#i don’t even feel like i accomplished anything. they gave me a piece of paper and called it a bachelors degree…

[livvyofthelake]

the further out i get from graduating the more i genuinely think like. what the fuck was that.

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 13

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4.5k

warning; /

notes; Enjoy this chapter ;))

here is the link for part 12 or part 14

---

The morning was crisp and clear as you stood outside your apartment, waiting for Cassian to arrive. You had spent the last few days organizing your paperwork into a large, sturdy pouch, and now it was finally time to take everything to Rhys at the House of Wind. The pouch was heavy, filled with all the contacts, contracts, and notes you’d gathered over the years, and you slung it over your shoulder with a sense of accomplishment.

Cassian arrived with his usual swagger, a wide grin on his face as he approached. “Ready to go?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he took in the size of the pouch.

You nodded, but gave him a stern look. “Yes, but I’m warning you—be careful while flying. If you make me lose even one of these papers, you’ll be the one going after it.”

Cassian threw his head back and laughed, his wings spreading wide as he prepared to take off. “No promises! But I’ll do my best. Just hold on tight.”

You rolled your eyes, already sensing that this flight was going to be anything but smooth. You handed the pouch to Cassian, who slung it over his shoulder with ease, and then he scooped you up in his arms, his wings giving a powerful beat as he lifted off the ground.

The initial ascent was smooth enough, but as soon as you were high above the city, Cassian couldn’t resist the urge to show off. He banked sharply to the left, and then to the right, his laughter ringing out as he swooped and dove through the sky.

“Cassian!” you shouted, your grip on his shirt tightening as you clung to him. “Stop messing around! I swear, if you drop me or that pouch—”

He just laughed harder, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Come on, Y/N! Where’s your sense of adventure?”

You glared at him, but the truth was, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Despite your protests, there was something exhilarating about the way he flew, the wind rushing past you, the city of Velaris spread out far below.

But then Cassian executed a particularly sharp dive, and your stomach lurched. You instinctively grabbed his shirt with both hands, your heart racing. “Cassian, I swear, if you don’t stop—”

He looked down at you, still grinning but with a touch of concern in his eyes. “You’re not scared, are you?” he teased, though his voice held a note of reassurance.

“I’m not scared,” you grumbled, though your grip on his shirt betrayed you. “Just… let’s get there in one piece, alright?”

Cassian chuckled, his laughter more good-natured this time. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. But you have to admit, it’s kind of fun.”

You huffed, but you couldn’t deny the thrill that came with flying like this, even if Cassian’s antics were a bit much. “Maybe just a little,” you admitted begrudgingly.

Cassian’s grin widened as he leveled out the flight, making the rest of the journey smoother and more comfortable. You could feel the tension in your body slowly easing as you relaxed into his hold, the wind cooling your cheeks as you soared over the city.

Before long, the House of Wind came into view, its imposing structure perched high above the cliffs of Velaris. Cassian began his descent, this time taking care to land gently on the balcony, much to your relief.

Once on solid ground, he set you down carefully, still chuckling as he adjusted the pouch on his shoulder. “See? No harm done.”

You shot him a mock glare, but the corner of your mouth quirked up in a smile. “Next time, I’m bringing a parachute.”

Cassian laughed heartily at that, handing you the pouch as you both made your way inside. “You might just need it if you keep flying with me.”

The two of you continued down the hallway, the familiar corridors of the House of Wind greeting you with their grand architecture and expansive views of the city below. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation as you approached Rhysand’s study, the pouch of documents growing heavier in your hand with each step.

Cassian knocked on the door, his usual confidence returning as he pushed it open and gestured for you to enter. “After you, Y/N. Rhys is expecting you.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you stepped into the room. Rhysand looked up from his desk, a welcoming smile on his face as he saw you.

“Y/N,” he greeted warmly, standing to meet you. “I’ve been looking forward to this. I hear you’ve been busy.”

You nodded, returning his smile as you set the pouch on his desk. “Very busy. I’ve gone through everything, and I think I’ve found some contacts and resources that could be really beneficial for the Night Court.”

Rhysand’s eyes gleamed with interest as he opened the pouch, glancing at the neatly organized documents inside. “I can’t wait to go through all of this. Thank you, Y/N. I know it must have been a lot of work.”

“It was,” you admitted, “but it was worth it. I’m glad I could contribute.”

Rhysand looked at you with a mix of gratitude and respect. “Your help is invaluable, Y/N. The Night Court is lucky to have you.”

You felt a warmth in your chest at his words, the sense of belonging you’d felt growing stronger with each passing day. 

As you settled into a chair across from Rhysand, Cassian leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he listened in. The study was as grand as you remembered, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city below. The soft light of the morning filtered through, casting a warm glow over the room as you began to unpack the contents of the pouch.

Rhysand watched with keen interest as you spread the documents and notes across the desk, each one carefully labeled and organized. “You’ve certainly been busy,” he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You nodded, feeling a sense of pride in the work you’d done. “I wanted to make sure I had everything in order before presenting it to you. There’s a lot to go over, but I think you’ll find it valuable.”

Rhysand leaned forward, his attention fully on you. “I’m all ears, Y/N. Show me what you’ve found.”

You took a deep breath and began, starting with the contacts you’d established across Prythian and the continent. “First, I’ve categorized the producers and merchants who have been reliable over the years. These are people who can be trusted for high-quality goods and services, whether it’s raw materials, finished products, or even discreet services that might be needed for more sensitive operations.”

You handed Rhysand a list, each name accompanied by notes on their strengths and specialties. He scanned the document, nodding thoughtfully as he took in the information.

“There’s also a section on the Day Court,” you continued, moving on to the next set of documents. “Helion’s court is rich in resources, and they’re very open to trade and alliances. I’ve worked with several of his advisors in the past, and they’ve always been straightforward and reliable. I think strengthening our relationship with the Day Court could be incredibly beneficial for the Night Court, especially in terms of shared resources and knowledge.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Helion is a valuable ally, and I agree—building on that relationship could open up a lot of opportunities for us.”

You smiled, encouraged by his response. “The Winter Court is another option. Kallias is cautious, but he’s also fair. I’ve had good dealings with him, and I think with the right approach, we could establish a stronger alliance there as well. They have access to resources that could complement what we have here in the Night Court, particularly when it comes to trade routes and certain raw materials.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful as he considered your words. “Our relationship with Kallias are decent, and I’ve been meaning to find ways to deepen our ties with the Winter Court. Your insight will be invaluable in that.”

You nodded, feeling a growing sense of confidence as you continued. “I’ve also included some contacts on the continent—merchants, nobles, and even a few courtiers who could be useful if we ever need to expand our reach beyond Prythian. These are people I’ve built relationships with over the years, and I believe they could be valuable allies if approached correctly.”

Rhysand took the document you handed him, his eyes scanning the names and notes with keen interest. “This is… impressive, Y/N. I knew you had connections, but I didn’t realize just how extensive your network was.”

You felt a flush of pride at his words, but you remained focused on the task at hand. “I’ve spent a lot of time building these relationships, and I’m glad they can be of use to the Night Court. I believe that with the right approach, we can create strong partnerships and alliances that will benefit us all.”

Rhysand looked up from the documents, his expression one of genuine admiration. “You’ve done more than just gather information, Y/N. You’ve laid the groundwork for something truly significant. This network you’ve built—it’s not just valuable; it’s powerful. And it could change the way we interact with the other courts and the continent.”

You felt a swell of emotion at his words, the weight of the past few weeks lifting slightly as you realized just how much your efforts were appreciated. “Thank you, Rhys. I’m just glad I could contribute.”

Rhysand smiled, a warm, approving smile that made you feel truly valued. “You’ve done more than contribute, Y/N. You’ve given us a path forward, one that I believe will be crucial in the days to come.”

Cassian, who had been silently listening, finally spoke up, a grin on his face. “I told you she’s a force to be reckoned with, Rhys.”

Rhysand chuckled, nodding in agreement. “That she is. And I’m grateful to have you on our side, Y/N.”

You returned his smile, a sense of fulfillment settling in your chest. The work you’d done was important, and it was clear that Rhysand saw the value in it. And as you sat there, surrounded by the supportive presence of Cassian and the genuine respect of Rhysand, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

The rest of the meeting was spent discussing the next steps, how to approach the various contacts and what strategies might be most effective. Rhysand was thorough, asking questions and offering insights, but he also trusted your judgment, allowing you to take the lead in certain areas.

By the time the meeting concluded, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The Night Court was more than just a place you had found refuge—it was a place where you could make a difference, where your skills and knowledge were not only valued but crucial.

As you stood to leave, Rhysand walked you to the door, his expression still filled with that same warm admiration. “Thank you again, Y/N. I’m looking forward to seeing how all of this unfolds. And remember, you’re always welcome here—both as an advisor and as a friend.”

You smiled, touched by his words. “Thank you, Rhys. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

With a final nod, you and Cassian made your way out of the study and back into the bustling corridors of the House of Wind. The flight back home would be less nerve-wracking, you were sure, but the sense of accomplishment and belonging would stay with you long after you touched back down.

——

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting Velaris in a soft, dusky glow as you made your way to the Town House. The familiar path felt comforting, and there was a sense of anticipation bubbling in your chest as you approached the grand doors. It had been a week since Azriel had left for the Illyrian camps, and tonight’s dinner would mark his return.

