in a bit.” 

-

When you’re showered and ready, you make your way into the bedroom. 

Tara’s already laid out her arsenal. 

Her strap-on, a bottle of lube longer than your forearm and a grin that tells you this almost certainly won’t be the first time she takes you like this. 

You drop your towel. 

And watch Tara’s gaze sink down. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Tara murmurs, as she reaches you out to take her in your arms, “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.” 

She pulls you down for a searing kiss. 

You’re nervous, but she always finds a way to soothe you. Firm hands on your hips, her mouth working wonders against your lips. 

She pulls you on top of her, and then pulls back, nudging her nose against yours. 

“We can stop anytime you want,” She promises, “If it’s too much, just say.” 

She brushes a strand of rogue hair out of your eyes, “I love you, baby,” She whispers against your lips, “I want you like this, but if it hurts too much, just tell me. I won’t be annoyed. Promise.” 

She seals her promise with a kiss. 

You don’t doubt her for a second. 

You capture her lips once more, arousal pooling in your stomach as you feel her against you. 

You’ve denied her before, like this. 

You wanted her to work for this. 

 But in the process, you’ve been denying yourself your own desires. 

You slip your tongue into her mouth, grind down against her, ready to give her everything. 

And then the front door slams open.  

“Tara!” Sam calls, sounding anything but mellowed after her gym session, “Get your ass out here, now.” 

The mood shatters. You pull away from Tara, head turning. 

Sam sounds pissed. 

Tara groans.

“Fuck off, Sam, I’m busy,” She says. She flips you onto your back, nudges herself between your legs.

Sam bangs on the door. 

You almost jump out of your skin. 

“Quinn told me everything,” She says, voice dangerous, “Get out here now or I’m coming in.” 

Tara freezes. 

Your heart jumps. 

Hastily, Tara slides off you. 

She fumbles around for a spare t-shirt and tosses it your way, running a hand through her hair. As if her worst nightmare has just come to realization. 

“Tara!” Sam bangs once more. 

“I’m coming, Jesus, Sam.” Tara says. 

You pull the shirt over your head, fumble around for a pair of sleep shorts. 

By the time Tara opens the door, Sam is standing behind it, red-faced, fury in her eyes. 

She holds up her phone.

Although you’re squinting, you can still make out Tara’s text messages to Quinn. 

“This is next level pathetic, Tara,” Sam says, voice hot, “Even for you.” 

“Sam, I can explain-“ Says Tara. . 

“You don’t need to explain,” Says Sam, “I know exactly what this is. You trying to prove Quinn is using me. But it didn’t work. She showed me the texts. So now what, Tara?” 

“I was just trying to help,” Tara says, voice even. 

Sam scoffs. 

“You were trying to help?” Sam asks, “You can help me by minding your own business and staying out of it.” 

“She’s using you, Sam,” Tara explodes, “It’s obvious to everyone except you. Why can’t you see it?” 

“I don’t care if Quinn’s using me,” Says Sam, “I’m using her too, in my own way. That’s what we all do as people, isn’t it? Use each other? For love, for comfort, for sex? Why do you care so much that it’s her?” 

“Why does it have to be her?” Growls Tara, “We hate her, Sam. We kicked her out of our apartment, for crying out loud. She tried to ruin our relationship-”

“But she didn’t,” Says Sam, eyes wild, “I have nothing, Tara, don’t you understand? Why couldn’t you let me have this?” 

Tara blinks. 

You swing your legs over the bed, move to Tara’s side. 

“We were just trying to protect you, Sam-” You say, voice a little shaky. 

Sam looks over at you. 

“You don’t need to protect me,” She says, “Quinn’s fun. Quinn’s easy. I need a little bit of that in my life.” 

“She’s certainly easy,” Says Tara, folding her arms. 

Sam’s face flashes.

For a moment, you think she might actually hit Tara. 

But then she clenches her jaw, and her shoulders draw. 

“I’m going away for a while,” Says Sam, after a long moment, “I’m going to stay with Quinn. I can’t even - look at you right now, Tara.” 

Tara blinks. 

“I was trying to save you.” Says Tara, “You’re going to punish me for that?” 

“It’s hardly a punishment,” Retorts Sam, “You don’t want me here anyway, you’ve made that much clear. Now you can do whatever you want.” 

“And what about rent?” Asks Tara, voice hot. 

Hurt flashes through Sam’s features. Your breath catches in your throat knowing Tara’s said the wrong thing. Again. 

“Rent?” Sam asks, voice incredulous. 

She scoffs. 

And then turns. 

You and Tara follow her out, a little hasty. Sam returns to her room and pries her suitcase from under her bedframe.

She starts tossing items in as Tara scrambles. 

“No, wait, Sam- that isn’t what I meant,” Says Tara as Sam throws her suitcase onto her bed, “That’s not the most important part of this. YN and I want you to stay. Not just because of rent.” 

Sam offers her a weak smile. 

“You don’t need your big sister cramping your style,” She says, “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe I should have just got a second job in California and venmoed you the rent.” 

“We’re glad you came, Sam,” You say, a little urgent, “We like living with you. It’s a small apartment, of course we all annoy each other. Tara annoys me everyday. And I annoy her too. That’s just how it is.” 

Sam sighs. 

“That isn’t how it should be,” She says, “I shouldn't be here, God. I shouldn’t be in your space. I should have left you both alone.” 

Tara has a weird look on her face. 

“Sam, don’t leave,” She asks, sounding crestfallen, “Please.” 

“It’s for the best, Tara.” Answers Sam. 

She zips her suitcase closed. 

“If you leave me again, I can’t promise I’ll let you back in.” Tara says. Her eyes are hard, but her voice shakes. 

Sam sighs.

She touches Tara’s shoulders, and then pulls her in for a long hug. 

“I’ll be gone a week or two,” She says, “I’m not abandoning you, Tara. We just need some space from each other right now.” 

“If you leave,” Tara repeats, “You’re not coming back.” 

Sam smiles, a little sad. 

“I won’t be gone long.” She says, “God, Tara, I'm just so mad."

She pauses, a moment.

"But I love you. Always."

Tara's face hardens.

And she doesn’t say it back. 

Sam leaves. 

And you deal with the fallout.

[cometkenji]

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves -  I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet. 

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach.  Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good. 

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask. 

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis. 

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.” 

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist. 

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents. 

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him. 

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out. 

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?” 

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.” 

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it. 

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up. 

No, it wasn’t. 

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” 

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room. 

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.” 

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job. 

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost. 

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder. 

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.” 

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.” 

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.” 

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

– 

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling. 

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed. 

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team. 

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.” 

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.” 

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.” 

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief. 

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human. 

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours. 

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place. 

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass. 

“I’m Matthew.” 

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area. 

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink. 

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.” 

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.” 

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed. 

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored. 

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.” 

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.” 

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core. 

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke. 

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.” 

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately. 

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless. 

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden. 

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

 “He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if  I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past. 

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.” 

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes. 

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought. 

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive. 

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own. 

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car. 

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car. 

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to. 

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you. 

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels. 

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

[augustjustice]

Pretty in Pink

AO3 Link

I am still firmly on my Stevie Harrington agenda this week, so please enjoy below Eddie's thirsty-turned-sappy thoughts about his favorite girl, inspired by @getlost0p's absolutely delightful art as well @cherrycolasteve's very cute tags.

Eddie taps the pen against his front teeth absently, eyes flitting uncomprehendingly over the various multiple choice options of his practice test. With his brain already feeling fuzzy and unfocused, it’s easy to let his gaze drift away from the page over to the girl currently sprawled out beside him–Stevie Harrington, curled up reading the X-Men comic Dustin had strong-armed her into picking up. 

And, look–who could really blame him for getting a little distracted? There's a hot girl in his bed which is, admittedly, a rare enough occurrence–until shit went sideways last spring, at least–to still feel a little notable. Even if she is only there for moral support while he studies, his GED test date circling ever closer.

Stevie's wearing a striped white and pink polo with the buttons undone all the way to the bottom of the neckline and tight stonewash jeans. The absolute preppiest of prep attire, completed by the cherry-flavored chapstick shining red on her lips.

Eddie wants to kiss her stupid.

The jeans are high waisted, pulled up snug over the curve of her ass, and with Stevie rolled onto her stomach reading the comic, Eddie's getting quite the view.

Then she shifts, flopping over onto her back beside him, the movement followed by the sound of pages turning. The new position offers a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage, a further hint of what her clingy polo is doing such a great job of highlighting. 

Eddie looks. Of course he looks.

Estrogen has taken to Stevie’s figure like a duck to water. In the plush spread of her hips, making her pert ass even rounder, which Eddie would have thought was damn near impossible. And in the plumpness steadily gathering at her chest, her once defined pecs softening, giving way to the gentle swell of her breasts, which grow fuller by the day. 

It’s become something of a problem for him lately–the staring. 

That was true, to some extent, even before she started to transition. Stevie's always been gorgeous, and Eddie's always been aware of that fact, harboring a hopeless, from afar crush on her since they landed in the same impossible English class his first senior year and Eddie had become painfully aware of what all the Hawkins High girls were on about. Not that he would have admitted that, at the time, not even under threat of painful, agonizing death–no, the coming terms with it came later, during his spring break from hell spent realizing that Stevie Harrington was not only surprisingly sweet but a totally badass, bonafide hero.

…The whole ripping that bat apart with her teeth thing certainly didn't hurt, either.

The point is, he's always looked at Stevie, flirted with her. Probably been too obvious about it, too. 

It's just that since she started to transition, it feels like he's gotten so much worse, like any subtlety he was holding on to by his fingernails has been ripped from his hands. Eddie can’t stop staring at her, the heat of embarrassment prickling his face, tongue-tied like a school boy with a crush each and every time he gets caught. 

And that's the worst part of it–he does get caught, far more often than he'd like.

It’d been months, now, since the first time Stevie explicitly called him out for it–a warm Saturday in the summer when they had dragged the kids down to the arcade, trying to beat the heat with the dark, air-conditioned interior of the local nerd haunt. 

Stevie had been watching Erica beat her own high score at Duck Hunt, leaned over the machine in her Daisy Duke cutoff shorts and a cropped pink jersey, ponytail swinging against her back and the scars littering her sides unashamedly on display. That’s something they had both been working themselves up to, together–not hiding their war wounds, fighting off the anxiety that came from people’s stares.

But Eddie had been staring for an entirely different reason when Stevie caught him. 

As Erica ran off to ‘pummel’ Dustin after his latest Dig Dug win, Stevie propped an elbow on the abandoned game, shooting Eddie a knowing look.

“Like what you see, Munson?” she asked coyly.

Eddie’s entire face flamed with heat. 

“I was just–your top!” he blurted. “I was just admiring your top, my lady. It’s…it’s cute. The pink–think that might be your color, Harrington.”

Stevie’s cheeks burned her own pretty pink to match it, then, which Eddie couldn’t help but preen about. 

And if he noticed she started wearing a lot more pink around him after that, well…he tried not to read too much into it.

Just like the pretty pale pink she’s wearing today, attracting his eye and forcing Eddie to hold back a twitterpated sigh as he watches her, wrapped up in the bright primary colored pages of the X-Men

…This bullshit of his is definitely gonna get his ass kicked by Robin or Nancy, one of these days, he’s sure of it. Possibly both of them at once–Buck may just hold him down while Wheeler does what she does best.

But the truth is, it's not just about how Stevie’s figure has steadily filled out. He's not gonna lie, that's definitely part of it–but also…she just has this glow about her, now, like she's settling so happily into herself. It’s like that contentment beams out of her, radiant, in every little gesture, every giddy smile. He's drawn in by it, like Icarus with the sun, like a moth to a flame–too entranced to turn away, even if it might end up burning him in the long run.

The thing is, Stevie's beautiful, and she takes his breath away.

She’s become such an intrinsic part of his life, since everything that happened, he’s not entirely sure what he would do without her. Hell, they still share a bed, some nights–fighting back the nightmares together is always easier. And in the intervening months since that started, she's grown steadily softer beside him, curves pressing against his body where there were once hard planes and sharper angles. Her presence is no less warm and comforting than it had been from the beginning, though, her weight and smell familiar, the steady rhythm of her breathing when it finally evens out the same.

Eddie wonders if they were supposed to have stopped doing that, somewhere along the way–the sleeping together part, even though they're only doing it in the most platonic, just-friends sort of way possible. Then again, he's never put all that much stock in it, what he is and isn't supposed to be doing. Besides, how much difference could stopping really have made? Not a whole hell of a lot, in his opinion, considering they've both been bi as fuck the whole damn time.

Sharing a bed all the time doesn't really help his other problem–the staring, the thinking about Stevie's plush curves and soft skin–but that's his own shit to deal with and work out. Stevie shouldn't have to suffer through the nights alone just because Eddie can't keep his hard on for her in check.