As you entered the Town House, the warm light from within greeted you, along with the familiar sound of laughter and conversation drifting from the dining room. You could already hear Cassian’s booming voice, followed by Mor’s playful retorts, and you couldn’t help but smile at the lively atmosphere.

You were just about to step into the dining room when you felt strong arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you into a warm, familiar embrace. The scent of pine and shadows surrounded you, and you instantly knew who it was. 

“Azriel,” you whispered, a smile spreading across your face as you leaned back into his embrace.

He didn’t say anything at first, just held you close, his chin resting gently on the top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart—everything about the moment felt right, like a piece of your world had finally clicked back into place.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, carrying all the weight of the past week.

“I missed you too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you placed your hands over his, squeezing gently.

After a few moments, he released you, and you turned to face him, your heart swelling at the sight of his familiar, handsome face. Azriel’s eyes, dark and intense, softened as they met yours, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Without a word, he took your hand and led you into the dining room, where the rest of the Inner Circle was already seated around the table. The room was filled with warmth and laughter, the scent of roasted meats and fresh bread mingling with the crackling fire in the hearth.

“Y/N!” Mor’s voice called out as you stepped into the room, her face lighting up with a bright smile. She was already seated at the table, a glass of wine in hand. “Come join us! We were just talking about you.”

You chuckled, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as you made your way to the table. “Hopefully, all good things?”

“Of course,” Cassian chimed in with a grin, raising his glass in a mock toast. “We were just saying how you’ve been holding down the fort while we’ve been off dealing with our own chaos.”

Rhysand, seated at the head of the table, offered you a warm smile as you took your seat. “We’re glad you could make it, Y/N. And thank you again for all the work you’ve done these past few days.”

You nodded, returning his smile. “It was my pleasure. I’m just glad I could help.”

As you settled into your seat, you glanced around the table, noticing that everyone seemed to be in high spirits. The table was laden with food—roasted meats, fresh bread, and an array of vegetables and fruits, all arranged with care. The scent of the meal filled the air, mingling with the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth.

You took your seat next to Azriel, the two of you sharing a quiet moment as the others continued their conversation. His presence beside you was a comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you were never truly alone.

As dinner was served, the conversation flowed easily around the table. Mor and Cassian kept the mood light with their banter, while Rhysand and Amren occasionally chimed in with wry comments. The laughter was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing into the evening, the weight of the past few weeks lifting with each passing moment.

At one point, Cassian leaned over to Azriel, nudging him with his elbow. “So, Az, anything exciting happen while you were away? Or was it the usual—fighting, training, and scaring the recruits?”

Azriel smirked, shaking his head. “Nothing too exciting. Just the usual chaos. But I did bring back some interesting reports for Rhysand. We’ll go over them tomorrow.”

“Always the diligent one,” Mor teased, raising her glass in a toast. “But we’re glad to have you back, Az. It’s not the same without you.”

Azriel gave her a rare, genuine smile, lifting his own glass in response. “It’s good to be back.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you couldn’t help but feel a deeper connection to the group. This was more than just a dinner—it was a reunion of friends, of family. And as you glanced around the table, you realized just how lucky you were to have found a place among them.

As the meal continued, the conversation eventually turned to lighter topics—stories of past adventures, plans for future missions, and even a few playful jabs at each other’s expense. At one point, Cassian launched into a particularly embarrassing story about Rhysand’s early days as High Lord, much to everyone’s amusement.

But through it all, you were acutely aware of Azriel’s presence beside you. Every now and then, your hands would brush, or your knees would bump under the table, and each touch sent a pleasant warmth spreading through you. It was as if, despite the lively conversation around you, there was an unspoken connection between the two of you—a bond that had grown stronger during his absence.

As dessert was served—a decadent chocolate cake that Mor had insisted on—you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment settle over you. The laughter, the warmth, the feeling of being surrounded by people who cared for you—it was exactly what you needed.

---

The night had been perfect, filled with laughter, warmth, and the kind of comfort that only comes from being surrounded by those you care about. As the evening began to wind down, you found yourself feeling content, your earlier anxieties having melted away in the presence of your friends—and especially in the presence of Azriel.

But as you moved to help clear the table, you noticed Azriel and Rhysand slipping away toward Rhys’s study, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Something about the way they moved, the seriousness in their expressions, caught your attention, and you couldn’t help but follow them with your gaze as they disappeared down the hallway.

You hesitated for a moment, then quietly stepped closer to the door, the faint sound of their voices drifting out from the slightly ajar door.

“…have you told her yet?” Rhysand’s voice was low, but you could hear the concern in it.

There was a pause, and then Azriel’s voice, quieter but clear, responded. “Not yet. I… I haven’t found the right moment.”

Rhys sighed softly. “Az, she deserves to know. You’re her mate. This isn’t something you can hide forever.”

Your heart stopped. The world around you seemed to fade away, and all you could hear were those words echoing in your mind. Mate. Azriel is my mate.

The realization hit you like a blow, your breath catching in your throat as the full weight of it settled over you. The bond you had felt, the connection that had been growing between you—it all made sense now. But the suddenness of it, the fact that you hadn’t known, left you reeling.

You felt as if the floor had dropped out from under you, your pulse racing as you struggled to process what you had just heard. A part of you wanted to burst into the room, to demand answers, to confront Azriel about why he hadn’t told you. But another part of you was too stunned, too overwhelmed to do anything but stand there, frozen.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, to calm the storm of emotions raging inside you. You couldn’t let them see that you had overheard. Not now. Not like this.

With a shaky exhale, you turned and made your way back to the living room, your face carefully composed, even as your mind raced. As you entered the room, Mor looked up, concern flickering in her eyes.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” she asked, her tone gentle.

You managed a smile, though it felt hollow, and nodded. “I’m fine, Mor. Just… thinking about the night, that’s all.”

Mor studied you for a moment longer, as if sensing that something was off, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she gave you a warm smile and a quick hug. “Alright. If you say so.”

Before you could respond, Azriel and Rhysand returned to the room, their conversation evidently finished. You could feel Azriel’s gaze on you, the intensity of it almost too much to bear. But you avoided his eyes, not ready to face him—not after what you had just learned.

“I think it’s time for me to head home,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “It’s been a long day.”

Cassian, ever the boisterous one, pulled you into a bear hug. “You did great today, Y/N. Thanks for everything.”

You hugged him back, forcing a smile. “Thank you, Cass. It was good to see you.”

Next was Mor, who gave you a quick squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll do another girls’ night soon, okay?”

“Definitely,” you replied, the words feeling distant as your mind remained occupied with the revelation you had just overheard.

You turned to Rhysand, who was watching you with his usual calm, assessing gaze. “Thank you for dinner, Rhys. It was… wonderful.”

“You’re always welcome here, Y/N,” Rhysand said with a smile, though his eyes held a hint of something deeper—an understanding, perhaps. “Get home safe.”

You nodded, then finally turned to Azriel, who had been watching you with a concerned expression. “I’ll walk you home,” he offered, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

You knew you couldn’t refuse, not without raising suspicion, so you nodded. “Alright.”

As you walked side by side through the quiet streets of Velaris, the night air cool against your skin, the silence between you and Azriel grew heavier with each passing moment. The weight of what you had overheard back at the Town House was pressing down on you, making it impossible to keep your thoughts from swirling.

Azriel had been stealing glances at you, his brow furrowed with concern, but he hadn’t said anything yet. Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, he stopped walking, turning to face you with that same look of quiet worry.

“Y/N,” he began softly, his voice breaking the silence, “is everything alright? You’ve been quiet.”

You stopped too, your heart pounding in your chest. This was it—the moment you had been dreading and anticipating all at once. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, your emotions too raw to keep hidden any longer.

“Azriel,” you started, your voice shaking slightly, “I overheard you and Rhys talking.”

His expression immediately shifted, his eyes widening in surprise and concern. “What… what did you hear?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the emotions were too strong. “I heard him ask you if you’ve told me yet—that we’re mates.”

Azriel froze, his face paling as the reality of your words sunk in. For a moment, he looked as if he didn’t know what to say, his usual calm demeanor shattered by the unexpected confrontation.

You continued, the hurt and confusion you had been holding back finally spilling out. “Why didn’t you tell me, Azriel? Why didn’t you say anything? How long have you known?”

His mouth opened, but no words came out at first. He took a step toward you, his expression full of regret and fear. “Y/N, I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to keep it from you, I swear. I’ve known for a while, but… I was afraid. I didn’t know how you’d react, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

You could feel your heart breaking as you listened to him, torn between the deep bond you felt with him and the betrayal of having this truth kept from you. “Afraid?” you echoed, your voice rising with emotion. “Az, you’re my mate. Don’t you think I had the right to know? To make my own decisions about this?”

He winced at the pain in your voice, his shoulders slumping as if under a great weight. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice filled with anguish. “I know, and I hate myself for not telling you sooner. But… I wanted to give you time, to let you heal from everything you’ve been through. I didn’t want to add more to your plate when you were already dealing with so much.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to process everything. You knew that Azriel cared for you deeply, that he had always been there for you, but this revelation had shaken you to your core. “You should have trusted me, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You should have trusted me to handle it, to make my own choices.”

He reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours as if afraid to touch you. “I do trust you, Y/N. More than anyone. And that’s why I’m telling you now—I love you. I have for so long, and I was terrified of losing you, of doing something wrong that would push you away. But I know now that keeping this from you was a mistake.”

You closed your eyes, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. “I don’t know what to do, Az. I don’t know how to feel about all of this.”