So, yeah. He thinks she’s a knockout–of course he does–but the truth is, that’s all secondary to the way he feels about her. She’s steadily grown into one of his best friends, in the time since he’s finally gotten to actually know her. And if all he ever gets to do is look–and better yet, talk to her, bicker and joke and tease, share popcorn at movie nights crammed too close together on the Harrington’s couch and laugh at all the same stupid inside jokes–well, he considers himself honored for the privilege of it. 

“What, Munson?” Stevie laughs suddenly, drawing him out of his reverie–during which he had, of course, still been staring–by smacking him lightly on the arm with her comic book. 

That had been another secret, shared between them–Stevie liked the X-Men, she’d confessed, even if she couldn’t resist pretending otherwise to Dustin. She said the Mutants made her feel…seen, in a way she really hadn’t ever before. 

"I know exactly what you mean, sweetheart," Eddie had agreed easily when she told him. 

"Kinda figured you might, Eds,” she had shot him a soft smile, which he returned in kind.

That feeling of being seen–understood–stretched out beyond the pages of the comic book to encompass them both, the way they just fundamentally got each other.

"Mystique's got nothing on you, though," he had added with a wink, falling back on his old routine of borderline flirtation just for the pleasure of seeing her blush yet again, ducking her head as she gave his shoulder an exasperated nudge.

He blinks back to reality, finds himself looking into those same mesmerizing eyes now, big and brown and staring back at him expectantly. A smile plays at the corners of Stevie’s mouth as she puts her comic aside. Scooting closer, she reaches to give one of his test booklet pages a quick shake. 

"You're supposed to be studying, you know. Believe me, I get how hard that can be, and I wasn't exactly the best in school…but I'm still like 99% sure you at least have to look at the page before you get it,” she teases. “And I haven’t got the answers to this question secretly penciled somewhere up my sleeve, promise. So, not really sure how staring at me is gonna help you here."

Eddie studies her face–the amused pink curve of her mouth, the cute little moles that dot her cheeks and throat. 

That wistful sigh finally escapes him.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologies on autopilot, and then, the confession rolls off his tongue before he can stop it, “you’re just so…fucking pretty.”

As soon as the words have left his mouth, he cringes, preparing to blurt out yet another apology–and then Stevie’s finger presses against his lips. When he glances at her, he finds that her whole face has lit up. 

Well, fuck. If she’s gonna look at him like that, he can’t even be sorry for his big mouth.

Then, surprise of all surprises–he feels a jolt as she leans in and pecks him once on the cheek, lips smooth from her cherry chapstick. 

“Thanks. You’re sweet, Eddie,” Stevie murmurs, quietly, as she pulls back. Then, her smile turns mischievous, pretty eyes giving one of her patented, exasperated eyerolls. “And good of you to finally say something about it.”

Eddie barks out a disbelieving laugh before he can help it, hiding his face for a moment between his fingers.

“Seriously, Harrington, you know you’re a total babe.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stevie agrees, a glimmer of that overconfidence she’d carried herself with in school shining out. Eddie can’t even lie–he loves it. “But a girl still likes to hear it, now and again.”

“Shit, Stevie.” Head still ducked, Eddie reaches out slowly and takes her hand, twiddling with her fingers as he looks up from beneath the fringe of his bangs. “Now that I know you want me, too–I’ll tell you anytime you want.”

Reaching forward, Stevie tucks a tuft of hair behind Eddie’s ear, not letting him hide behind the curtain of it. Then, she leans in, and this time she presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

Eddie sucks in another sharp, surprised breath, finally tasting that cherry flavor for himself. 

“I’m totally gonna hold you to that one, Eds,” she says, leaving their foreheads pressed gently together even once she pulls back, “so just get ready for it.”  

But, then, a mere moment later, Stevie is bouncing backwards on the bed, giggling when Eddie leans in, trying to chase after her lips again. He groans as she picks up his booklet and presses it against his chest. 

“You can check me out all you want later, stud,” Stevie shoots him a wink, flipping open to the page he had left off on. “But, for now…you’ve gotta get back to work.”

When she settles down beside him this time, though, she stays close, hooking her chin over his shoulder. 

“And, I’ve got an idea. A tried and true method for studying. Works every time.” 

“That right?” Eddie tilts his head to face her, cocking an eyebrow. “Well, lay it on me, then, sweetheart. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

He taps a finger lightly against her temple. The playful twinkle in Stevie’s eyes as she grins at him makes Eddie’s heart skip a bit.

“How about…I give you a kiss for every question you get right?” she murmurs, close enough her warm breath ghosts over his skin. 

Eddie lets his eyes drop down to the red shine of her lips, and feels giddy, for once, knowing he can look his fill. After a long, loaded pause, he gives a sharp nod, clapping his hands together.

“You know what, Stevie? Studying never sounded so good.” Snatching up his pen again, he settles back with the test now spread across both their laps. “I’m in.” 

And, this time, whenever Stevie distracts Eddie from his studies–well. At least he can tell himself it’s all in the name of a good cause.

[mousy-nona]

If you're still accepting prompts: Lucifer and Alastor are getting closer and closer, and Lucifer makes it clear he's interested in Alastor sexually. Alastor's uninterested in sex with anyone, but goes along with it because he thinks that's what he's supposed to do in a relationship. Lucifer stops when he realizes Alastor's dissociating through the whole thing.

They fell together like a storm. Furiously, without regard for those who might be caught in it. It started with a few raindrops – a few petty insults here and there, nothing too serious. But before they knew it, they had graduated to psy-ops (oh dear, your favorite duck is gone? You must learn to take better care of your things!), campaigns of terror that sent the residents of the hotel fleeing for cover, and full-on fist fights.

And finally, during one of those fights, they found the eye of the storm: an accidental brush of the lips. So quick, so innocent. Easy to brush off as if nothing had happened. 

But Lucifer found his heart was beating so fast it felt like a buzzing in his ears, and he knew he had found the truth of it. The reason why Alastor’s presence was like a perpetual itch he couldn’t scratch. Why he couldn’t take his eyes off of the demon whenever he was in the room. 

So he kissed him again (furiously) and Alastor had kissed him back (tentatively). 

Things didn’t change much after that. But Lucifer found himself making excuses to touch him, his fingers trailing a second or two longer on his chest when he grabbed his shirt during a fight, or lingering at his back when he pushed him out of the way. There were more of those sweeter moments too – cups of coffee shared in silence as they watched the morning sun rise over Pentagram City, reading together in front of the fire when everyone else had gone to bed, Alastor making biting (but helpful) comments as Lucifer glanced over the agenda for the annual Hell Assembly. Lucifer started moving some of the stuff from his workshop to Alastor’s studio, and when Alastor worked on his script for his next radio show, Lucifer would tinker with his experiments. And Alastor only got a little mad when he accidentally set the curtains on fire. 

They fell together so naturally that Lucifer didn’t even realize he had fallen in love until he found himself making Alastor a cup of coffee just the way Alastor liked it – black as sin, with cinammon sprinkled in – and he turned around to find Alastor had made him a cup just the way Lucifer liked it – a healthy splash of milk with five sugars. It was automatic, a thoughtless habit born of a hundred mornings where they’d done the exact same thing. 

“What?” Alastor asked.

“I’d like to keep you forever.” 

“What?” Alastor repeated.

“I love you, you idiot.” 

Alastor didn’t say it back for several weeks. Lucifer tried not to let it affect him, because love was freely given and Alastor didn’t have any obligation to love him the same, but Lord in Heaven it hurt. Were the rumors true? Was he really heartless? 

Then one night, when Lucifer was bent over a particularly difficult blueprint, he found the room had gone eerily silent. He glanced over at Alastor, who, instead of studying the current events in Hell for his latest broadcast, was staring at him with an intensity that made him nervous.

“What do you want?” 

Alastor melted into the shadows, and reappeared inches away. 

“Alastor, what in the world–” 

“Hush.” Alastor pressed the very edge of his claw against his mouth. “That’s quite enough out of you. I’m trying to concentrate.”

On what? Lucifer thought. 

Suddenly, Alastor leaned forward, and their lips met. It was just as delicious as the last time, and Lucifer felt himself melting into the kiss. Then Alastor’s tongue prodded against his lips, asking for entrance. Lucifer gave it, letting out an embarrassing moan as the taste of smoke and freshly roasted coffee and the barest hint of spice invaded his mind. He pushed forward, toppling them both onto the ground as his hand brushed against the hem of Alastor’s shirt. 

And Alastor, for his part, did…nothing. He didn’t touch him back, but he didn’t push him away either. Lucifer took that as a win and brushed his fingers across the bare, smooth skin of Alastor’s stomach. 

Alastor stiffened, his muscles locking in place. Lucifer glanced up, breaking their kiss. “Is everything okay?” He asked gently. 

Alastor’s expression was as unfathomable as the deep, but he nodded. “I thought I told you not to talk.”

Lucifer frowned. “Are you sure–” 

Alastor leapt forward, their mouths crashing into each other again. “Don’t. Talk.” He hissed in between desperate, ragged breaths. Lucifer groaned and resumed his exploration, running his hands up and down the hard planes of Alastor’s chest, his broad shoulders, his thin waist, his hard hips – so different from Lilith’s voluptuous curves, but different was good. His pulse fluttered like a bird’s as he reached for Alastor’s belt and started tugging. 

“Alastor,” he moaned, arching up to see if Alastor was feeling as good as he was – and abruptly stopped moving.

Alastor looked…empty. Far away. His eyes were like glass marbles, staring past and through Lucifer into the quiet darkness beyond.

Lucifer hissed and jerked away. Alastor stirred, as if rousing himself from a deep sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer nearly snarled. “If you hated it, you should have told me! You didn’t need to put yourself through this!” A bitter taste filled his mouth. His hands felt dirty somehow, and he held them behind his back, as if that would somehow make them both forget what had just happened.

“I don’t hate it,” Alastor insisted.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” 

“It wasn’t terrible,” he amended.

“Fantastic,” Lucifer groaned. “I’m just going to – I’ll just see myself out, shall I?” He tried to escape to the safety of his room, but Alastor’s hand wrapped around his wrist, holding him tightly in place. 

“But this is what people do, isn’t it?” He huffed, his strange red eyes gleaming with an emotion that Lucifer had never seen on him before. “When you–” He broke off, as if he couldn’t quite make himself say it. “When they’re like us,” he finally finished. 

“Like us?” Understanding hit him like a lightning strike. “Oh. Alastor, did you do all this because I told you I loved you?”

“And I…feel similarly for you,” he choked out, looking like he was contemplating jumping out the window while he said it. “And people who feel this way –” 

“Alastor, this is you and me.” Gently, so as not to scare him away, Lucifer held his hand and pressed it to his heart. “When have we ever done things the way other people do? That’s the beauty of relationships – we can write our own rules, and to hell with what other people might think. Besides, we’re not exactly the conventional couple. I think I hate you almost as much as I love you. And now I know you love me too. You put your own comfort aside to try and make us work.” He swallowed, running his finger along Alastor’s sharp jawline. A love he hadn’t known since the Fall filled his spirit, and the room lit up with a gentle golden glow. “Thank you.” 

The relief emanating from Alastor was nearly palpable. He swallowed, then wrapped his hand around Lucifer’s. “One small correction.” 

“What’s that?”

“I think I hate you more than I love you.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. Tacky prick."

"It takes one to know one."

[sunflower-lilac42]

✧ 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 | connor bedard ♔

summary: after falling short of a hat trick once again, connor feels the need to blame everything on himself and question why he's here in the first place.

warnings: connor not thinking he's good enough, sad connor, feelings of not being good enough, crying, writing errors bc i didn't proofread that well

published: 3/25/24

notes: this is my monthly fic so i hope you enjoy it, jkjkjkjk I'll try to be as active as i can on here this next week especially with me being in a car for eight hours tomorrow. (woohoo) anyway story notes -> this takes place after the arizona game, i was going to make this longer with them after the ducks game but i got too lazy to write it, so let me know if you want a part two to this fic. there are four things hopefully coming this week that aren't fics and maybe two or so fics also on my agenda so yeah | add yourself to the taglist ➺ taglist!

nhl masterlist | main masterlist

He knew he shouldn’t be upset. He played so well, got a three-point game tonight, but at the same time, this was his fourth time having a two-goal game and every time he came up short. It was hard to be the face of the franchise or to at least feel like it. He was supposed to be the savior of the Blackhawks, their golden boy, and lift them back up. How much pressure could you put on an 18-year-old?

He watched as Colin hit the puck into the empty net, the slightest bit of jealousy going through his eyes. He was telling himself not to think about it, the thought of him getting a hat trick shouldn’t have been a thought, he should be playing to win not to get his hat trick. But, the thought haunted him in the back of his mind, three failed attempts and he had to show everyone what he was capable of. 

Though, as the final minute ticked down and he had been on the ice he knew his chances were nonexistent. He knew he wouldn’t be getting an opportunity to get that goal. He was proud of Colin and always proud of his teammates, but how happy could he be for others if he wasn’t happy with himself?

She was watching from her dorm room, her hands gripped tightly onto the arms of her chair as she kept her eyes glued to the TV screen. She knew they had a chance of winning this game, they beat them 5-2 just a few days ago so why couldn’t they now? Despite the Coyotes having two goals a couple of minutes into the second period, she kept her hopes up. When Connor scored not only once but twice before the end of the period she was elated.

She kept her prayers in her mind as she watched the last 20 minutes of the game, hoping that he would get his first career hat trick alongside Colin. He needed this so much, especially after the few games he had had. He needed to be reminded of how good he was and how the outcome of the game shouldn’t be reliant on him. 

However, as soon as the clock ran out and it was game over, she felt horrible. She could see it in his face as he skated out as second star of the game. He deserved to and Colin deserved the first. But she knew he was taking it harder on himself. 

She was kept updated on post-game through post-game live and the tweets she was getting. Her heart broke once she saw the one Mario tweeted, “If I was any good I would have put it in.”

She swore to himself, immediately going to make him some food and laying out some clothes for him to wear when he arrived. He was using humor to cover up how he felt, it was a defense mechanism that he used so often with not only the public but with her. She couldn’t count the number of times they were in the middle of a fight or he had come home after a game or the days that he would come back after practice after he got hurt he would throw a sarcastic comment or start laughing. 

She sent him a quick text, telling him she would be waiting for him when he returned. She made sure things looked perfect in the sense that it didn’t look planned and everything was meticulously placed. The clothes she picked out were thrown in the bathroom and so was his towel, she made her dorm look a little more messy than she would like it but still clean.

When she heard the door unlock, she didn’t make a move from her room. She lived in one of the apartments with a couple of her friends. She didn’t complain when the older students took her in, just going with the flow. She heard footsteps come up the stairs and a quiet but prominent knock on her door and then the door clicked open. She looked up and smiled, placing her laptop to the side of her and getting up from the bed.

She walked over to him and opened her arms, allowing him to walk into them as he dropped his beg and let his head fall to her shoulder. She placed her left hand on the back of his head and her right hand wrapped around his torso. Her fingers scratched the base of his hair, slightly combing through his hair that he had grown out and the fingers on her right hand rubbed circles against his back. It was silent besides the soft sighs of Connor both from the long night and from the motions she was doing. 

He turned his head so his nose was now stuck in the crook of her neck before leaving small kisses there. She smiled a little as he did it, knowing that he was slowly going back to his usual ways. He pulled away soon after and rested his forehead on hers before she spoke, “You wanna go take a shower?”

He only nodded and made his way to the bathroom. She went back downstairs to finish up dinner, reheating a few things and then bringing them back up. She set the plates on her desk and crawled into her bed and tried to find something to watch that they would both like. She decided on A New Hope, it was the first thing that popped up when she went onto Disney, 

Connor came in around a couple minutes later and laid eyes on her as soon as he entered. This was one of his favorite things about coming to Chicago, was the fact that she came with him. The fact that her celebrating after winning still happened, the fact that she was comforting him after a loss still happened, the fact that she still gave him silly little gifts every once in a while still happened. It was the best feeling in the world.

He threw his clothes to the side, not particularly caring where they landed. He pulled himself up onto her bed and curled into her side, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning his head into her shoulder. She smiled down at him, lifting her free arm to run her fingers through his hair. The motion made him close his eyes and sigh, becoming more and more tired.

“You gotta eat, baby.”

He only shook his head in response. He didn’t feel like eating nor did he think he deserved to have one of her meals after the performance he had tonight. Her smile turned into a frown and turned her attention to the TV as her hand slowly came to a halt, still tangled in his hair. When her actions stopped, Connor pulled away and looked up at her, “Are you okay?” 

Her eyes were dazed, “What? Yeah, why?”

“Because you became quiet all of a sudden.”

“I- you know how proud of you I am right?”

His eyebrows furrowed, “Where is this coming from, y/n/n?”

“I know you Connor, you always want to be the best. You always want to do everything you can. You always want to take the burden of not doing enough, take the burden of the loss.”

Connor looked ashamed, he wasn’t expecting this to happen tonight. He felt like he was being scolded by his mom at that moment. He looked up at her with his eyes but kept his head down. There was another beat of silence before y/n spoke again, “You’re eighteen. This franchise, this team, should not be putting this much pressure on you because everyone thinks you’re the next Wayne Gretzky. You should be allowed to be a kid, baby.”

He always knew how much he was grateful for y/n, she had been there with him through everything. But it was these moments that he was most grateful for, these moments that reminded him more than any others. The moments in which she made him feel like himself again, the ones where she reminded him that he was allowed to be a kid, that he doesn’t have to have all this pressure on him. 

Without saying anything, he buried his head back into her chest as he practically clinged onto her like she would disappear at any moment. This time he allowed his tears to fall and they dampened her, his shirt. Her fingers resumed their motion, running through his hair. She didn’t know what to say anymore and truthfully Connor didn’t want her to say anything. He just wanted to be held by her and listen to whatever she had put on in the background.

After a few minutes she pulled away to cusp his face in her hands, “Foods getting cold sweetheart. You gotta eat.”

As much as he didn’t want to, he reluctantly nodded and allowed her to get up to reheat the food that had gone cold. When she came back Connor looked more like himself, he was sitting up right on the bed, his clothes were straightened out, his hair was flattened, and his face and eyes were rid of any evidence of tiredness and previous crying that he had done. 

She gave him a soft smile before placing the plate in his lap and plopping herself down on the bed, “What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t care.”

She glared at him playfully, “Dude, I can never pick a movie you know this.”

“Do not call me dude.”

She could tell that her efforts of making Connor feel better were working, the smile that she loved ever so dearly was on his face and his eyes were lit up in the way that they did when he talked about hockey. She stretched her arm out and poked his stomach, “And why is that?”

“Because I am your boyfriend and you always call me baby or sweetheart.”

“Someone’s picky.” She turned away to face the tv and continued to look for something to watch.” 

Connor discarded his plate onto her desk and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist. She let out a loud laugh and looked at him, “I love you.”

Connor smiled and kissed her forehead and then her lips. “I love you too. Thank you for being here.”

𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑮𝑶 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑯𝑨𝑾𝑲𝑺 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

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[lipglossanon]

You’re All I’ve Got Tonight

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙ ███████▒▒▒ 70%

part i

office exec!Leon S. Kennedy x personal assistant fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, dirty talk, kissing, nipple/breast play, grinding, unprotected sex, creampie

Actually looked over with a second pair of eyes by the ever lovely @rex122303 ✌️ you have my unwavering devotion 🙇‍♀️

title from You're All I’ve Got Tonight by The Cars

⋘ 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠…⋙ ████████ 100%

You’ve been giving Leon the cold shoulder since that scandalous night in his office. You know it’s not his fault he was suddenly called up by the CEO to handle some business altercation out of state. 

But he could have called you or left a message or, hell, he could have emailed you. So when he shows up a week later, you’re short and to the point, never staying late and always disappearing if it looks like you’ll be alone with him. 

If he’s frustrated with you, you don’t really care (you do, but you’ll never admit it). He’s still cordial, still touchy feely when he can get away with it, like when brushing past you in the boardroom, but you stay firmly polite even if his touch makes you press your thighs together. 

It all comes to a head a few weeks later when an overnight trip to a business summit’s announced for the small team under Leon’s advisement. This small team also includes you, much to your chagrin. So you prep and plan, making sure all the emails are filled with the correct dossiers and agendas for each individual person and marking off the calendar accordingly. 

Leon tries to corner you time and again as you get everything setup, but you’re able to duck out of it every single time. You know it’s not very mature of you to avoid him, but you still feel embarrassed about the reaction you had when he ghosted you, even if it wasn’t entirely his fault. Your pride took one hit already, so now you’re just trying to avoid another. 

The date for the summit arrives far too quickly and you’re all holed up in the rental van to drive out of the city to the nearby retreat that’s hosting. You make small talk with Ark, a really sweet guy who works in IT. He’s friendly without being overbearing so the drive passes by comfortably although not quickly. 

Arriving at the retreat, everyone piles out of the van, grabs their luggage, and makes their way to the front desk. Bad luck on your part lands you at the end of the line standing next to Leon. Surprisingly, he doesn’t try to chat you up or anything, just scrolling on his phone with a little furrow between his brows. You stare ahead watching as the rest of the team grab their room keys and disappear further into the foyer.  

“Hi there and welcome! Checking in?”

The perky brunette behind the desk smiles at you, making you smile back, but before you open your mouth Leon steps in front of you. 

“Hi! Checking in for Kennedy.”

Your smile tightens as you side step so you’re standing a little behind Leon now. The lady sends you a quick sympathetic look as she types in his name. 

“You’re all set, sir,” she hands him a keycard, “if you need anything whatsoever please don’t hesitate to contact the front desk or the concierge. Please have a wonderful stay!”

She turns to you and repeats the same greeting making you internally wince in sympathy as she types in your information. Her smile falters and eventually drops into a confused frown. 

“I’m terribly sorry, but it seems like your party has all checked in and there are no more rooms available,” she types for a few more seconds before turning back to you with an apologetic smile, “and seeing as we’re fully booked, you can check and see if one of your colleagues—“

“She can room with me,” Leon offers flippantly, giving the brunette another smile, before turning back to his phone, “it’s not a big deal.”

She turns to you, eyebrows raised in question and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“It’ll be fine,” you plaster a fake smile on and look over at Leon, “I appreciate it, Mr. Kennedy.”

He gives you a smarmy little grin, “Not a problem, madam secretary.”

You roll your eyes at him and turn back in time to grab the spare keycard. 

The young woman rattles off the same spiel as you grab your luggage, “If you need anything whatsoever please don’t hesitate to contact the front desk or the concierge. Please have a wonderful stay!”

You follow Leon through the foyer and over to the elevators, thanking your lucky stars no one from your office will actually see that you’re bunking with the boss. Butterflies threaten to flutter in your chest but you tamp them down, not letting yourself get swept away like last time. 

Leon lets you stew in your own thoughts as you enter the tenth floor, leading you down the hall to the room you’ll be sharing. He unlocks the door and holds it open, gesturing for you to enter first. You nod and roll your luggage case in behind you only to stop dead in the little hallway into the room. 

“There’s just one bed,” you blurt out, disbelief sweeping over you. 

Leon walks up next to you, letting the door swing shut. 

“Oh wow, that’s really unfortunate,” he shrugs, sounding a little too blasé. 

You squint at his side profile, “I’ll see if they can send in a roller bed—“

Leon scoffs, “Look it’s a king size bed, we can share like civilized adults.”

You purse your lips, “Mmhmm, and it’s not just awfully convenient we ran out of rooms for everyone and now we just happen to have to share a bed?”

Leon grins at you, the one that always makes those damn butterflies flutter.

“Just really weird co-winky-dinks,” his grin widens when you fight the smile wanting to slip out, instead giving him another eye roll. 

“Okay,” you throw your hands up with a sigh, “it’s only a short weekend trip.”

One of the reasons you’ve been avoiding Leon is it’s so easy to slip into the comfortable back and forth you’ve already built up. So it’s next to no time before he’s already weaseled a laugh out of you with his shitty one liner jokes. You’re a little nervous now that you’re kinda back on friendly terms, especially after you explained yourself. 

Now, he’s ordering room service for you both while you jump in the shower, letting yourself spend some extra time on shaving and primping before leaving the bathroom. Not for any ulterior motives or anything you think to yourself as you finish putting on your moisturizer. 

When you come out of the bathroom, Leon slips past you and shuts the door. You see that he hasn’t eaten yet, deciding to wait on you to finish up, which makes you feel warm and fuzzy at the thoughtful gesture. So you wait in turn, drinking some water as you channel surf, settling on a show about an elderly mystery writer who always stumbles upon a murder that needs solving. 

You’re pretty engrossed with J.B. Fletcher’s hunt for the killer, but when Leon steps out of the bathroom he draws all of your attention. His face is obscured as he dries his hair with a towel, leaving you to ogle his bare chest and toned stomach with his low slung sweats sitting on his hips, his happy trail catching your eye last. 

You make sure to be looking away by the time he drops the towel around his shoulders. 

“You should’ve went ahead,” he nudges your side, sitting down next to you on the bed. 

“Eh, just thought I’d wait,” you smile at him, nudging him back as he grabs one of the food containers. 

You grab another container and you both watch the rest of the show as you eat a late dinner. After tossing the trash away, you brush your teeth side by side at the double sinks, and find your way into bed. 

After settling underneath the blankets, Leon rolls over and props his head up on his palm. 

“So no goodnight kiss?” 

You roll over to mirror him, eyes taking in his half smile and damp fringe. 

“What makes you think you should get a goodnight kiss?” 

“Lots of reasons,” his hands shoot out to grab your waist, yanking you into his body. 

“I think you owe me a lot of making up, honey,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to your cheek. 

One heated kiss leads to another and before you know it—

“Oh god,” you whine, grinding slowly against Leon. 

His cock is trapped in your panties, rubbing all along your dripping slit as he ruts against your cunt. His back rests against the headboard of the hotel room bed with you straddling his lap. 