Azriel stepped closer, his voice desperate and filled with emotion. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. Just… just know that I’m here for you, no matter what. And I’m so, so sorry for keeping this from you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. The sincerity, the regret, and the love in his eyes were unmistakable, and it made your heart ache even more. Despite everything, you couldn’t deny the connection between you, the bond that had always been there, even if you hadn’t realized it.

“I need time, Az,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I need time to process all of this.”

He nodded, his eyes full of understanding and pain. “Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, waiting, whenever you’re ready.”

For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, the night air cool around you, the weight of the unspoken words hanging between you. Finally, you took a step back, needing some distance to gather your thoughts.

“I’m going to head home,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel nodded again, his expression filled with a deep sadness. “I’ll walk you.”

You didn’t argue, knowing that despite everything, you still felt safer with him by your side. The walk home was silent, the tension between you palpable. When you finally reached your door, you turned to face him, your heart heavy with everything that had been left unsaid.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you said, your voice strained with emotion.

Azriel looked at you with such an intensity that it nearly took your breath away. “I love you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “No matter what happens, I just need you to know that.”

You swallowed hard, the tears threatening to spill over again. “I know, Az. I know.”

And with that, you turned and entered your home, the door closing softly behind you, leaving Azriel standing alone in the cold night, his heart as heavy as yours.

---

tag list: @annamariereads16 @hanatsuki-hime @elsie-bells @shizukestar @rose-girls-world @brit-broskis-cole-fanfic @faridathefairy @elsie-bells @faridathefairy @wolfbc97 @rcarbo1 @kitsunetori @hufflepuff-pa55 @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @sometimeseverythingsucks @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @lilah-asteria @fightmedraco @atomictyphoonkitten

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[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Bonus Track #1

Pairing: Dean W. x Female Reader 

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (18+)

AN: The "Bonus Tracks" have arrived! AKA: Sequels to “Never Say Goodbye.”

I have two parts in the wings for you, but let's start with Part 1...

Word Count: 4,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, supernatural shenanigans, death, cavity-inducing fluff (all to come through Parts 1 & 2)

Bonus Track #1: Disturbing the Peace

Dean walked into the bullpen of the Sioux Falls Police Department with a file in hand.

He went into one of the holding cells, where his latest perp was waiting for him with a salty attitude and an untouched paper cup filled with water.

“Jessie Deluca. Thirteen years old, already with two priors for petty theft,” Dean read off the file.

“Wasn’t me,” the kid said coolly.

Dean flashed Jessie a wry smile and sat across from him at the table.

“Sticking gum in the camera lens is creative, I’ll admit. But the nice old man who owns the 7-Eleven recognized your jacket,” Dean said, gesturing at the kid’s dark red hoodie. “Maybe next time don’t dress like a fire hydrant.”

“Plenty of people could have this jacket. Not like it’s Prada or anything,” said Jessie. He was stubborn, crossing his arms in the way only punk-ass kids could accomplish. “Besides, you’re not allowed to question me without my mom here, dipshit. I’m guessing you’ve been a cop for all of what, five minutes?” 

Dean’s expression flattened into a more wan smile. “Oh, your mom’s on the way. We’re just chattin’.”

“Well I don’t feel like talking to a dumbass plebe,” Jessie quipped, with all due snark.

“All right, kid, listen the hell up,” Dean said more sharply. His gaze tightened with sternness. He glanced behind him, where he suspected your father Jack was watching. Dean was often partnered up with Jody, but she was out sick today. Which meant he had “the hawk” watching his every move.  

Dean leveled the kid with a look.

“Fact is, you’ve got three strikes here, Jessie,” he said. “Now, you were dumb enough to go in with a gun. And we will find where you stashed it.”

Jessie snorted in response.

“…But you’re lucky,” Dean said. “No one got hurt this time. Problem is, at the rate we’re going here, you’re not gonna make it to next time.”

Jessie seemed to pause at that. But after a moment of indecision, he leaned forward on his crossed arms on the table.

“What part of ‘you can’t talk to me’s not getting through your thick head, Hasselhoff?”

Dean frowned, but before he could lose his temper, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked down and realized you were texting him.

Hey, sorry I’m going to be late tonight, you said.

Dean raised a finger at the kid. “I’ll be back.”

Jessie gave him a whatever look. Dean waited until his back was turned to roll his eyes. He exited the holding cell and found Jack on the other side.

“Kid’s a piece of work,” Dean said.

“Remind you of anybody?” Jack asked slyly.

Dean scoffed. “Maybe. I’ll be back, but let me know if his mom shows up.”

Jack nodded, and it gave Dean leave to get back to his desk and call you back. It took you so long to answer that he thought you almost wouldn’t.

“Hey, baby,” you greeted. It brought a small smile to his face.

“Hey. How’s work goin’?”

“It’s ridiculous. Jerry wants fifty new books logged and shelved by the end of the day. And we’re getting a new shipment in tomorrow,” you replied. “…Well, they’re not new. They’re ancient. Transferred from a museum that closed in Boise. But you get the idea.”

Dean’s smile threatened to grow, but it faded when he remembered why he needed to check in on you.

“Is that why you’re getting in late again tonight?” he asked.

“No, I promised I’d help Jason with his applications for grad school,” you said, making Dean frown.

“Who the hell is Jason?”

“Remember? Mrs. Jenkins’ grandson?”

Dean’s frown deepened. “No, that guy? Come on. You already helped him with, uh, cleaning out his grandma’s apartment, right?”

“Yeah, because she died, Dean.”

“Then it was cleaning out his apartment.”

“So he could move into her apartment,” you pointed out. “That he inherited upon her death.”

“And now you’re gonna go over there and share a screen all night?” Dean didn’t like that thought. Not one bit. “I don’t trust him, babe. He’s shifty.”

“Dean,” you tried patiently. “We practically grew up in the neighborhood together. I’m just helping him out because he’s gone through a rough time.”

Dean quieted. He still wasn’t totally on board, but he didn’t want to sound like a needy bitch either.

“All right, whatever,” he said.

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me,” you cajoled. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Right.” Perhaps he was a bit grumpy, but he felt justified. Due to both of your schedules, he hadn’t even shared a meal with you all week.

“Okay, I have to get back to work. Bye!” you said, hanging up shortly after. Dean didn’t have a chance to reply.

He sighed, pocketing his cell.

He returned to Jessie, where he noticed the water cup was now drained.

“Having fun?” he asked the kid.

“About as fun as you look right now. What, fight with your girlfriend?” Jessie sassed.

Dean gave him a flat look.

Jessie smirked. “Ah, definitely a fight.”

Dean sighed. “Wasn’t fight, just…you know what, mind your business.”

He discreetly checked his phone again, seeing if you’d sent him any other messages. But the kid had sharp eyes. He peered over the table at Dean’s background.

It was one he’d taken on his first date with you. Really, he’d surprised you with the picture when you two got to the restaurant.

You were trying to fix your hair after the wind had mussed it up. But at the angle he took it, you looked equal parts adorably confused, playfully amused, and sexy in your black suede dress and wind-swept hair. 

“She’s hot,” Jessie nodded.

“Shut up,” Dean said, locking and pocketing his phone. “What’re you, like twelve? And still stealing Twix at the gas station? Do better, dude.”

“Too hot for you, even,” the kid continued, as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “Probably downloading another guy’s hard drive, if you know what I mean.”

“All right, smartass. That’s enough,” Dean said, with a more irritated frown.

That was when Jack came into the holding cell, escorting a woman inside.

“Jessie’s mother, Ms. Sandy Deluca,” Jack said.

“Just Sandy, please. You don’t have to remind me about the deadbeat I married,” she said, giving Dean a cursory (but appreciative) once-over. He gave her a thin smile.

He had to assume she was in her forties, but she also looked rough, and smelled like the crusty bowels of a bar.

“And you. What the fuck’re you doin’, huh?” Sandy bat her son across the back of her son’s head. Jessie flinched and withdrew inside, more like the child he actually was.

Dean noted all of this, sharing a subtle frown with Jack. Both men sat down across from mother and son and explained that Jessie was suspected of robbing a 7-Eleven at gun point. The owner saw him take off. And at some point, before Dean caught him, the kid managed to toss his gun.

“It’s only a matter of time before we find it. And if the prints match, that’s it,” Jack said. “Jessie gets booked for a felony charge.”

“He ain’t did it though. You don’t even have him on tape,” Sandy said. “All you got is one senile old man.”

She had a point, but not one Jack or Dean were willing to concede.

“If he admits what he did, we can work with him,” said Jack. “Maybe the felony charge gets dropped down to petty theft, and he probably only does a short stint in juvenile detention.” 

Dean stared at Jessie, his thin, boyish face, his sandy brown hair, and shuttered eyes. And maybe Dean saw a bit too much of himself.

He tapped Jack’s elbow beneath the table, earning the man’s attention.

“Well, we’ll let you think on it for a few minutes,” Jack said. He got up along with Dean and headed outside the cell. They were able to look in through the one-way window.

“What’s the matter, Dean?” Jack asked.

“We can’t hold him. Not for long, unless the gun shows up,” Dean pointed out. “He stole, what, thirty bucks in bread, cans of tuna, three Twix bars? He’s a punk, but he’s not a killer. He’s just hungry.”

Jack considered this with a sigh through his nose.

“Yeah. But it’s his third strike on theft. This time he took a piece. Armed robbery, even for a kid…that’s gonna require jail time,” he said.