You’ve been like this for an hour already; his lap and your thighs are soaked in slick and precum. 

“S’good,” he mutters under his breath, dilated eyes watching your tits jiggle, “wanna stay like this for the rest of the weekend.”

Goosebumps trail down your arms as you shiver, body completely bare except for your panties. 

“What about the presentation, sir? The actual summit?”

Leon grins lazily, dragging his eyes up to your face, “What about’em? I’m just trying to hump this little pussy.”

You whimper and rock against him harder.

The grin on his face widens, “Yeah, you like it too, like my fat cock rubbing all over this soaked cunt.”

“Leon,” your nails dig into his shoulders, eyes clenched shut.

“I wanna slide it in, but this feels too good,” he grunts, feeling your clit catch on the tip of his dick, “c’mere and let me suck on those tits, know you like that.”

You rock forward, pressing your chest out as his mouth leans up to suck on your hard nipples. He groans low in his chest as his lips and tongue work one hard bud while his fingers tweak and pinch the other. Your hips give short little thrusts as sharp bolts of arousal buzz in your clit. 

Sloppy sounds of sucking fill the room along with your pants and whines as Leon lathes your breasts with his attention. 

“Leon I want it, want your cock in me, please,” you gasp out as he bites your nipple and runs his tongue across it over and over until you’re squirming against him. 

“Think you deserve it?” he kisses across your breasts, teeth nipping at the skin as he swaps to the other nipple.  

“Please, want it, I’m so empty,” you whine.

“You've been ignoring me, honey,” he mockingly pouts up at you, lips swollen and hair messy, “outright avoiding me, I’d say.”

“You were mean,” you whine and he pinches your nipples hard making you buck against him.

“I’m being sweet now, aren’t I?” he grunts, sliding his fat cock into your pussy making you squeal from the stretch.

He’s so much bigger than you remember, making your back bow, head tipped back and mouth open, panting while he bullies his dick deeper and deeper into your pussy until he’s bottoming out.

He shushes you as you sink down on his dick with a low cry, “Such a good girl for me. Damn, missed this tight little pussy.”

You shove your breasts into his face making him growl, hands tightening on your hips, sinking you fully down on his cock. Leon’s mouth hotly kisses across your tits, sucking bruises into the sensitive skin. Groaning, he suckles your nipples eagerly until you’re bouncing on his dick. 

You let your hands sink into his soft hair, rocking your hips down hard onto his lap. Mewling, you tug on the silky strands as Leon’s tongue laps across your swollen nipples making you squirm. His hands move up to your waist as he humps your hot wet pussy, burying his cock deep in your throbbing cunt.

Feeling over sensitive, you try to pull his head away from your chest but he only groans, suckling your hard bud deeper into his mouth. His cock kicks and throbs as you slump forward, smooshing your tits into his face. 

“Leon, they’re g’nna be so sore,” you gasp as he nips at the swell of your breasts before pulling away. 

“But you like it, squeezing down on me so tight,” he grins, shaking the hair from his face as he tilts his head up, “now kiss me, sweetheart.”

You whine in the back of your throat and drop your mouth down on his. You feel as Leon scrapes his teeth against your bottom lip. He moans, licking into your mouth, tongue running along yours teasingly. 

He tugs you closer and closer, the kisses becoming more sloppy with spit dripping past your swollen lips. He chuckles when your fingers drop from his hair to cup the back of his head, pulling him forward til there’s no space between you. 

Pulling away for a breath, Leon just tugs you back in for another messy kiss, his hot tongue licking into you again and again.

“Been driving me up the wall, wanted to talk to you so bad,” he lets his head fall back to rest against the headboard as you grind dirtily against him, “had the best sex of my life and when I came back you pretended I didn’t even exist, honey.”

“‘m sorry, sir,” you whimper, eyes fluttering as his cock grinds just right against the spongy spot at the front of your pussy, “just got into my own head.”

“S’okay,” he coos up at you, letting one of his hands drop down and tease your swollen clit, “just gonna let this sweet pussy milk a nice thick load outta me.”

“Yeah, yeah, gonna milk your cock so good,” you slur, arching your back so your breasts brush against his mouth. 

He snarls and bites at your soft tits, “That’s it, squeeze my cock.”

You whine, body jerking as he pinches and rubs your pudgy clit, sucking each of your nipples between his teeth to run his tongue across them. The coil in your belly’s winding tighter and tighter as Leon teases your nipples and clit at the same time. 

“Oh,” you gasp out, “g’nna cum, Leon—“

A low cry spills from your mouth as you clamp down on Leon’s dick, pussy walls fluttering and milking his throbbing cock as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“So sexy,” Leon’s hips thrust up into your squelching pussy, “so fucking sexy. Gonna make me cum, baby. Y’ready?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you moan, digging your nails into his chest making him curse under his breath and bury his cock into your sopping wet hole. 

You feel rope after rope of hot, sticky cum spurt inside your cunt, stuffing you so full that it leaks out around his throbbing cock. 

“Beautiful,” he places open mouthed kisses across your clavicle up to your neck, letting his tongue tease across your skin, “such a good girl for me.”

You sigh, feeling blissed out and utterly satisfied. He tugs your head down to kiss you softly at the corner of your mouth.  

“If you want, just relax and I’ll bring a cloth in to clean you up.”

You smile at him sleepily, “Wanna snuggle.”

He returns your sleepy smile with a small one of his own, “You got it, sweetheart.” 

[torukmaktoskxawng]

tsamsiyu ta'em - they're closing in

Masterlist - part eleven

Summary: Kayla receives an update on Spider's whereabouts. Everything is beginning to come to a head and the tension is thick in the air.

Pairing: Ronal/Tonowari/Original Female Character

Tag: #tsamsiyu ta'em fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: canon-compliant, mature language, slow burn, polyamory, found family, cool aunt agenda, time skips, I'm trying to hurry up and get to the good parts so bear with me, fluff, angst, etc.

Taglist (bold indicates "could not tag"): @motheroffae @undeniableadrenaline @mooniequeen @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @heart-an0n @amiets2 @slutforsmut4ever @yeosxxx​ @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @sucker4angstt @inolaphoenix @ilovechickenwings @tojisleftarm @andyfromku @ivysully

Seeing Neytiri laugh is now a rare sight and an honor if one is on the receiving end of it. Nowadays, the Na'vi woman struggles with smiling unless she's with her children, while her eyes cast over the sea far beyond the atoll wall, thinking of the forest and feeling immensely homesick. Living here, among the Metkayina, she's found herself going through the motions, day after day, wishing for nothing more than to find Quaritch and kill him so she and her family could go back home where they belong. Very rarely is she able to actually enjoy the beauty of Awa'atlu without aching for the familiarity of her home clan, but that is why her family helps at this low point in her life. 

Her mate and his sister are no exceptions. As a gentle storm falls over the village one afternoon, the Sully children find themselves running off with their new friends. Tsireya, Rotxo, and Ao'nung had promised to show them a network of pools deep within the jungle that rises into a larger, beautiful, bioluminescent lake when storms roll in. It was a well-known spot for reef kids to escape to when they had free time so of course, the former forest children wanted to see this small sanctuary for themselves. With the children gone, Neytiri, Jake, and Kayla find themselves alone together as dinner rolls around, practically stuck in the Sully marui as the storm continues to drop steady, soothing rain against the roof of their new home.

The storm muffled any noise outside and only accentuated Neytiri's laugh as it echoed throughout the marui. She was intently listening to a story Jake was telling about his and Makayla's childhood. Occasionally, Kayla would pitch in on the story to either correct her brother or to add to the silly tale. It was a story about the time a bunch of neighborhood kids gathered on the rooftops one night back on Earth, trading sugar sweets while trying to leap across rooftop to rooftop since the buildings perfectly lined up in a row down the street. Jake recounted this story as a fond memory, even smiling to himself as he told it, but Kayla teasingly reminded him that he and one other kid ended up breaking their arms pulling off such a stupid stunt and Tommy had never let him live it down.

Neytiri was fanning the flames of the hearth as she cooked dinner, in the middle of laughing at the bashful expression on her husband's face when a large figure came into view of the marui entrance, shadowed by the dark and heavy rain coming from outside. Almost immediately, Neytiri's smile fell and both Jake and Kayla had to turn around to see what she was staring at.

It was Tonowari, standing strong against the rain like it didn't even phase him, his flyaway hairs now stuck to his skin, curling around and framing his face. The olo'eyktan bore a solemn expression, his gaze heavy as his ears lowered faintly. Whatever thoughts running through his mind as he pointedly stared at all three of his guests, it was grim. He ducked back outside and waited there. Jake, Kayla, and Neytiri immediately stood and joined their new clan leader outside, the rain immediately greeting them as they stepped out of their pod.

Jake already had a sinking feeling as to whatever news Tonowari might have, but he desperately clung to hope that it was something else, preferably that his sons were getting into trouble again. He couldn't voice this hope as the strength to do so left his words to sound soft and worried, "What's wrong?"

"Sky People," Tonowari glances away from the ocean to peer back at the forest Na'vi, "They're looking for you, Jakesully. South. They have a human boy who speaks Na'vi."

Jake turns his gaze to Kayla, who meets his eyes immediately as they share a voiceless thought. Kayla's eyes had hardened at the news, determination setting in like stone as the happiness she had previously felt while getting Neytiri to laugh quickly faded away.

Jake turned back to Tonowari, his own expression grim and resigned, "Did they kill anybody?"

"Not yet."

Toruk Makto visibly relaxes, inwardly relieved as he shares a knowing look with Neytiri. Tonowari glanced between the pair as he continued, "They threaten, but the villagers will not tell them where you are. By my order."

Movement out of Jake's peripheral drives his attention away from the village chief. Turning his head, the former marine watched his sister dart back into the marui without so much of a warning. Jake had enough manners to quickly thank Tonowari before ducking back into the pod, only to stop in the doorway at the sight of Kayla quickly gathering his own weapons and inspecting the ammo.

His ears flatten, "Woah, where are you going?"

"I'm going after them." She continues cataloging the weapons, even taking out Jake's rifle, and is pleasantly surprised that it's been routinely cleaned. Old habits really do die hard, even for Jake.

He makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat before walking fully into the marui, "Alone? Against Quaritch? Are you crazy?"

Kayla, peers up at him, unphased, "Perfectly sane, why do you ask?"

"You can't take on a group of highly trained soldiers in avatar bodies all on your own. You have one gun and one banshee."

By now, Neytiri had walked back into the marui and Tonowari returned to his spot, looming over the doorway, though Neytiri had beckoned the chief to step further into her home to receive shelter from the storm. The Sully siblings have yet to even notice this exchange as they continue to argue back and forth.

"And Spider is just one kid, all alone, likely believing we abandoned him because we haven't rescued him after months of nothing!" Kayla snarled back.

"And how do we know Spider isn't willingly helping Quaritch?"

"And what if he isn't? Are you just going to let a child die based on assumptions? You've known Spider his whole life, far longer than I've known him. You tell me."

"It's a suicide mission, Kayla."

"The Recoms don't know me. They won't see me coming."

Tonowari watched as Jake struggled to come up with more arguments, but his mind visibly appeared as though it was running in circles, just behind his eyes as they were darting all over the place, trying to come up with a stronger rebuttal. Tonowari decided to aid the man he respected and took a step forward, even surprising Kayla enough to stop gathering weapons as he spoke, "You are not Metkayina yet. You don't know these waters and there are more dangers out there beyond the reef, not just the Sky People."

Her yellow eyes briefly widen as they peer up to meet the chieftain's blue ones, surprised that Tonowari was backing Jake up, then they shrink back and Kayla takes a moment to shift until her posture is straighter and her expression more formal. She nodded stiffly before finally opening her mouth to respond, and when she eventually did so, it was still a little more hesitant than she wanted it to be, "You're right. I'm not Metkayina. I'm not even Na'vi. So with all due respect, Tonowari, you are not ma olo'eyktan."

His lips tighten together as if from saying anything as she continues to stare him down, "I'm still a dreamwalker outcast who can come and go as she pleases. And I, for one, would rather not let your people risk their lives for our war. Maybe you can ask them to do so, but I can't. Spider is my responsibility. I owe that kid a lot and neither you nor anyone else can tell me to stand down and do nothing," something in her eyes changed and suddenly she had a hard time looking Tonowari in the eye, looking down and remembering the weapons in her hands before moving to pack things up, "So thank you for your hospitality. I owe you a lot, but I gotta go."

Jake steps back into her field of view, leveling her with a look of determination, "Don't make me set my kids on you, Kayla. Don't."

She scoffed, "Oh, please. If anything, they'd want to help me."

"Maybe, but I don't want to be the one to tell them that their aunt went out and got herself and Spider killed. Please don't make me do that."