“Okay, how about this. Why don’t we let him go for now, hook him again when we find the gun?” Dean suggested.

“And maybe we don’t look too hard for it. That what you’re trying to tell me?” Jack asked.

Dean just held the other man’s gaze, leaving the decision up to him. But Jack had come to know his future son-in-law too well for that.

He sighed again. “All right, we’ll let him go. For now. But this is his last chance.”

Dean called his brother on the way home from work, tired, but ultimately in a better mood than he had been after talking to you.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Hey, Sammy. How’s the Big Apple?”

“Musty,” Sam said with a chuckle. “But good. Eileen and I are headed to a Broadway show tonight, to celebrate the end of semester.”

Dean smiled at that. Trust Sam to find his soulmate in a subway station. And trust the universe to land his brother with another hunter.

Or a huntress, as Dean had teased him. A banshee had killed her parents when she was a baby, and had rendered her deaf in the process. A hunter had raised her, and Eileen had continued the family business into adulthood, all the while looking for the creature that had killed her parents.

When she met Sam, however, he of course wanted to help her. He even took a week off school once they tracked the banshee to Lebanon, and helped her kill the thing himself. Now though, Sam had been subtly trying to convince her to retire from the hunting life. To build a life with him.

But, as always with hunters, Eileen seemed wary of fully committing to leave the life she’d always known.

Dean could understand that.

“That’s right! My smart-ass brother got all A’s in lawyer school,” he said. “I should get one of those bumper stickers.”

Sam scoffed. “Right, like you’d tape up the Impala like that.”

Dean grinned. “Anyway, end of semester, huh? That mean you’re coming back home soon?”

“Not this weekend, but the week after. Just in time to help you guys prep for the wedding,” said Sam. “It’s like, what, three weeks out?”

“And counting,” Dean replied. He couldn’t believe it was getting this close either.

“Eileen and I’ll stay with Bobby though. We don’t want to crowd your apartment,” Sam said. “How’s everything going, by the way? How is she?”

Dean huffed. “She’s probably just fine.”

“Probably?” Sam noted. “What’s going on?”

Dean was reluctant to talk about it, but his brother knew him too well to just let it go. He prodded until Dean had no choice but to spill it.

“The wedding’s just got her all over the place. Plus her job’s got her working evening shifts half the week sometimes,” Dean said. “And when she’s not doing that, she’s volunteering herself all over the damn neighborhood…”

Dean chuckled dryly then, realizing how much he sounded like a needy chick right now.

“I don’t know,” he said. “God, I sound like a freakin’ sap.”

“No. It sounds like you miss her,” Sam said.

“Hmm,” Dean nodded. He popped a frozen dinner into the microwave and watched it spin. “Yeah, probably.”

A lot, a voice in his mind corrected. He knew he didn’t have to say it for Sam to get the picture.

“Just tell her how you feel, man,” Sam said. “You know for a fact that there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for you.”

Sharing and caring had never been Dean’s strong suit, by any means, but he knew his brother might have a point this time.

So he waited up for you. For hours.

He started to fall asleep on the couch before he realized what time it was, creeping past midnight. He texted you, called you. It all went unanswered. Dean started worrying long before then, but he tried not to let his mind jump to conclusions.

He cleaned the kitchen and waited. He tried watching the next couple of episodes in season three of Game of Thrones, your favorite show, but couldn’t concentrate on the storylines. He usually had you to explain the complicated plot points and remind him of who’s who. 

So he switched over to Dr. Sexy M.D., which you’d tried not to judge him for. 

But finally, around 1:00 a.m. on a weekday, Dean felt your presence before you pull into the driveway. He was sitting on the couch, and he crossed his arms when you walked in. 

Still, you gave a tired smile when you saw him. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey,” he responded, but you knew immediately that he was off. You saw the tight look on his face, his tense demeanor. You even caught a glimpse of his emotions before he cut you off…which in itself was a tell that he wasn’t in a good mood.

You frowned and set your purse and work bag next to him on the couch. 

“What’s the matter?” you asked. Dean raised both brows at you, as if he was annoyed that you had to ask. It wasn’t like you could read his mind. 

Well, you could, if he hadn’t closed himself off.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked. 

Your brows knitted at his tone. 

“You know where I was,” you said. “I was helping Jason—”

“You’ve been with that guy at his house all night?”

You tried to give him a patient look, but you were bone tired. And you hadn’t expected to get the third degree from the minute you stepped through the door.

“Dean, I told you. We were working on his applications to grad school, mostly on his entrance essays.”

“And that really took all night, with no breaks?” he asked. Now with a more suspicious brow raise.

“Of course,” you replied, crossing your arms. “I mean, we stopped to eat dinner.”

But then you raised a finger as something occurred to you.

“And oh! He showed me his new motorcycle,” you said, with excitement that he didn’t share. “Dean, you’d freakin’ love it. I can’t remember what model he said it was, but I told him, ‘My fiancée’s a major gear head. He’d love to get a motorcycle.’ But I’d literally die if you made me get on one of those things—”

“So, correct me if I’m wrong,” Dean said, interrupting you as he got up from the couch to stand across from you.

“You spent all night at some guy’s house. You had dinner with him, and he tried to impress you with his new goddamn motorcycle?”

You considered what he was suggesting, and you had to suppress a grimace. Yeah, it did sound bad, but it really wasn’t.

“It wasn’t like that at all, Dean,” you said. “Jason’s just…he’s feeling a bit lost. He wants to continue school, but he’s not sure if he can do it. His grandma practically raised him, and it’s a whole thing—”

“That’s not your damn problem!” Dean said, raising his voice. “You realize that, right?”

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a frown.

“Okay, you need to take that way down,” you warned him.

Dean took a beat, briefly closing his eyes as he reigned himself in.

“I’m sorry, all right,” he said. And he drew a hand over his tired face. “It’s just…lately, for the past few months, it seems like you’re never here. We’re like ships passing in the night. And if I didn’t check in, I’d never fucking hear from you.”

You sighed, staring back at your fiancée with both hot guilt and a prickle of resentment.

“So, do you like how it feels?” you asked.

Dean sharpened. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, welcome to my world, Dean,” you said. “I lived that existence for the first two years of our relationship.”

He couldn’t exactly refute that, but it still hurt to be reminded of what he put you through.

“What, are you doing this on purpose or something?” he asked. “You’re punishing me. Is that it?”

You relented then, reaching for his arm.

“Of course not, Dean,” you said. “I just find it ironic that you can’t handle just a taste of what I went through.”

Dean’s lips pursed.

“Until I finish training our new hires, there isn’t much I can do about what my job demands of me,” you said. “But if you want to help me, how about everything I’m doing to plan this wedding? It’s literally a month away, and there’s plenty to do. I feel like I’m going insane with these vendors calling me 24/7, mostly demanding money.”

You covered your face with your hands for a moment, shaking your head.

“Tomorrow I have my final fitting for the dress, after work,” you said. “This weekend I have to finalize the seating chart, make the final deposit on the venue, and a shit-ton of other things.”

“Okay, well I can help with that,” Dean said, trying to take your hand. “All you need to do is ask.”

You gave him a peeved look.

“You see, I would. But the last time I tried, you said you were working late,” you said. “I called my dad to see where you were. Come to find out, you’d left early.”

Shit, Dean thought. 

“When was that?” he asked.

“Last week, Thursday,” you jogged his memory. 

Shit, he thought again. 

What you didn’t know was that he left early that day to pick up your wedding ring, which he’d had customized for you. But he couldn’t tell you that without giving away the surprise.

“Listen, there’s an explanation for that.”

“Well right now, I don’t feel like hearing it,” you said. You slipped your hand out of his and left him to beeline for the shower.

Dean watched you go, silently simmering. Was this what he had to look forward to when you two actually got married?

You and Dean didn’t even look at one another as you got ready for bed in silence.

You were annoyed that he didn’t trust you. A bit resentful that he chose now to complain about you being busy, when you’d tried so many times to get him to help you with the wedding planning process.

But at the same time, as you two climbed into bed without uttering so much as a word, it felt like you won the battle, but lost the war.

And you didn’t feel any better when you woke up the next morning.

Because when you saw the empty side of the bed next to you, but didn’t hear Dean puttering around the apartment, you realized that he’d left for work without saying goodbye.

He usually greeted you with a kiss on the cheek or the forehead; the best alarm you’d ever had. But today, you were forced to wake with your alarm. So you turned it off on your phone and dutifully got up to get ready for work.

Your mind was buzzing with too much coffee on the drive over to the museum, and when you arrived, your phone sounded off in your purse. You checked it and found a text from Jason Jenkins.

Hey, thanks for coming over to help yesterday, he said. I think I’ll actually get into grad school now. These essays are top notch thanks to you.

Your lips quirked with a smile. You replied as you walked into the museum, waving hello to your boss, Jerry, as you went.

You’re welcome! you replied. Dean’s words from last night replayed in your mind, so you decided to keep it brief. But then, Jason replied again.

But I also had a good time last night, he said. You’re just so easy to talk to…would you want to come over for dinner? I make a mean carbonara.

You deflated when you read the text. Goddamn it.

And you knew then that Dean might’ve had a point last night. With a sigh, you raised your gaze to the heavens. You didn’t have enough coffee to deal with this.

But you knew you had to reply.

Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression but—

You paused, then deleted that response. You didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but maybe you could say something that made your boundaries clear without making him feel bad about himself.

Sorry, Jason. I’m staying in with my fiancée tonight. But good luck! I’m sure you’ll get into grad school.

With that message sent, you pocketed your phone and continued to your desk in the museum library. It was surrounded by tall shelves of books from all over the world, and you often enjoyed perusing through them when you had down time (not that you had much of that these days).

Jerry came in, wheeling a large shipment of boxes. You gave him a wan smile at the sight.

“Delivery,” he said. “Need these books logged and shelved, please. By end of the day, if you can. Oh, and tell Charlotte we need more toner for the copy machine.”

You playfully saluted your boss. “On it.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I know it’s been a lot for the past few months, but you’re doing great, kid.”

You didn’t appreciate the kid remark, but you did thank him graciously. It was nice to be recognized for your work because you did take pride in it. But right now, as you looked at the ten large boxes piled on the dolly, you really wished you could control + alt + delete this day.

Instead, you sighed and opened the first box, pulling out a stack of heavy books. One of them caught your eye, as it was leather-bound, but bordered with gold, and had hieroglyphic images on the cover. The largest of which was a golden sun, encircling a lion’s head.

You weren’t supposed to touch the books without gloves on, but you were so intrigued that you forgot to slip on a pair before you reached for it in wonder.

The moment you touched the cover, however, a burst of energy swirled around the book—and then wrapped around your hand.

You didn’t realize it, but your mind went hazy as amber rings of magic illuminated your pupils.

Dean got home from a long day of work, sighing when he saw that the apartment was empty.

He felt bad for how things got left off between the two of you last night, but frankly, he was surprised (and maybe a little hurt) that you didn’t reach out to him at all today.

Usually when you guys argued, you were the first one to reach out to him after you both had time to cool down. You could be stubborn about things, just like him, but you were also quick to forgive. And that often forced him to confront his honest feelings.

When his phone started ringing, Dean paused in the living room and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, there! Is this Dean?”

“You got me. Who’s this?” he asked. It was the receptionist at the shop where you found your wedding dress. Apparently, you hadn’t shown up for the appointment of your final fitting, and you hadn’t called to reschedule.

“Well, that’s not like her,” Dean said with a frown. You’d never dropped the ball on anything having to do with the wedding. Not once.

“Let me get ahold of her and we’ll get back to you,” he said. The receptionist agreed, and the moment he hung up with her, he called you. It rang for a while, but ultimately went to voicemail.

A tendril of worry started to grow in his mind, but he tried to keep it at bay when he called your boss next.

According to Jerry, you took your lunch break early and never came back.

Dean’s worry became a living thing after that.

But before he could call Jack and mount a full police squad search, the front door of the apartment unlocked, and you walked through the door.

You looked completely fine in your business casual white blouse, pencil skirt, and heels, but you didn’t have your purse, work bag, or any of the usual things you carried.

Dean hung up with your boss and eyed you in disbelief.

“Well, well. I guess you’re playin’ hookie today,” he remarked dryly.

You gave him a cursory glance, but you all but ignored him on your way to the kitchen. Dean’s incredulousness grew, along with a spark of irritation.

He followed you into the kitchen, where you started rifling through the pantry looking for spices and herbs, of all things. You examined a clear parcel of thyme.

“What are you doing, babe?” Dean asked. “Are you tired? Did you just need to take a beat? Because I can understand that…”

You didn’t seem to be hearing him, so he grasped your hand.

“Hey, what the hell’s going on with you?” he asked. Your brows knitted together in annoyance.

“By the gods, what a nuisance.” You slipped your hand out of his and continued what you’re doing. 

Dean felt struck with hurt as he stared at you once again in disbelief.

But then, a spidey sense began to prickle at the back of his neck. This wasn’t like you at all…

You finally seized him up through impassive eyes.

“Pretty,” you remarked, “but the world of men seems to have remained the same. Needy, clawing, and pathetic.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. He called your name uncertainly, but he realized something.

He couldn’t feel you. Not your thoughts, and not even your emotions through the soul bond. It was a gut instinct, but Dean's was rarely wrong.

Whoever was wearing your face, it wasn’t his girl.

You smirked and stepped toward him, drawing near enough to place a hand on his chest. He tensed, knowing that this wasn’t about to end well. 

With a burst of amber-hued magic, you flung him across the room. 

Dean crash-landed against the couch with a yelp and a grunt. He’d definitely be feeling that in his back later. 

He heard the crashing of glass and ceramics hitting the hardwood floor after he fell. When he was able to slowly pick himself up, he saw that he’d shoved the couch into the coffee table, where a vase and a few frames had fallen.

And when he managed to lift his gaze to the rest of his surroundings, he found an empty apartment. The front door was left ajar.

You were gone… 

Or at least, whoever possessed you was.

AN: So first of all, sorry for the cliffhanger lol. But Sam's soulmate is revealed! (I was VERY upset when Sam and Eileen didn't get their reunion when Jack brought back everyone after the "snap.")

Like my top note said, this will be two parts. Let me know what you think of Part 1!

Next Time:

Dean searches for you with Sam, Eileen, and Bobby's help. But there's just a few weeks before the wedding.

What could possibly go wrong?

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[xknivesandpensx]

Like Pieces of a Puzzle

Chapter 4

Summary: What if Harry wasn't the only extra student called upon to participate in the Triwizard Tournament? Far from the most popular candidate, Draco not only has to take on the trials but also deal with his unexpected feelings for Hermione. Will he be able to face the challenges as well as follow his heart?

Chapter length will vary. I'll be referencing both the books and movie versions. Some things from what I've previously written will be mentioned, all of which you can find here.

And for those who asked to be tagged: @dayane245love

Draco kept himself hidden behind a shelf full of thickly bound books, unsure what exactly he was trying to accomplish. The smell of old paper gave off a musty scent, as the many volumes appearing aged and partly covered in dust. He skimmed the names just to give the impression of being busy. For himself it seemed. Almost every student currently sat in the Great Hall eating, except for a spare few he spotted on his way in. Otherwise, no one really paid him much mind.

Yet it felt as if the books themselves watched him. The quietness of the area made the thumping against his chest sound as fierce as a beating drum. Draco peered around, chastising himself for feeling rather stalkerish at the moment.

But there she sat. At the end of the table, the side closest to the window in her own secluded little space. Countless books were stacked to her right. Her eyes remained glued to the page she read, cutting off any outside disturbances.

He assumed her aim included research, yet the topic eluded him. They started lessons today and the professors rarely assigned homework, so whatever her investigation entailed it probably pertained to a personal matter or maybe she dove into her studies to avoid thinking about this morning.

He still, annoyingly enough, tolerated an irritating pang of guilt for laughing, but Draco seriously started to consider letting the sensation vex him until it faded.

Or else he’d have to talk to her and he knew he’d likely say something spiteful and therefore go through the very same sequence all over again. It was probably too late anyway since his emotions tended to bounce all over the place even without her in the room.

Only because – well, he didn’t quite care to analyze the situation. He hated Mudbloods and he stood by the prejudice. Right?

Draco hadn’t notice much of anything until a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face another Slytherin in his class, she held a near impatient look on her face, arms crossed almost as if she expected something from him.

“What do you want, Greengrass?” he asked, shifting so he no longer gave so much as an inkling of observing Hermione, which did him little good.

Daphne let out a breath. “I’ve been trying to get your attention. You’re in the way of the shelf. Some people actually come here to check out books, not stare at people from behind them. Why are you looking at her anyway? If it’s for a silly reason, such as going over there and making things worse, I think you’ve taunted her enough for one day.”

Glad for the misinterpretation of observation, he readily went along.

“Pansy’s the one who shoved her, not me,” Draco nearly snapped. He stepped aside, letting her brows the titles. “Since when do you care about other people getting laughed at anyway?”

Both Daphne and Astoria, her younger sister, were well acquainted with him by this point and therefore able to start easy conversations. While they usually kept to their own group of friends, it never bothered him to speak to either of the siblings, despite Astoria being in her second year.

“I don’t, not really,” she supplied, shrugging her shoulders. “I can’t understand the purpose of it all. You end up in detention or get points taken away.”

Draco scoffed, the whole thing coming off as nothing less than absurd. “What do points matter when Dumbledore’s only going to make up a random event to let Gryffindor win yet again. As if Potter needs a bigger ego.”

“They’ve beaten us three times in a row, but he was rather ambiguous about the additional points he added in our first year.” She came off nonchalant about it, as if not really caring one way or the other.

“What do you need a book of advanced charms for?” he questioned once Daphne pulled out the large hardcover. “From my understanding, you do rather well in Flitwick’s class.”

Daphne moved to the table, placing the heavy book down. “We both know Hermione Granger will be top student again and she probably already knows half the spells in here. I figured I’d practice a few of the more difficult ones anyway. I’m not competitive, I don’t want to beat her or anything. I do like a challenge though.”

“A lot of good that class does anyone,” Draco complained, leaning his back against the shelf. He ducked his head. “If not for the Triwizard Tournament this place would be as dull and boring as always. I suppose it’s worth not having any Quidditch games.”

He grew tired of Marcus Flint’s obnoxious bouts of yelling whenever they lost, usually blaming Draco for not catching the snitch. Maybe he taunted Harry too much while they played, even so the scolding almost made him threaten to leave and take back the brooms his father supplied. He enjoyed the sport and possessed a talent for it, so he stayed, aware the team would certainly suffer greatly if he decided to quit. And honestly, it gave him something to look forward to.