The marui is reduced to silence, apart from the rain outside. All this Spider talk had rendered Neytiri mute, keeping her jaw tight to refrain from saying anything else that might drive Kayla away. All eyes are on Kayla and she physically feels her skin crawl knowing this. A battle is raging behind her gaze as she only manages to stare at Jake and no one else, before finally she gives in, her posture loosening into a sigh of defeat as she mutters, "... I'll link back to my consciousness tonight and let everyone know about Spider's whereabouts. There's no point in me going back to the forest now that I know the kid is close by. I'll continue my search here."

"Fine," Jake also relents while pointedly glaring at his sister, "But don't tell my kids that. They have enough on their plate. They don't need to go running off just because they know Spider might be closer than they think."

"You really think your kids are that reckless?" When Jake says nothing, Kayla exhales through her nose, "Of course, you do. Because deep down, even you know that they get it from you."

She leaves her brother's weapons where she found them before bidding Neytiri a goodnight. Jake's eyebrows furrow, "Where are you going now?"

"Back to my hammock. 'That okay with you?"

Jake doesn't challenge it, sensing when not to engage depending on the tone in his sister's voice. He let her brush past him without a fuss and didn't even watch her step out into the rain. Tonowari waits until she is out of view before turning back to Toruk Makto and his mate, "I apologize for interrupting your evening. I'll see that your sister returns to her campsite safely."

He leaves only when the pair nods with acknowledgment, gratitude bleeding from their eyes that continue to follow the olo'eyktan when he leaves. It wasn't hard to catch up with Makayla as she was keeping her steps slow to ensure she didn't slip from the drenched pathways. The chief didn't even have to quicken his usual stride, his legs longer than most Na'vi and able to reach Kayla within moments. They walk together silently at first, while Kayla doesn't even appear to realize he is next to her, but he carefully watches her shoulders stiffen to line with her spine and he knows she was aware of his presence, she just didn't care.

The anger was radiating off of her, and the urge to calm her emotions was palpable. As he does for all of his people who come to him for advice, he keeps his voice gentle, "If I had upset you back there--"

"Just--" Shock wasn't a normal emotion for Tonowari, but he found it difficult to ignore when Kayla snapped at him, her tone so harsh he could clearly hear it over the rain. Kayla paused in her steps, stopping in the middle of the beach, the treeline in view, and waving at her in greeting. But she couldn't walk away. Conflicted with her own thoughts, she forced herself to correct her mistake of snapping at Tonowari of all people. She exhaled heavily, her gaze matching the energy that left her body when she gazed back up at the Na'vi man. He sees the defeat from earlier, along with a brewing storm behind it.

Her words were short, "You had no business stepping in back there. Jake and I are fighting our own war with the Sky People, a war that has nothing to do with you and your people. So, please, with as much niceness as I can muster today... stay out of it," she moves her body away from Tonowari, before freezing again and turning back. Her eyes held a furious war of her own as she nearly spat out, "And don't ever try to stroke Jake's ego when he and I fight ever again."

He lowered his head down to meet her gaze, ever so slightly tilting off to the side. Kayla had learned not to be intimated by Tonowari and his towering height a while ago now, and the tilt of his head only told her that he was puzzled. She snarled, a little peeved at what looked like innocence and confusion nestled in the olo'eyktan's face. He clearly didn't deserve her anger, especially since he was chief of the village she currently resided in, and also because he clearly had no idea why she was cross with him. It didn't help that she used words and slang that were not of this world, and it only irritated her further that she wasn't being understood. Knowing that she was behaving like a child, she decided to walk away without another word, tail tucked between her legs, so to speak, and too angry to feel embarrassed just yet.

If she knew he was watching her until she had vanished completely behind the trees, she would never admit it. Even with the trees and shrubbery hiding her away from view, she could still feel his eyes, calculating and burning into her back. She stubbornly kept her gaze forward, head held high despite the cold rain... just in case that man could still somehow see her.

~~~~~~~~~

Going to bed cold, wet, and alone didn't exactly help with Kayla's attitude, and waking up like that only made it worse.

If Jake had the energy to tease her, -not after the night before, there's no way he'd poke that bear- he'd comment playfully that someone must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. It would be a human phrase that he'd have to explain to his children once they'd overhear him, but alas, it wasn't needed when neither Jake nor Kayla spoke to each other the next day and no teasing happened. Kayla felt a little grateful that her arguments with her brother usually left her in blissful silence for at least a short while, but to be left alone was to be left with one's thoughts.

Despite her grumpy start, Kayla's head was still spinning from yesterday's news. Spider was close, closer than she could've ever hoped for. He could be on a ship, circling the islands at this very moment. Max and Norm looked so concerned when she returned to High Camp last night to tell them when she had learned, and it only fueled the fire in her gut. Kayla could easily grab Thena and fly to Spider's rescue... if it wasn't for her brother's words bouncing back in her head and the clear order to stand down like they were still marines. That and Tonowari's warning also loomed over her like a storm cloud, his tight lip only fueling her guilt when she played back all she had said to him out of anger against Jake. By the time she had made it back to her campsite last night, she immediately wanted to turn back around and seek the olo'eyktan out to apologize. She was an adult. It should be easy.

She scoffed to herself when she thought that. Yeah, it should be easy. But not when you're a Sully. Instead of overthinking it anymore, Kayla returned to sharpening arrows. After sharing a mid-day meal with the other Sullys, she decided to find some alone time on the warm rocks peeking out of the water, looming just over the reef. She took this time to inspect the bow and arrows she was trying to create out of whatever supplies she had. While warriors of the Omatikaya make their bows out of the wood of Hometree, Kayla didn't have that here on the island, so she made do with what she had at her disposal. She found the perfect tree, made out of wood that bent easily to her will, but not enough to snap under pressure. For her first attempt at making her own weapon, Kayla was quite proud, and it was enough of a distraction that she didn't have to think too hard about her situation.

First and foremost, saving Spider was her top priority. That kid had already been away from his home and friends for far too long, and with a military mind, Kayla could only imagine what the teenager might be going through right now. Hence why she needed to save him, and to do that she needed to hurry up with her Iknimaya and stop distracting herself with pretty Metkayina leaders with tattoos.

However, Ronal proves this to be difficult when she, yet again, seeks Kayla out. The Metkayina woman easily rose up to stand behind Kayla on her rock, unbothered by the height nor her rounded belly. And, as blunt as ever, she didn't waste either woman's time in beating around the bush, "You had upset my mate."

The cloud metaphorically above Kayla's head darkened, but she didn't address it, "He shouldn't have interfered with family matters."

It honestly surprised Ronal that Kayla was speaking so boldly in front of the tsahik without any fear of repercussions. The demon woman's manners and patience must be wearing thin after the news of the Sky People closing in on the Sullys' location. Kayla didn't bother to turn around, already aware of those narrowed, suspicious eyes that always seemed permanent on Ronal's face, angry with the urge to lash out at someone who had insulted Tonowari. But, if Kayla had bothered to turn around, she would've instead seen Ronal watching her as if she was analyzing her, trying to piece together the same puzzle her mate no doubt was trying to solve the night before.

"Perhaps you are right," she doesn't get the reaction she was expecting. Whenever Ronal tends to agree with Kayla or compliment her, it usually drives the avatar woman speechless, eyes wide and mouth usually left open. Now, Kayla barely moves other than to continue her task, back still turned to Ronal. The tsahik's upper lip twitched in annoyance, deciding on a different blunt question, "Why do you care so much about the Sky People?"

That earns her a pause, the silence lingering before Kayla continues sharpening her arrows, "I don't."

"And yet you care about..." She thinks back to what her mate had told her when he returned to their marui last night, her distaste still evident on her tongue, "I believe you call him Spider?"

Pricks of irritation rise all over Kayla's skin, and the same words that she's been repeating in her head and to others fall from her lips like a broken record, "That kid is more Na'vi than even me. He was born and raised here, unlike my brother and I, and he learned how to become Na'vi among the Omatikaya, playing and learning and growing up alongside my nieces and nephews. The only reason he doesn't have his own ikran is that he doesn't have the means to bond with one, otherwise, he would have a long time ago. That boy knows the language and culture of the Na'vi far more than I can ever hope to learn... and seeing this place through his eyes helped me learn to love it just as much as he does."

Ronal listened closely, attempting to grasp what Kayla was trying to say. It was hard to picture a demon boy who loved and cherished Eywa and all her creations. There were very few Sky People who respect this world and those who do tend to hide their true faces behind false Na'vi, such as Makayla and Toruk Makto, and those particular Sky People only live among the Omatikaya. Their kind was uncommon anywhere else. Either the Omatikaya didn't have enough spine to turn their chosen Sky People away, or the Forest People saw something worth saving under the watchful eye of the Great Mother.

As the spiritual leader of her clan, Ronal had to believe it was the latter option, but she wasn't as all-knowing as Eywa. Ronal wishes she had the gift of seeing what her goddess saw in humans. Maybe the demons had potential and she had yet to see it.

Only one way to find out. The tsahik turns to walk away, "Come. I have a large fishing net that requires mending."

Kayla sucks in a sharp breath of air, holding it for a moment before slowly exhaling, willing herself to calm down and be mindful. Grabbing her bow and whatever arrows she had managed to make, she did her best to keep her movements loose and relaxed as she willingly followed Ronal back to the village, not wanting to expose how irritated she felt.

They walk through the village and Kayla pointedly keeps her eyes forward, hearing some whispers in Na'vi whenever they pass by any Metkayina. Kayla bit her tongue, translating the language in her head and doing her best not to react in case the Metkayina realized she had heard them, purposely only staring at the back of Ronal's head. She relaxes a little, busying her troubled mind with admiring the texture of the Na'vi woman's hair, and before she knew it, they were at the beach. The fishing net in question was definitely large, stretching out the same width as a tsurak's wingspan. Tonowari was kneeling in the sand, leaning back on the heels of his feet as he worked away at mending said net.

Ah, so that's why Ronal had brought her here. To apologize. Suddenly it was becoming more difficult not to visibly appear irritated with everyone around Kayla who was treating her like a child. Still, she didn't hesitate to humor the tsahik for her hidden agenda and when the chieftain looked up at the sound of footsteps, Kayla flicked her alien fingers from her brow to Tonowari's direction, "I apologize for my temper yesterday, olo'eyktan. I was out of line and disrespectful."

She clenched her other fist when her voice still came out stiff. She kept still while Tonowari's eyes raked up and down her figure, analyzing Kayla while keeping his expression neutral, lips sealed shut and making her nervous as the silence lingered. Even she could admit she deserved the awkwardness after her hostility toward him, but it still unnerved her.

Once she visibly squirms under his gaze, the chief looks away and continues his task, "I will not fault you for simply reacting to the dire news I provided. You are frustrated at the idea of a boy in danger. Children are sacred to Eywa. We would not blame you for simply trying to protect a child."

Ronal clears her throat and Tonowari's ears fall ever so slightly before returning to normal. Kayla felt as though she was having a fucking aneurysm as she witnessed the olo'eyktan of the Metkayina shyly smile up at the avatar as if he didn't have the power to kick her out of the village. To appease his wife, he simply adds, "But you are forgiven."

Satisfied, Ronal lowers to her knees, using a hand on Tonowari's shoulder to help keep her balance before making herself comfortable and placing the net over her lap like a blanket, "Come, Makayla te Suli. Join us."

She felt less irritated by the demand this time, her head still reeling about a mighty clan leader who managed to look less intimidating with just a sheepish smile. Tonowari hums in approval when Kayla finally kneels down to join them, "It's a good day to sit down with some simple work and let your mind relax."

Kayla could clearly hear what the pair was trying to say to her without plainly spelling it out. Deeply sighing through her nose again, she let the scent of the ocean take over her senses and her muscles visibly loosen up under her blue skin. The wind gently caresses her face, the beads in her braided hair moving in tandem like a dance. She takes a part of the fishing net and gets to work, letting her fingers mindlessly weave and mend like she had been taught in the past, clearing her mind.

The three of them work in silence as they often do nowadays, basking in the sun while listening to the sounds of ocean life all around them. Kayla listened to children playing in the shallow water, adult Na'vi indulging in casual chatter that is often drowned out by the occasional splash and the chortle of an ilu. Occasionally, Kayla would spare a glance in her company's direction, and for the most part, Tonowari and Ronal remained silent, eyes glued to their task. There was a time or two, however, when one or both of them looked her way and Kayla could feel the corners of her lips twitch into a faint smile. A pleasant warmth spreads through her body when she receives a smile in kind, even from Ronal. Once the tsahik smiled, Kayla was thrown back to the first time she witnessed such a sight, back when the tulkun returned and Ronal was conversing with her Spirit Sister. Kayla had tried committing that smile to memory given that Ronal had never done so before, but now it was directed at Kayla, and the avatar was struggling to look away from it.

Their peace is interrupted by the sound of a group of ilu approaching the dock nearest to the beach, chattering among themselves and causing a small ruckus. Looking up, Kayla spotted a group of teenagers, and as they walked closer she realized that two of those teenagers belonged to her. Neteyam and Lo'ak were walking with Tsireya, Rotxo, and Ao'nung, each of the teens looking elated or nervous by something.

Neteyam was the first to see Kayla and eagerly waved as they walked up to her, "Auntie! You will not believe what Lo'ak just did."

Kayla snorts in amusement, rising to meet him, net forgotten, "I can believe a lot of things. Hit me."

The boy pauses in his footsteps, sheepishly smiling up at his aunt, "Not seriously though, right?"

She laughed, the rest of her gloomy clouds finally disappearing, "It's just a saying, kiddo. What did he do?"

"He bonded with a tulkun! Can you believe it?" Neteyam reached over and gripped Lo'ak's shoulder, the younger boy looking slightly unsure by the praise, "My baby brother, bonded with the great and mighty tulkun, Payakan!"

"What?!" Ronal roared, getting up faster than Kayla could turn her head.

All teenagers are suddenly frozen to their spots, ears lowered in fear when they remember that Kayla wasn't alone. Ao'nung immediately stepped back at the sight of his parents rising to their full heights, fishing net fully forgotten, while Tsireya tried to play damage control, "Sa'nok, it is not what you might--"

"You look me in the eyes, maite, and tell me exactly what happened," Ronal eyed her daughter down, stepping close until they nearly touched, "Now."

Tsireya shrank in on herself, her eyes darting between her parents, Lo'ak, and then back again, "... We followed Lo'ak beyond the reef. We saw it happen. He... bonded with Payakan."

Both leaders stiffen at the confession, eyes darkening to the point where they made Kayla's attitude from earlier look like sunshine and rainbows. Tonowari was grim, great clouds storming in his eyes as he pointedly stared directly at every teenager, "Come with me. Immediately."

"Rotxo. Go and fetch Toruk Makto and his mate." Ronal demands.

The reef boy runs off the moment he is excused. Since Kayla wasn't dismissed or sent to get her brother, she assumed she was also supposed to follow the clan leaders and so opted to stay in the back of the line, behind the children as they all walked in shame, sticking close to Ronal and Tonowari.

The windchimes dangling outside their marui jingle in greeting as the group approaches, no one saying a word as Ronal beckons them all inside. Tonowari steps up into the pod and the rest of them follow, the children all gathering around the olo'eyktan while Kayla stays toward the back, leaning against the entranceway.

Ronal storms into the marui last and is the first to speak, directing her anger at both of her children while pointing at Lo'ak, "You allowed this! You allowed him to bond with the outcast!"

Tsireya breathes shakily, avoiding eye contact as her father slowly approaches her. Kayla sees movement out of the corner of her eye and notices Jake and Neytiri approaching the marui, hand in hand, their eyes instantly darting to her and then their sons, silently asking her what was happening. Kayla simply shook her head at their wordless question.

"Tsireya."

The poor girl's ears lowered in response to the chief hissing her name, her eyes on the verge of crying as she peered up at her father. Tonowari was relentless in this light, his voice didn't need to be loud and strong to sound so harsh as he muttered, "You disappoint me, daughter."

Tonowari ignores the hurt in Tsireya's expression while he turns to address Lo'ak at the same time he notices Jake and Neytiri finally arrive, pointing to the man who now stands behind the forest boy, "And you, son of a great warrior who has been taught better."

"Payakan saved my life, sir. You don't know him." Lo'ak quickly defends.

"No, Lo'ak." Tsireya gently intervenes.

Her father, quietly enraged and perplexed, gathers his thoughts and motions to Lo'ak, "Sit. Sit," Lo'ak slowly follows the demand, kneeling down across from the chief. When no one else follows suit, Tonowari abruptly shouts, "Sit down!"

Tsireya whimpers, quick to obey her father while Neteyam and Ao'nung slowly follow suit, scared to move too fast as if trying to avoid the wrath of a palulukan. Even Jake and Neytiri lowered themselves into a crouch, just outside the marui, looking in. Once the children are gathered around him, the chief blows sharply, fanning his arms out. It looked as though he was trying to expel whatever demon inside him had encouraged his wrath, collecting himself before he spoke in a more level tone, pointing at Lo'ak, "Hear my words, boy. In the days of the First Songs, tulkun fought amongst themselves," Ronal begins to pace in the background, hand on her heart as if to carry the weight of this story. Kayla, the only one other than Ronal who didn't sit, carefully watches the tsahik while listening to the olo'eyktan's words, "For territory and for revenge. But they came to believe that killing, no matter how justified, only brings more killing. So all killing was forbidden. This is the Tulkun Way. Payakan is a killer, so, he is outcast."

"I'm sorry, sir," Lo'ak exclaimed, "But you're wrong."

"Lo'ak," Neytiri hushed her son, wishing to reach out to him, "You speak to Olo'eyktan!"

"I know what I--"

"That's enough!" Jake roared, driving both Lo'ak and Neteyam to flinch. Even Kayla's heart was ambushed by a small wave of fear, the hair on her skin rising before she quickly stomped the fear down in her gut, letting hidden anger take over as she glared daggers at her brother.

Jake doesn't appear to notice Kayla, and Lo'ak bravely speaks up regardless of the consequences, "I know what I know."

Ronal snarls, displaying her fangs in distaste while Jake quickly moves, his shadow falling over Lo'ak as the boy curls in on himself and refuses to meet anyone's eyes. Jake loomed over his youngest son, teeth bared in barely contained rage, "That's enough," he then looked to Tonowari, "I'll deal with this one."

Without another word, Toruk Makto roughly grabs Lo'ak by the arm and pulls the boy to his feet, dragging him away while Neytiri quietly follows. Kayla considered this lecture over, pushing off the doorway of the marui and turning her head to the remaining forest boy present, "'Teyam."

"Coming." Neteyam rises to full height, respectfully gesturing to Tonowari and Ronal before moving to his aunt, his eyes still wary of them.

Kayla waits until Neteyam joins her side before leaving, holding her gaze on the two clan leaders as she steps outside the pod. Both Ronal and Tonowari stare her down, eyes searching for something in hers, likely seeing where she stood in all of this. She felt apprehensive and it showed on her face, ears lowered as she faintly nodded to the clan leaders before parting, her hand cupping the back of her oldest nephew's neck as she led him away, following their other family members.

She purposely keeps her steps slow and stalls for as long as possible, not wanting Neteyam and herself to walk in on Jake lecturing Lo'ak. Instead, Kayla has Neteyam tell her his side of the story as they walk through the village, trying her best to focus on her nephew's story instead of the pointed stares and hushed whispers she has now become accustomed to hearing. Now that her Na'vi tongue was stronger, she could finally hear what bystanders were saying, and she could faintly see the way Neteyam's ears drooped, only confirming that he had heard the whispers, too. But either for his or his aunt's sake, he didn't say anything about it and instead bravely continued his story. 

Once Neteyam finished explaining everything, starting from when Payakan first saved Lo'ak's life and ending on the events of today, the aunt and nephew return to the pathway leading home and brave themselves for whatever they might face. When they returned to the Sully marui, it appeared as though Jake had just gotten done lecturing Lo'ak and likely grounded him. The second son of Toruk Makto looked like he had just received terrible news, ears pinned back and eyes cast down to his feet, his tail tucked between his legs.

Neytiri and Jake both look up at the sound of Kayla and Neteyam entering the pod, both parents' arms crossed in front of them and tails both waving in annoyance. Jake takes one look at his sister and sees a storm brewing in her eyes, Kayla's gaze subtly flicking to Jake and then Lo'ak. Deciding he needed to get this over with and argue with someone who wasn't afraid to argue back, he steps away from Lo'ak and points to Neteyam, "Your mother will have a talk with you. I'm gonna walk your aunt home." 

Without another word, Jake marched out of the pod and led Kayla back out. They start walking down the pathway and Jake can already feel her eyes on the back of his head. He snarls with irritation, "What?"

"Was that really necessary?"

"He disrespected the olo'eyktan, Kayla," he tilts his head to eye her down with a knowing expression, "You can't disrespect Tonowari, not while he's letting us stay here in good faith."

Kayla rolled her eyes, "Relax. I already apologized about last night and I can see to it that Lo'ak does the same. But I didn't see it as Lo'ak disrespecting an elder. It sounded like he was explaining himself and his actions. Or at least he was trying to whenever you weren't interrupting him."

"It's clear that the Metkayina praise and respect the tulkun and their customs. Not only was Lo'ak outside the reef but he was bonding with a tulkun not even the Metkayina interact with."

"Why does this matter so much to you? Lo'ak is an outcast who bonded with an outcast--"

"He's not an outcast," Jake snapped, "He's Metkayina now and he needs to respect the rules the Metkayina set in place--"

"How could he have known? I was there, Jake. I was listening. Tonowari spoke down on his daughter for not properly informing Lo'ak or stopping him from bonding with Payakan," she snarled, "Not that you would've known that since you were too busy believing that your son was fully to blame. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought your family was only staying here as guests, not permanent residents. Since when did you become Metkayina?"

"It's hard to explain--"

"--Something that isn't true? Yeah, I gathered," Kayla was quick to interrupt, distaste ever prominent on her tongue, "You've been trying to explain that to me back when you said you were Na'vi and not human."

He sighs, resigned and tired by the circle he and Kayla keep going around in, "We already talked about this. I know you think it's easy to juggle two worlds and two different ways of life, but it's not. You'll learn this the longer you stay here."

There it is again. Another comment and another person talking down to her like she was a child. Kayla's only anger returns, flaring up until her own tail betrayed her inner thoughts, the appendage waving erratically behind her. "You can move to different planets, change how you look and how you speak, and move to different clans but that can never change who you are," Jake doesn't respond, instead keeping his eyes forward, focused on the jungle slowly getting closer. Kayla sneered at the clear ploy he was using to try and ignore her, "And sometimes... these people like to remind me. Do you know what the Na'vi call us and your children behind our backs? Vrrtep Mesmuk."

He briefly paused, playing the words in his head before turning his head toward his sister and spelling them out, "Demon Siblings. Who exactly is saying this?"

She shrugged, looking around as they continued to walk, not wanting to see his reaction, "I heard some Metkayina say it when I first arrived, and then once or twice while walking through the village. They're not like the Omatikaya. They don't know you as well as the Forest People do. You might be respected as Toruk Makto, but not as an individual. And neither are your children."

It was clear in his expression that he didn't fully believe her, "I thought we were past you being suspicious of everyone. I thought you trusted the Na'vi."

"Jake, I get I'm not the greatest in speaking Na'vi, but I understand insults when I hear them, even when I'm not meant to understand them. I don't trust people who openly judge me and my family without even knowing us. You've seen what they're capable of if they think we're lesser than them. Your own son got freaking hazed for God's sake! He could've died because of the chief's son's arrogance. Why should I trust someone like that?"

"Are you saying you'd rather be with the Sky People?"

"I don't trust them either!" She shouted back in self-defense, "The only people we can trust are the ones in this family. Trust no one but each other. That's what you and Tommy taught me!"

Jake winced, the words painful and a constant reminder of a troubled past, one that Kayla wouldn't let him easily forget. She continued to drill into him, "These people have done well to remind us that we're demons and nothing more. And unless you expect your son to grow fins overnight, he is Omatikaya and has the right to speak as one of them. Today I noticed how even though he has the right to speak as Omatikaya, you didn't allow him to."

Jake suddenly rears back, spinning around like lightning as his anger flares up again. He glares Kayla down as if he was able to set her on fire with just one look, "Don't tell me how to parent my son until you become a parent yourself. Until then, don't pretend to know what it's like."

Kayla's eyes widen, mouth still open in retort but no sound comes out. When the words sink in, her expression shifts, quickly becoming stone, unreadable, and dark. She stares blankly back at Jake, something vanishing as quickly as it appeared behind her eyes like something was nearly about to burst out but she carefully pulls it back. 

She chooses her next words cautiously like she's about to set off a landmine, "I know enough just by watching you fail. If I ended up having kids tomorrow, I'd already be a better parent because I learned what not to do as I watched you react the way you did today. You tried to parent me once, and you ended up abandoning me. And even though you didn't abandon your children, you still abandoned Spider. Forgive me if I don't believe you have the best track record for ace parenting."

Yet again, her words hit close to home and cut deep into Jake's chest, her words spit like acid now seeping into his skin. She held her ground and kept her gaze on him until he couldn't bear it any longer as if he was staring directly at a blazing sun. Jake breaks the exchange and returns down the path they came from without another word, leaving his sister just along the line of the jungle. His thoughts were a little childish and petty as he begrudgingly stated to himself that she could find the rest of her way back to her camp alone.

~~~~~~~~~

It was only after Jake left that Kayla decided to sever her link and slip back into her human form for the night. Returning to her campsite, she climbs up the tree and secures herself inside her nivi, her eyes slowly slipping shut as she drifts off.

She woke up in her human form lying on her back inside her link gurney. When she opened the gurney and glanced around, Max looked up from his clipboard as he stood beside her link bay, staring with concern through his glasses, "Back again? You do remember that you were just here last night, right?"

"I know, I know. I just..." She slowly sat up, rubbing her forehead, "Have you heard anything?"