“If not for the age limit, do you think you’d put your name in?” she asked, absently flipping through a few pages. “It’s too chancy for my liking, but I’m sure that’s not the case for everyone.”

“Risk my life for 1,000 Galleons, no.” He had plenty of money and truthfully, Draco knew his level of abilities were lacking in the first place. “The glory bit Dumbledore went on about doesn’t really interest me either. So you win a few games, big deal.”

Being exempted from exams sounded great, given his grades, yet not enough to tempt him if possible.

“I’m surprised anyone considered bringing it back since so many people died in the past,” Daphne pointed out.

“My father told me all about it,” Draco said, knowing more than most. “Even after the mayhem during the Quidditch World Cup, it’s all about how the ministry’s going to benefit. Fudge wants the wizarding world to see him in a positive light. He thinks encouraging school relations will help improve his own image. If everything goes well, it just might.”

He remembered Harry and the others running into him during the chaotic night. He managed to play off the strange twist of concern over Hermione getting seen pretty well, not really sure why it mattered all the sudden.

And even beforehand while in front of Lucius, of course he acted as predictable as possible, despite the reprimanding words for boasting. He supposed the jab in the stomach made less of an impression to the passing crowd than what he usually received.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised. Anyway, I better get this checked out before class starts.” Daphne picked up her book, holding it in one arm.

“I know I don’t want to be late for double Divination,” he sardonically complained. “I think I’d rather gorge my eyes out than gaze into a crystal ball for three hours.”

Draco looked up in time to see Hermione walk past, her paces sped up as if in a rush. She didn’t appear to notice him, which sent a wave of relief because he sought to avoid any speculation about him following her, even if unintentionally done.

Hermione, on the other hand, had her thoughts on other matters. She did well ignoring those she passed in the hallway on her way to Arithmancy. Only some students pointed in her direction and remarked on the morning’s event, Pansy in particular commented rather loudly about it. But she went on walking as if not hearing a word.

By the time dinner came around the mentions ceased a great deal. Hermione barely noticed how hungry she became until an array of food set before her. She hesitated a moment before grabbing a roll, spreading a bit of butter on the inside.

“I see you’re eating again,” Ron stated, sitting across from her. He immediately dumped a bunch of food on his plate, not even waiting for a reply before he shoved a forkful in his mouth.

“Well, I figured there’s more effective ways to help the house-elves.” Plus, starving herself hardly seemed worth the effort when the meal was prepared whether she decided to partake or not. “Why are you so late?”

“Malfoy knocked over everything on our table,” Harry replied matter-of-factly, as if the occurrence happened daily. “He shoved past us and accidentally caught part of the leg with his foot or so he says. Professor Trelawney wouldn’t let us leave until we cleaned everything up.”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s obvious he’s probably annoyed about the homework.” Her tone turned more chastising as she continued. “Honestly, Ron, you shouldn’t make jokes like that.”

“How did you hear about it?” His brows furrowed before glancing over at Harry. “How did she find out? It happened ten minutes ago.”

Harry merely shrugged.

“Lavender told me on our way here. I don’t think she appreciated the comment very much.” Hermione took a couple more things and started to eat as quickly as possible. She already wasted enough time talking.

“Why don’t you slow down? The food’s not going anywhere,” Harry remarked. He noted, however, how she hardly took much to begin with and skipped the two prior meals.

Hermione paused to take a sip of her drink. “I have to get back to the library. There’re still things I need to look up. Of course, if either of you want to help, I might find what I need sooner.”

“The house-elves are fine.” An edge of irritation layered Ron’s speech, unable to understand why she cared so much. Not like he could persuade her otherwise; she’d merely harp on the matter more severely.

“They most certainly are not,” she countered, almost too sharply. “Harry, you’ll come, won’t you?” She really needed another set of eyes, maybe some company as well, though she left the last part out.

He glanced between his two friends, not too keen on ditching dinner. “As much as I’d enjoy spending hours searching through books, I’ve got loads of homework to do.”

“And who can we thank for that?” Draco asked, just joining the Slytherin table now. “How about next time you keep your wise cracks to yourself, Weasley.”

Hermione automatically stiffened. Although she had her back turned to him, he stood inches away. The unexpected sound of his voice made her heart leap in her chest. But he spoke no more and turned away from the trio. It lasted seconds. A measly two sentences managed to strike relentlessly.

“Well, it’s nice to see you take some initiative, Harry. See you both later.” Hermione got up in haste, ignoring Ginny’s glance, aware she’d ask questions later depending on how late she returned to the common room.

Hermione hated how easily he flustered her. A single breath and he caused her to dash from the room. It frustrated her greatly. If Draco found out, he’d probably fall into a hysteric uproar, unable to control his pleasure of poking fun. And all the while, relentlessly ridiculing her in bitter remarks about her so-called low stature in comparison to his pure-blood status.

Draco would be nothing less than appalled by a Muggle-born witch falling for him. He barely tolerated being in the same room. Hermione thought it better to keep reminding herself every chance he entered her thoughts.

A too often occurrence, frankly.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry uttered. He received no verbal response from Ron, so he rushed out of the Great Hall, calling out once in the hallway. Catching up with Hermione, who maintained a perplexed expression, a rush of embarrassment hit (the kind where he wasn’t quite sure how to structure his words and they kind of blurted out prior to any forethought). “I wanted to see if you’re doing okay. I mean, you left suddenly and… Malfoy hasn’t been bothering you, has he?”

“No. Of course, not. Why?” The pitch of her voice hit a bit higher than normal. And perhaps she underwent a sensation of feeling off balance and nervous as if a great swarm of butterflies were trapped under her ribs, but admitting Draco pestered her in the complete opposite way he supposed? She couldn’t.

Hermione tried to think of something else to say or do, anything than simply standing there and enduring an acute moment of awkwardness.

“I just noticed you tensed up is all.” Sitting right next to her, he witnessed the slight stall in movement, the way she practically froze. “He did leave lunch early, I thought maybe he said something.”

“He hasn’t. In fact, I haven’t seen him since.” Hermione offered her appreciation of his concern through a light smile. “You should probably get back to Ron. I’m fine, really,” she added, noting his uncertainty.

Harry nodded. “Maybe I can help out later, if I start my predictions for the month.” Which he’d probably make up anyway, as he typically did for Trelawney’s class . “I doubt I’ll be able to convince Ron, though Ginny might agree.” He left it there, returning to find Fred and George talking to their brother about Professor Moody.

Pansy noticed Harry come back and leaned forward, leaving her curiosity unmasked. “Do you think something’s going on between the two of them?”

A flare of anger flared through Draco’s body upon the question, not quite willing to acknowledge the resentful stir as jealousy, even if he recognized the impression from two years ago with Lockhart. He refused to think of that specific instant simply because he kept telling himself it didn’t matter.

Nor did it matter in this case.

“Potter and Granger? Why should I care?” Though he practically countered his statement by stabbing his fork rather violently into his pot pie, earning an odd look from not only Pansy but Crabbe and Goyle as well.

[gatoplanet]

this is not the kind of thing i normally post but my pet peeve discourse is showing up on my dash from like five different places suddenly, so hopefully this is useful to somebody

‘pro/anti’ shipping discourse is never going to accomplish anything other than grandstanding because it inevitably returns to the ethics of creation, which, unless you have a way to prosecute thoughtcrime, is an impossible debate to actionably win. you will never be able to control what people create. i could write the most disturbing piece of fiction that has ever existed in a spiral notebook, close it, and set it on fire, and that will never impact anyone other than me. like, it could be the most horrifying shit about actual people, but they’re never going to read it. nobody will ever care. except hypothetical me, i guess. that’s a lot of writing just to make a point. and longhand, too, that shit starts to hurt after a while.

but if i did want to put that heinous rpf somewhere people could read it, i also couldn’t control how they’d respond to it. there would be an audience that would have a great time with it, because everything has an audience somewhere, but a lot of people either wouldn’t want to read it, or would want to know what they were getting into beforehand so they weren’t blindsided. the heinous rpf audience would know the mores of the genre, but as soon as my writing broke containment, people would probably think it was fucking weird. if i was just taping sheets of notebook paper to walls downtown, yes that should be legal because governments can’t even be trusted with the censorship laws they already have, but i would, independent of the law, be an asshole. that’s not because i made something, it’s because i put it in public where people couldn’t make a choice about engaging with it.

so the actual constructive conversation that isn’t as fun to yell/dox/make merch about is the ethics of publication - i made something that i realize not everyone will want to look at, for a variety of reasons that i can’t predict or unilaterally discount, so how, out of respect for everyone i share this fuck of an earth with, do i help people make informed decisions about whether or not to look at it?

does the dog die is like, the platonic ideal of this - warnings filtered by potential triggers, compiled by third parties, so that people like me with the peaty esdee can click the applicable link and know when to gird our mental loins. my personal trigger is common enough, both in people and in media, that the dog death crew made a category for it. not all triggers are so easy to anticipate. but if the internet has done anything, by god, we’ve made a thorough rundown of content that lots of people want to be warned about. people are still going to make that content, because human beings have been making that content since content started being made. and probably the day after the first oral historian came up with a creative way to explain lightning, the first oral history listener went oh, yikes, and gave their friend who was scared of storms a heads up while they made stone tools to get buried with.