"Honestly?" The scientist sighed, setting the clipboard down and rubbing his tired eyes, glasses pushing up to his forehead, "It's... too quiet. Radio silence. RDA channels don't appear to be active and even before you told us about the Recoms and Spider's whereabouts, we didn't hear anything about ships being sent out to the islands. Whatever is happening over there... Ardmore is keeping it top secret. She clearly doesn't want us to know about it even if there wasn't the off chance we couldn't hack their radio chatter."

Kayla simply nodded, hopping off the gurney and grabbing a sweatshirt she had thrown off to the side the night before, slipping her arm through it and then the other, "Okay."

Max peers back at her, hearing the exhaustion and defeat in her voice, "What is it?"

"I have a bad feeling."

He perks up, immediately thinking it had something to do with the neural link, "Nausea?"

"No, I mean... I think something bad is about to happen. Instead of getting further from trouble, Jake's family is now closer than ever."

Max notes the way Kayla's voice is distant and doesn't include herself in her equation about Jake's family, but the scientist wisely doesn't address it, "I know. Keep us updated as often as possible, alright? We won't be able to help if we don't know what's going on."

"Yeah. Have you seen Norm?"

"He volunteered for patrol tonight," she flashes a skeptical expression to which he explains, "Tarsem isn't taking any chances and has ordered double the security. He also thinks something is up."

"Alright. Let 'im know I'll be in my shack when he gets back."

"You got it."

After slipping on a mask and stepping out of the lab, Kayla zips up her sweatshirt and heads in the direction of her bunk, hands in her pockets and shoulders scrunched up, trying to look small and not someone who would be easy to approach and talk to. Luckily, she didn't have a problem getting to the Site 26 shack alone and slipped inside, taking off her mask and getting comfortable sitting at the table, pulling out Norm's whiskey that he now hid from Max by leaving it among Kayla's belongings.

There are more pictures decorating the fridge compared to when Kayla first moved into this place, newer than the ones she brought and the ones that were left behind sixteen years ago. Skimming through the new and recent pictures, she smiled to herself while inspecting one photo that had all of her nieces and nephews surrounding her human self, smiling at the camera together. Another picture had Lo'ak, Kiri, and Spider positioned close together and scrunched in front of the camera like they were taking a selfie, either making faces or in the middle of laughing. Another picture was of Kayla, in her avatar form, posed with Neytiri and Neteyam, all smiling. Kayla likes to put that photo next to another one, an older one, one that Kayla wasn't even a part of. It was a picture of Grace Augustine, in her avatar, holding Na'vi children close to her as they all smiled at the camera. Two of those Na'vi children happen to be a young Neytiri and her sister, Sylwanin. Kayla liked to put her photo and Grace's photo side by side to compare the similarities and differences in Neytiri throughout the years, starting from her eyes, smile, and change of fashion and jewelry.

The hiss of the decompression chamber interrupts Kayla's peace and she straightens up in her chair, pouring two glasses of whiskey just as Norm walks through the door, mask in hand while looking around until he spots her, "Hey, Max said you'd be here. Everything alright? You hear anything from Spider?"

She grimaced, "I doubt he has the means to call me himself, so..."

Norm sucked in a sharp breath and winced, stepping forward and sitting down across from her, "Right. So what's the plan?"

She slides a glass of whiskey to him, "Plan?"

He gratefully accepts the drink, taking a sip before responding, "Well, Max mentioned the Sky People are likely closing in on Jake's location. Are you gonna suggest that you guys move back home?"

Kayla scoffed, taking a sip of her own drink and rolling her lips, "Anything I say to Jake will just go in one ear and out the other, just like everything else I tell him."

"Hm," Norm sombers up, "I take it talking to him isn't going well then."

"It's like talking to a wall. He makes me feel like a broken record sometimes."

"He'll have to listen to you eventually. Maybe after you finish your rites of passage?"

"Which ones?" She asked sarcastically, "My Omatikaya trials or Metkayina?"

He tries his best to playfully smile, "Hey, the best of both worlds wouldn't hurt, right?"

She smiles bitterly. After all, isn't that the exact same thing she's been trying to tell Jake? She tilts her head back until she's able to finish off her whiskey in one gulp, feeling the pleasant burn slowly go down her throat and warm her stomach. Norm decided to fill in the void by talking about his day, telling Kayla how his patrol went and what he had been up to in longer and better detail than when she had initially asked the night before when she last visited. 

Whether it was the whiskey or the friendly chatter, Kayla visibly began to relax, her nerves from before vanishing as she pretended that, just for a moment, everything was at peace in the world-- maybe even the entire universe, "Thanks, Norm. I needed this."

"Anytime. Or at least until the whiskey runs out."

A/N: If you haven't seen it, here's an edit I made for this fic! If you have edits of your own or if you have fanart, please tag me in them I would love to see it!

Let me know either in the comments or in my inbox if you would like to be in the taglist! It's all about to go down in the next chapter so make sure you're the first to know about it 😎

[undercoverbastard]

Judging a Derek by His Cover

“Seriously? You have to ask?” Stiles asked, in a bit of a disbelieving tone. “I mean I-... have you seen you? Resisting you sounds impossible, Derek, I mean seriously. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would tell you no if you gave them even a second look that’s- that’s impossible, you’re-”

Derek had already begun to tune out, a sick feeling crawling from the pit of his stomach upwards. He had grabbed for his shoes, fumbling slightly as he slid them on, in the middle of Stiles’ rambling. Before the other could continue, Derek waved away the rest with a nod.

“Right, right - you’re not… blind,” Derek interrupted. Stiles seemed a bit stunned at the overly neutral tone. Moving past Stiles without looking him properly in the eye, Derek mumbled about needing to get ready. Stiles attempted to stop him, his voice going low once the door opened, but it was of no use.

+.+.+

OR: a fic from the vaults, inspired by modern-day royalty au, derek’s penchant for being sought after just for his looks, and im not sure what else was going on in my brain at the time tbh

Word Count: 4387

———

“I have to get ready,” Derek said, pushing himself up and out of the bed. He sighed, sitting on the edge, staring at his hands a bit blankly. He wished he could freeze time - stay in moments like these. These moments are stolen in between chores and tasks, family and staff. He didn’t want to have to leave.

“Oh?” Stiles asked, stretching out lazily, tucking his hands behind his head. “What’s on the agenda today, sir prince?”

The tone was teasing but it made Derek cringe. Another reminder. He didn’t hate his position or his family or his people or any of it - he loved Beacon and his family was amazing and he adored being able to be a part of what made all of it. But, his position - his title - came with limitations. Expectations.

“Some gathering,” Derek mumbled, ducking his head a bit lower, “my mom says it’s in celebration of the peace treaties - ten years this week. But…”

“But…?” Stiles prompted, moving to curl behind Derek, his chin resting on a pillow as he gazed up at the other’s face. Derek cut his eyes to the side, letting the slightest of smiles curve across his lips before it fell off again. That was another one of Stiles’ talents - his ability to make Derek laugh and smile, no matter the day or its events.

“But,” Derek gathered a deep breath, “she’s been hinting at… socializing, at dating. She keeps bringing up names and countries and heirs and… I don’t know. She keeps mentioning Braeden and just…”

Stiles moved away, crawling up to a sitting position himself. Derek cast a look back at the other, waiting for some sort of response. It took a minute, Stiles facing away from him and seemingly fiddling with his shirt and hair. When he turned back he had a wide grin, cheeky and teasing.

“Oh you’ll do fine, Der, who could ever resist you? Huh?” Stiles said, giving him a nod of appreciation. It made Derek’s throat dry up, a reminder creeping in.

“Resist me…” Derek repeated a bit dumbly, staring now to the side of Stiles’ head, looking unseeingly out the window on the opposite side of the room. He heard Stiles give a huff of laughter, saw the shaking of his head from his peripheral.

“Obviously,” Stiles scoffed, “they’d have to be blind!” And that’s when Derek’s blood ran a bit cold, color draining from his face ever so slightly. “Anyways, I should - uh- get going. Let you get ready for the party and all that.”

Stiles stood up, fingers carding through his hair before tugging at and smoothing down his shirt. They’d laid lazily in the spare room for hours, taking turns carding fingers through one another’s hair, biting lingering kisses into one another’s lips, straddling each other’s laps as they got lost in the quietness disturbed only by soft groans and gasps. It had been bliss, those couple hours together. It was one of the only times Derek didn’t feel like he was on display or out of place to some degree. It felt right. Comfortable.

Staying quiet, Derek watched as Stiles stood up, slipping his shoes back on and fretting over his clothes again. He was always busy, mind and body in constant motion even if it didn’t make sense. It used to infuriate Derek when Stiles first began working in the library - he could never focus with the other’s mumbles and murmurs and humming and moving. It was chaotic in the smallest of ways. Now, though, he felt restless if Stiles didn’t move - his skin felt prickled if the younger man stayed still too long, a wrongness about it.

Before Stiles could open the door and sneak a look outside before he darted out, Derek asked, “Why didn’t you?”

Stiles paused, looking at the other in confusion and a half tilt of his head. “Why… why didn’t you resist me or - turn me down? Why?” Derek elaborated. His voice held steady and sounded normal but his heart was lodged in his throat and the tips of his fingers felt numb.

The question at least gave Stiles pause. He stepped back closer in the room, an incredulous look on his face once his mind seemed to catch up. He began waving, hands exaggeratedly emphasizing the length of Derek’s form still sitting on the bed before he gave an answering huff.

“Seriously? You have to ask?” Stiles asked, in a bit of a disbelieving tone. “I mean I-... have you seen you? Resisting you sounds impossible, Derek, I mean seriously. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would tell you no if you gave them even a second look that’s- that’s impossible, you’re-”

Derek had already begun to tune out, a sick feeling crawling from the pit of his stomach upwards. He had grabbed for his shoes, fumbling slightly as he slid them on, in the middle of Stiles’ rambling. Before the other could continue, Derek waved away the rest with a nod.

“Right, right - you’re not… blind,” Derek interrupted. Stiles seemed a bit stunned at the overly neutral tone. Derek always spoke in an even manner, known for being a bit brasher in his tone than others but fairly neutral and even overall - it was a mark of the Hale family, after all. To be balanced in all ways. He couldn’t risk being too nice or too rude. He may toe the line of overly curt and brash but he was never outright cold with his words. But even he could hear it - the change in his voice. It was exceptionally vague - not a hint of brashness. He was as even as his mother in her political discussions - unreadable.

Moving past Stiles without looking him properly in the eye, Derek mumbled about needing to get ready. Stiles attempted to stop him, his voice going low once the door opened, but it was of no use. Even the soft touch to Derek’s shoulder as he stepped out slid off with just a single step, allowing the steadily growing wall between them to commence.

Derek tried not to think about it. Shoved the thoughts out of his mind as he left the mostly empty hall and trailed back to his own room. He shouldn’t have thought Stiles would be interested in anything else besides his looks. It was, after all, his saving grace. After Kate’s stunt years back, most people averted their eyes - unable to meet Derek’s. It lingered with some, but it only took a year or two at most before he was once more a display.

Giggling visitors from other countries bashfully complimented him on how handsome he was, eyes raking up and down his body at parties and celebrations. Tabloids posted dozens of photos whenever he left the palace - endless remarks of his looks and how well clothes fit him and how others were sure the good looks didn’t stop at just his face pouring from every media outlet in the country and even in others.

He was used to it. He smiled his practiced smile, knew when to bow his head and murmur thanks. He was used to the squeezes to his bicep when being requested to dance and the lingering eyes of his partners. But that was it. Even Kate had said so when she still played the part of smitten girlfriend.

She’d tease him for his quiet nature and his lack of ability to feed into normal conversations. He could talk policy as needed and he had a plethora of books surrounding philosophers, history, and even art at his disposal - but they were drab topics outside of negotiations and proper business. And even if the analysis of Picasso’s The Old Guitarist was one Derek found interesting and showed the necessity of the arts and their value to civilizations old and new, Kate didn’t want to hear about it. Besides, even with his most impassioned topics on the table he still was a man of few words. Part of that came from being the son of the reigning Queen of Beacon, another part came from Kate’s backhanded nature.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Derek earned his keep with his looks. He was a nice face to look at and a figure that harnessed desire. Either no one cared what else he might be able to offer or his lack of personality drove them back to their distanced gazes. Just because Stiles could quote at least one line from every book Derek has ever picked up since he started working in the library and just because Stiles had enough words for five people let alone a conversation of two didn’t mean he wouldn’t be the same.

It was to be expected.

+.+.+

Several hours later found Derek in one of his more casual attires but one fit for a prince nonetheless. The party and celebration were not one for hosting political affairs - they were for rejoicing. Sure, it was shared amongst several other visiting countries, and the sprawling room and subsequent halls were filled with faces far and wide, but none of them came to talk about further negotiations, treaties, or trade options. They all came to eat, dance, and laugh - embracing the decade’s worth of peace since King Christopher took his father’s place in Silvenia and ended the wars and trade blocks.