the first thing they teach you in archives school is not the dewey decimal system (that’s the second thing), it’s that no one person can be the objective arbiter of what should exist and be preserved. if i were god, and my judgment was infallible, sure there’s some stuff i’d politely divine people out of posting. there are also a lot of people who feel that way about the handholdy gay pornography i write. those people think they’re exactly as right as i think i am. (i am of course more right than those people specifically, but they don’t know that.) i wouldn’t want to give the reins to one of those people, and they wouldn’t want to give the reins to me. there are a lot of things i think most of us can come to a consensus on, but there is, unfortunately, no one human being whose awareness of all right and wrong completely overrides everyone else’s.

i absolutely do make choices about who i personally and professionally fuck with based on the content they make, and whether or not it falls under the ‘this is disturbing to me’ umbrella! i’m pretty sure everybody does that. for example, i think people who use the words proshipper and anti unironically are kind of embarrassing, and i step respectfully out of the room when they start doing it. but i wouldn’t, like, ban them from having their discourse time. i would ask them to maybe hang a sign on the door so i wouldn’t go into the room in the first place, though, out of common courtesy.

incidentally that’s a big part of what archivists do. the question that gets brought up a lot because it’s pretty cut and dry, and i’m so sorry i’m going here but it genuinely is a good example, is whether/how to preserve nazi propaganda - everybody agrees that we should probably keep it so we can figure out how nazis happened the first time, but if you just have a room full of nazi shit that you saved, you run the risk of making more nazis with it. so during accession, the archivist makes a sign that’s like ‘nazis are evil btw here’s why we have a bunch of their stuff anyway’ and they hang it on the door of the nazi room. doing that (or not doing that!) is a curatorial choice, and it’s a complicated one when things get less black-and-white than nazis being evil. it’s why we (ideally) have actual trained people doing those jobs.

i don’t agree with all of ao3’s curatorial choices tbh, but i understand why they make them the way they do, and i don’t know what i’d do differently in their extremely unique situation. but guys i promise people have been having this conversation about publication/archival practices for literally hundreds of years. it’s not specific to one website, or to fandom in general, and it’s not going to be solved in either of those places. the best thing we can do is what fandom has always been occasionally somewhat okay at doing, which is be normal to each other and figure out something that works for everybody. thoroughly tagging your own weird porn and using other people’s tags to avoid reading weird porn you won’t enjoy is a solid start. it would probably also help to stop turning this complicated topic that requires case-by-case examination into two opposing camps broadly applying the most polarized interpretations, but this is the internet, i can only ask for so much

[ellitx]

Frailty | Kazuha x Reader

No matter how many times you've run away from your practices, Kazuha is always able to find you.

art belongs to rivaiiwah

word count: 1.8k

           Here you are with the cherry blossoms sprouting from the branches, looking to the casual eye as flowers until they bloom. Who pays attention to their chaotic stems that twist in the joy of new life until they wear colors that soothe the viewer’s perception.

           Then there they are in the air that becomes more welcoming each day, a community of colors, a feast for butterflies and bees. 

           A new beginning. 

           A little pink petal was plucked off from the group, letting it float alone in the air as it landed on your hand. Your eyes peered over the frond and lifted it up to the sunlight to observe the bright colors of it.

           “[Name]-sama, there you are.”

           You whipped your head and smiled at the caller when he approached you. “Kazuha? What brings you here?” You questioned as you fixed your hold on the parasol. His brows scrunched up and let out a sigh as he fixed the sleeve of his outfit. 

           “Ayaka-sama, was looking for you.”

           “Ane? Why’s that?” You questioned.

           He sighed once again and pinched your cheeks a bit harshly. “You need to practice your purification rituals. Your siblings are looking for you again and now they’re worried about you.”

           “Ah— Kazuha, that hurts…!” You grasped his hand to release his hold on your face, but to no avail, he won’t budge. Seconds later, he finally and slowly let go and spared your cheeks from reddening to which you rubbed it to alleviate the sharp pain.

           His gaze went to the blooming flower of cherry blossoms and watched how the wind fluttered the petals. Ruby gems have softened at the sight of the newly sprung tree before focusing on the young princess of Kamisato.

           Your name uttered from his lips making you arch a brow at him in puzzlement. His lips parted slightly and waited for a moment before asking. “I’m just wondering why are you here. There are sakura trees at your residence, though.” He stated as he scratched his cheek with his index finger.

           Your throat hummed and looked at the sky in wonder. “Ah that… I think you already know the answer to that.” He knew for sure he saw your eyes glinted in mischief when you looked at him. 

           That smirk plastered on your face didn’t go unnoticed by him. He was quiet for a minute making you giggle and stifle it with your hand. Kazuha groaned in flicked your head much to your surprise.

           “Ouch!”

           “I’m taking you back to the Kamisato residence whether you like it or not.” 

           “Kazuha!! No please—“

—

           “Oh my, it seems like he already found her.” The young mistress giggled and watched both of you entered through the main gate with the swordsman pushing you inside. You were writhing and shaking your arm, doing your best to escape from him.

           At the sight of your face, your brother’s smile widened, and quickly wore his geta and engulfed you in a bear hug. “[Name], where have you been?! I was worried sick when I saw you weren’t inside your room!” He screeched and cried hysterically before glaring at Kazuha.

           It sent a shiver down his spine before averting his gaze away from Ayato and squared his shoulders. “Hmph, I could’ve found her on my own, but the archon must have graced you to guide my little sister back home.” Your brother grumbled as he patted your head in an assuring manner. You heaved a sigh and mouthed a sorry to your friend which he just waved it off.

           Ayaka reached to where the three of you are and deeply bowed to Kazuha in thanks. “Thank you and sorry for bothering you to look for [Name]. We’ll be sure to compensate you greatly.” She remarked and motioned for him to come inside.

           “It’s fine, Ayaka-sama. I was just happy and relieved to know she didn’t stray too far from here.” He peeked at you from the corner of his eyes before looking back at your older sister.

           “You can drop the formalities. And also, aniki, you’re suffocating [Name].” She respired and pulled you away from Ayato’s loving hugs making you sigh in relief and thank her.

           He pouted and huffed before crossing his arms and narrowly eyed you. His nature quickly changed in a blink and you know for sure you’re in a trouble just the way he lightly frowned at you.

           “[Name].” Your body shivered and avoided looking at him as you cowered behind Kazuha. “Y-yes…?” You muttered softly and tightly gripped on his clothes. 

           “Why did you skipped practicing?” You gulped down your fear and sheepishly smiled at Ayato, trying to think of an excuse. 

           “Well, it’s spring! You know how much I love sakura flowers and watch them bloom before me, aniki!” A peal of tense laughter slipped from your mouth and nudged Kazuha asking for help. Your [eye color] eyes were pleadingly gazed upon his for help as you shook his arm lightly to get him to understand your gestures.

           Sighing for an umpteenth time on this day. He faced Ayato sternly making him pause when he saw Kazuha’s face got darker. A bead of sweat rolled down his temples yet never faltering his stare onto him.

           “Ayato-sama, just lock the door if she ever escapes again.” Kazuha’s eyes returned back to their usual light and grabbed you by your shoulders, placing you in front. His fingers pointed at you and then grinned slyly at you.

           Your eyes widened but before you could open your mouth to speak out, his words made you stopped in your tracks and your face paled while your lips were parted a bit. “If she does run away again, don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll make sure she does her practices frequently.”

           The cunning smile glued on his pretty face made you scared. From the other’s perspective he seemed like an innocent and nice teen, but for you, oh you know that smile very well. He didn’t want to indulge in your escapades and he’s going to pay you back with his own mischievousness. 

    —

           “Sein!”

           You threw a talisman onto the dummy as your index and middle finger were stick together and the rest were closed. “Sein?” Kazuha’s brow raised in bewilderment at your chant and stared at the dummy. He was expecting something would happen but sadly there was none.

           It only stood still, remaining unchanging. “[Name], it’s read as sho-shi-tsu.” Ayaka said as she removed the piece of paper on the figurine. “And isn’t sein something you would hear in Mondstadt?” 

           Your lips formed a grin as your optics shined brightly in excitement. “Sein sounds way cooler than shoshitsu!” A strong impact was thrown on your head making you cry in pain and place your hand on it protectively.

           “[Name]-sama, please take this seriously.” Kazuha exhaled through his nose and stretched your cheeks making you whine even more at the increasing pain. Ayaka laughed lightly at the sight of you two as she took the brush from your hands.

           “I guess we can practice next time, is that alright with you? I still have to practice my sword fight with Tohama.” Ayaka awaited your response while she kept the materials back to their rightful place.

           You merely giggled and shoved her playfully. “It’s fine~ Have a nice date with him!” Her face flushed and her silver eyes widened in surprise as she continuously stuttered. 

           “I-it’s not a date!”

           “Right, right.” You pushed her out of the room and gave her a hug before closing the door gently. You leaned your body against it and heaved a sigh at the exhausting purification practices.

           It really tired your mind and body so much. Even though you joke around sometimes to loosen up that stiff body of yours, you know you still need to work hard on it because of your duty as a shrine maiden. 

           Purifications are much needed and required in the Kamisato house. Ayaka has already mastered everything from arts to music and even poetry, and yet here you are, not even having the slightest talent like her to accomplish such things.

          Ayaka is the embodiment of perfection and nobleness, there's no doubt about that. Her form is even more elegant than yours and how she handles tea ceremonies more delicately unlike you who somehow still spills the tea from nervousness no matter how much you've practiced mastering it.