Derek stood off to the side, doing his best to obscure himself as much as possible in the throng of people. He’d eaten, he’d talked to his family, and he’d even danced with several people. He had done his share, he thought. This was meant to be enjoyed, and he enjoyed being alone.

He couldn’t, however, forever hide from Braeden. He’d seen his mother walking with her, laughing. His mother’s eyes seemed to search the crowd, trying to find him, and he did his best to slink away before she caught a whiff of his location. He’d done a good job so far, but he knew it was a fruitless endeavor to try and avoid her all night. It had only been two hours and the celebration would more than likely go well into the night. His mother would find him eventually.

Musing the odds of success if he were to try and slink away to his room or possibly to the gardens for a couple of hours to avoid detection a bit longer, Derek zoned out momentarily - unaware of his surroundings. He acknowledged the movement of others, the change in music, but it was all background noise in his mind. Which is why it was the perfect time for him to be found.

Just not by his mother, it seemed.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, gently laying a hand on his arm, eyebrows scrunched up in concern. “You okay?”

Shaking himself out of his clouded thoughts, Derek nodded and went to pull away from Stiles’ touch - planning to test out his garden escape. He should’ve been looking out for the man. After all, Stiles has been a regular attendee of nearly all the Hale family’s gatherings and parties for over 10 years. His father was now the Head of Palace Guards and his mother had once overseen the library he now worked in. Stiles’ presence was all but guaranteed between his two parents both working in the palace on a daily basis. Derek had just distantly hoped he wouldn’t approach him here - similar to all previous events.

“Then you wouldn’t mind me asking for a dance, would you?” Stiles asked, his eyebrows now unscrunched, one raised in question as he held out his hand. Derek stared for a moment, bewildered.

In all the years Stiles had attended these gatherings, he’d never once asked to dance with Derek - he rarely spoke to him. He’d danced with Cora once or twice, the two having been closer as kids since they were the same age and Cora deciding Stiles was the perfect partner for her scheming ploys. But even now in recent times, since Derek and Stiles had begun their… whatever it was between them, he had never asked. It had been nearly a year of sneaking into hidden library corners, empty guest rooms, and ducking into stable stalls - stealing kisses, fingers unbuttoning shirts, hands roaming skin. In that same time over a handful of parties, political events, and other such gatherings had come to pass of all different magnitudes and Stiles had all but avoided Derek.

Cautiously, Derek put down the drink in his hand and laid the other in Stiles’ open palm. He let the other pull him seamlessly into the throng of moving bodies. The music wasn’t slow enough for proper dance steps but it wasn’t fast enough to deter other couples from swaying and moving across the floor together. Blessedly, Stiles moved into the crowd and guided one of Derek’s hands to his waist, clasping the other in his hand while Stiles laid his second hand on Derek’s shoulder.

No one really led in this dance, but Stiles letting him control the speed and direction was a godsend as he was sure to stumble if he had to follow. Derek was sure he had Cora to thank for that, as he recalled his younger sister demanding to be the lead and making a young, 11-year-old Stiles learn to follow in all their dance numbers. He recalls hiding smirks and laughs behind his hand and drinks, watching the two kids stumble about when Stiles accidentally went to lead them and Cora stubbornly refused to follow.

He pushed those memories aside, trying to remove the fond film he’s learned to lay over all the memories with Stiles in them. He doesn’t know when he’d begun to do it, but it was harder than he’d expected to try and stop it.

“You left kinda fast earlier,” Stiles finally murmured, voice low as his eyes danced around the room. They got a couple of second glances, those who knew of Stiles’ position a bit surprised to find the two dancing together. Sure, he danced with Cora over the years, but that was largely when they were kids and it was cute - something for the adults to coo over and take pictures of.

“Yes,” Derek answered simply. He didn’t know what Stiles wanted and he preferred to keep his cards close to his chest. Stiles huffed at the minimal response, a fond eye roll following it shortly after.

“Okay, thanks for that,” Stiles teased, “what I meant is why? Did- did I say something to upset you? Did something happen - are you okay?”

Even in shorter sentences, Stiles still somehow rambled. His tempo was a bit too fast, his tone of voice wavering and pitching in odd places, teeth biting at his lips as he came up with a dozen more thoughts - his face mirroring his reaction to each one in live action. Derek quelled the amusement he found in the mannerisms.

“Just wanted to leave.”

At this, Stiles seemed to stutter in movement, feet delayed and causing the two to stumble momentarily. Both of Derek’s hands moved to hold him at the waist, righting him before he could fall while Stiles’ hands both gripped Derek’s shoulders to help anchor himself. They found themselves closer together, the stance becoming a bit more personal and intimate than before.

“Leave… me?” Stiles whispered quietly, looking over Derek’s shoulder. Derek stayed quiet, unsure how to answer without giving too much away. “Is it because of what I said? That I’m attracted to you? Did that upset you?” It was Derek’s turn to bring a stutter to their movements, going rigid. He thankfully composed himself much quicker, only setting them off by a step at most that was easily regained.

“I don’t have an issue with you finding me attractive, Stiles,” Derek sighed, “like you said, who isn’t.”

It wasn’t a question. But he couldn’t control the bite that came out with the last two words, a bit of a sarcastic drawl underlining his words. At this, Stiles snapped his eyes to the side, looking questioningly at his dance partner. Derek didn’t explain any further, instead avoiding direct eye contact as best he could while still dancing.

“Is that…” Stiles’ words faltered, dying off. Even without looking at his face, Derek could see his thoughts play out. He swear he could hear the gears grinding in his head as he raced through all possible questions, answers, scenarios, and each of their meanings in a span of a few seconds. It would never cease to impress and exasperate Derek how Stiles thought just as quickly as he spoke - often one blending into the other without filter or regard for how his words came out.

“Der,” Stiles said, his voice suddenly a bit louder and demanding. Derek just raised his eyebrows in response, gaze still not meeting Stiles’. The younger boy huffed, hides sliding up from Derek’s shoulders to grip either side of his face and force Derek to look at him before he continued speaking. “What I said was true. I don’t know any sane person who would turn you down, but - that’s not the only reason I’m attracted to you. You know that, right? You have to know that.”

Derek swallowed the lump in his throat, giving a partial shrug to try and show his indifference on the matter. It seemed to be the wrong response, however, when Stiles growled out low in frustration, his fingers digging in a bit more into Derek’s skin and demanding his attention.

“You have to know,” he said, incredulous. “You think - what? All this time I just wanted some casual… fling? That I just saw a pretty face and that was all it took? A pretty face and I spend hours sneaking away from my work, hiding from my dad, skirting around guards?”

Stiles paused, but not long enough for Derek to actually respond. He shook his head as if in disbelief before continuing, “Is that it? You thought I just wanted to fuck around with you? Jesus Christ, how shallow do you think I am? Better yet! How stupid?! If I just wanted someone for their looks why would I go after a prince? A prince, Derek. I know we’re evolved and all but I’m sure your mom would still approve a hanging or beheading or some other medieval offing of me, fuck.”

Derek couldn’t help but crack a wry grin at Stiles’ vomit of words, head ducking down slightly as he tamped down on his laughter. The idea of his mother not only approving but requesting a beheading seemed comical - the woman was terse and poised, levelheaded beyond compare, but she was also the same woman who cried over Animal Planet at 9 PM on a Tuesday after seeing a crocodile eat a baby zebra. She blubbered about ‘the poor baby’ for half an hour, squeezing Cora into a smushed hug against her chest and all but breaking Derek’s bones as she held his hand. It was a hilarious thought, all things considered.

Stiles’ noise of exasperation broke him from his daddling thoughts, surprising Derek. Another thing Stiles was good at; even without trying, he got Derek lost in his own rambling thoughts - Stiles’ jabber and ranting offering endless avenues of thought and consideration, even if absurd. It was a nice change of pace, having something to ponder and get lost in. Something that was entertaining and not all too important that demanded his full focus or response all at once.

“Derek, I am about to make a damn fool of myself and if someone overhears this and then sees you walk away from me I think I’ll be forced to exile myself but, Jesus fuck , here it goes,” Stiles let out a long breath, eyes closing briefly before reopening and settling on Derek as if he were a target. “I am in-fucking-love with you. I love how you speak with your eyebrows and eye rolls better than any person can with words. I love how you obsessively read fucking historical books and pour over goddamn poetry and art journals. I love how you get spaced out when we talk about centuries-old plays and hundred-year-old paintings as if you can’t comprehend what they mean and are stunned by their mere existence. I love how you talk and sound like you’re thinking of murdering me and then just- laugh! And god, your laugh - I still can’t figure out if it’s your smile or your laugh that’s my favorite. And, fuck- I just… I can’t think of a single thing I don’t obsessively think about when it comes to you. And of course, of course, you’re fucking beautiful - work of art, walking god, all the usuals - but I… I just love being with you.”

They stopped dancing, coming to a halt in the middle of the mass of people. Derek is sure the song changed, people who still lingered a bit further away now going through similar steps and movements he couldn’t be bothered to recall or put a name to. He also knew they were being watched - hell, he’s sure half a dozen people caught at least half of that spiel, with Stiles’ voice raising in tone and pitch and volume like crazy throughout as if he couldn’t control it.

He felt a bit punch drunk, in a way. He didn’t know if he should be embarrassed that Stiles caught him wistfully zoning out over paintings or if he should laugh at the fact that Stiles has somehow done what not even his family has by being able to read and understand his responses just by facial expressions alone. It felt like a weight had been removed from his shoulders but his stomach felt heavy, stirring with nerves.

“You love me?” he finally asked. Stiles groaned, smacking his head against the curve of his own arm that rested against Derek’s shoulder. He was muttering and cursing quietly.

“I only repeated it about a hundred times but, yes. Yes - I love you. I am in love with you, I will figure out all the euphemisms to say it and learn it in as many languages as I can. Hell, I’ll do it old school - find a fucking boombox and sta-”

Stiles’ remaining rant cut off as Derek pulled his chin up, pressing a harsh kiss against the other’s lips. It wasn’t soft or biting, just… hard. Solid. Reassuring. Stiles helped quell the bruising press of lips by softly dragging a thumb over Derek’s cheek, the gesture making the kiss soften until they both were pulling away. Stiles looked awestruck, eyes dancing and sliding side to side to take in the room before ultimately landing once more on Derek’s face, a pleased grin taking over his face as their eyes met.

“I’ve been stupidly in love with you ever since you began singing that awful song when I tried to explain what a Blue Period was and then I kept humming it all week because it was stuck in my head,” Derek offered as an explanation for his actions. Stiles paused, eyebrows pulled together in consideration for a second before he broke out into loud laughter, probably remembering the exact scene from two years prior. If no one saw them before they surely had garnered enough people’s attention by now.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since you told Harris off for making me cry during the Polka,” Stiles grinned. It was Derek’s turn to bark out a laugh, louder than he had laughed in a while. He remembered that, it was 8 years ago - when Stiles and Cora were still learning various dances. Cora had to learn for the sake of her title and appearance, Stiles was just the poor culprit she wrangled into the mess and who could barely keep time with the three-step beat, leading to lots of stumbling and Harris berating him before Derek growled out a retort about being so pathetic to bully a child.

Derek remembered it as a scarring experience, Stiles refusing to dance for two weeks after. Stiles, however, decided it was the moment in which he’d fall in love with a then-angry, overly private 16-year-old that barely even spoke to him. Derek wasn’t sure which moment of realization was more absurd between them.

“You were thirteen !”

“And I was in love!”

It got quiet between the two, both of them just grinning at the other. Neither bothered to realize just how quiet it had gotten, or how much space had been carved out around them during their conversation. They were lost in their own world, ignorant to the rest of the room around them.

It wasn’t until a minute or two passed when a cleared throat caught their attention, making them realize the quieter atmosphere and their center stage set up among the crowd. Talia - Queen Talia - stood beside them, a knowing smirk on her face as she regarded them with a raised eyebrow, hands clasped in front of her.

Stiles gave a half-choked squawk in realization while Derek bowed his head, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. They separated abruptly, standing side by side to face Talia head-on.

“So,” Talia broke the silence, “I don’t think I’ll be introducing you to Braeden anytime soon. Seeing as you already have a boyfriend, hm?”

Stiles choked again, some mangled word dying in his throat, while Derek simply looked up at his mom with a deer-in-the-headlights look. When she gave a pointed tilt of her head, eyes shooting to Stiles as the younger man seemed paralyzed on the spot, Derek knew she was encouraging him to confirm. To say something .

“Yes,” he finally managed to pull out, his hand reaching out to grasp Stiles’ and squeezing it in question. When he got an immediate squeeze in response, he gave his mother a wide, genuine smile. “I’m dating Stiles.”

With that, Talia seemed pleased. She clapped her hands, announced that further celebration was to commence, and then left them as they were. It was oddly anti-climatic, the room returning to its usual activity and volume as before - only sneaky side glances were thrown their way in curiosity. It was easy for Derek to pull Stiles back to the outskirts of the room, however, the two of them were unable to stop glancing at each other and sharing smiles.