           It really tired you out how they expect so many things for you. 

           Being noble is really hard.

           The anemo-user noticed your destitute appearance and slowly approached you. 

           “[Name]-sama?” 

           You snapped out from your deep thoughts and shakily looked at him. “O-oh, Kazuha. I forgot you were still here…” You coughed and fixed your outfit, giving him a curious glance and asked.

           “Is something the matter?” 

           “I should be the one asking you that. It seems like something’s troubling you.”

                      His brows furrowed in worry and took a closer look at your well-being. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad I don’t have to practice anymore, it really tired me out. Ugh…” You grumbled and rested your hand on your stomach when you felt it rumbled.

           “Do you want to eat outside?” Your ears perked up and nodded eagerly like a child. For a second, you thought you saw him smile before it quickly disappeared. He offered his hand to you which you gladly accepted as he lead you to the exit of the room.

           “Kazuha’s treating me~” You sang joyfully, thinking of the foods from the stalls. Or maybe he’ll treat you to eat at a restaurant? Just thinking of it made your stomach growled even more from hungriness and excitement, imagining that freshly cooked takoyakis or even those crispy golden-brown tempuras.

           Even with all the smiles and laugh you give off, he can’t help but be bothered that you’re hiding something. You always shake off whenever he asks if you’re fine or if you needed anything.

           He wished that you could rely on him and trust him, to tell him all the troubles that have been piling up inside you. He has known you for a long time now, and yet why can’t you open up to him some more?

           If maybe, just maybe— one day he’ll be able to finally tell you how he feels. He’ll even go as far as looking for you if you escaped once more. He hopes you’ll notice the signs he’s been giving that he’s there for you and you don’t have to bottle it up.

           He wants to tell you that it’s alright to cry and feel vulnerable. He’ll love everything about you, even your own imperfections.

           Just the way you accepted and love everything about himself.

did i just write for an unreleased genshin chara? yes, yes i did, and im ready to simp for him

[maybege]

... Stays In Quantico - FBI Part 2

Summary: Back in Quantico, you are reminded just how difficult your situation is. (Part 2 of the FBI Series)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.1k | Rating: T

Warnings: descriptions of an anxiety attack

Here we are! I am so excited to finally start sharing this story with you. Having binged through all 15 seasons, I just want to say now that (1) this story will be canon-divergent and (2) it will be a slow burn. It is my first longer story about Hotch and I hope I will do his character justice. As always, you can find the posting schedule linked in my masterlist.

Have fun reading and let me know what you think.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“I don’t know what to think.”

“This is not the kind of job where you don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

“Hard to believe from someone who just told me she doesn’t know what to think.”

You shifted in your seat. The office you were in was colder than the bullpen of the BAU and you wished you had remembered to bring your cardigan with you. Now all you were wearing was your short-sleeved dress and heels.

To be fair, you had presumed this would just be a standard meeting with the in-house therapist. After the incident in Kansas City, it seemed like standard procedure and you were glad to have been offered this opportunity.

Now though, sitting in the way too soft armchair with the brunette older woman looking at you over her glasses, this felt more like an evaluation than anything else. And you absolutely hated it.

You looked at the still-life of a fruit bowl on the right wall, right next to a bookshelf full of framed certificates. A woman who was proud of her accomplishments.

The first and last time you had had an evaluation was when you had first started working at the FBI and back then you had been sure that you had failed it. You had been sure you had failed all of it.

Your grandmother always used to say that if you looked for flaws long enough you would find them.

Dr Johnson looked like she spent her life looking for flaws.

“Tell me again why you chose to work for the FBI – and the BAU specifically.”

You would not make it anyway. Fuck it.

“There is so much hurt in the world,” you started, watching her eyebrows rise over the frames of her glasses, “I would feel better knowing I am trying to do something against it. And as for the BAU,” you shrugged, “Chief Sector Strauss approached me about it and I thought I would be stupid not to take the opportunity.”

She hummed, looking down at her file. “You don’t have any official FBI training.”

“No.”

“Any formal police training?”

“No.”

“Gun training?”

You hid your smile at the thought of the recent debacle for the gun qualification.

“I took down an UnSub in Kansas City last week,” you reminded her, “That is why I am here.”

She did not react to it. “In fact,” she leafed through the papers in her hand, “You only recently finished college. How did that go for you?”

“Good,” you nodded, trying to keep your knee from bouncing, “It was good.”

“What did you major in?”

“English,” you replied and when you saw her raised eyebrow, tried to elaborate, “Um, English literature to be exact and I have a minor in law as well.”

“Why only a minor?”

“Pardon me?”

“Why did you only minor in law? Were you not good enough?”

To cover the unease from her question, you crossed your legs. “I had no interest in law,” you answered truthfully, “My passion was and is with literature.”

The full truth was, you simply did not like law students. That and the pressure they were under was, you were convinced, what brought many lawyers to an early grave. But she did not need to know that about you.

Ironic that you had ended up in the BAU after all this.

Totally not stressful.

She said your name, then, slowly, and leant forward. You tensed, knowing that look too well. Was this the moment she would tell you that you had failed the valuation? The moment Hotch would come into the office and hand you your resignation with that disappointed look in his eyes.

Maybe the way Kansas City had ended was just a way to disguise the true going-ons of your work here in Quantico?

“You have been here, what, seven months now, Agent?”

“Yes, eight months, coming February,” you replied, meeting her gaze and swallowing the dryness of your throat.

“Would you say you have adjusted to your life here in Virginia?”

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

Dr Johnson made a vague gesture as if encompassing everything and anything, “Do you have friends here? Family? How do you get on with your colleagues?”

Well, you certainly had not been expecting this kind of question.

“I live together with a friend,” you answered slowly, “My family lives in Idaho.”

“Idaho,” Johnson smiled, “A long way from home, no?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Agent, I am not going to lie,” she sighed, putting her pen down on the notepad, “I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.”

You’re not the only one, you thought with a grimace.

“I am sure you are a good person, that your motivations for working here are true,” she elaborated, “But your lack of training? Your lack of … experience,” she gave you a pitiful look, “I am simply not convinced you are cut out for the work we need here.”

You had always thought it but hearing someone else say it to your face hit deeper than you ever could have thought. Your fingers started to tremble and you clasped your hands together, squeezing them to somehow force yourself to remain with as much dignity as you could.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath in the hopes that it would keep your tears at bay, “What – what does that mean?”

“As there are no reasons for a suspension based on your mental health, the next step would be that I get in contact with your supervisor,” she threw a look on her paper, “SSA Aaron Hotchner, is that correct?” you nodded and she continued, “A written evaluation of your role at the BAU will be requested and then we will go from there. Best case scenario is you won’t leave at all, worst case scenario …”, she trailed off.

Of course, she did not need to finish the sentence for you to know what she was saying.

Worst case scenario: You would leave the FBI.

Realization washed over you and you smiled tightly at her. “Thank you, Dr Johnson,” you stood up, reaching a polite hand out to her which she took, “If you will excuse me, I should get back to my desk while I still can.”

Dr Johnson smiled kindly at you which only made it worse. She was pitying you. She felt sorry for you. Sorry for your incompetence, sorry for you not belonging in this place.

You felt like you would throw up any minute.

“Of course, Agent,” she said softly, “I will inform your supervisor of my recommendation. You will receive a copy of the protocol within the next week.”

You nodded, not meeting her eyes as you hurried out of her office.

*

The staff washroom on the third floor was always empty.

You knew that from the fact that you had often used it as a refuge after nearly dissolving into tears in the bullpen. That and the fact that the third floor was far away enough for anyone of the BAU to search for you here made it the perfect place to come after your talk with Dr Johnson.

You threw a look on your watch.

Six minutes. You would give yourself six minutes and then you would go to your desk and work on those reports and show Dr Johnson that you loved your job and that you were capable of doing it. You would show her that you were not the anxious, incompetent student she saw in you but someone who could be an asset to the team.

I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.

Tears shot into your eyes and you locked the little cabin behind you, sitting on the edge of the toilet as you rushed to grab a few pieces of toilet paper.

The first sob echoed in the tiled room and you pressed the tissues to your mouth, hoping it would muffle the sounds somewhat. Your skin felt too hot and too tight and you could already see how your makeup would be ruined by the tears no matter how hard you tried.

And you had left your backup mascara in your bag at your desk.

Great. Just great.

Anxiety filled you at the thought of having to prove yourself even more than before. After Kansas City and Hotch’s encouraging words, you had somehow hoped that the hard part was over now. That you could focus on delivering good work instead of questioning if everyone doubted your belonging in the unit.

But maybe they were and they were just too polite to mention it? Maybe Dr Johnson was finally saying what they all wanted to spare you from?

Tears were rolling freely over your cheeks now, dropping onto your dress and you cursed, trying to wipe it away and somehow keep your face dry. There were still quite a few hours left in the workday and although you hoped there would not be a case coming in today, you were working along with a team of profilers.

You were like an open book to them even if there was the agreement to not profile each other.

A look on your watch told you it was nearly time to go and you took a moment to listen if anybody was there before stepping out of the little cubicle. It was completely abandoned.

Much like you had expected, you looked an absolute mess and just seeing yourself in the mirror brought fresh tears into your eyes.

“Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity,” you echoed the motto, gripping the edge of the counter and taking deep breaths, “Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity.”

*

“Hey, kid, how did it go?”

You entered the chaotic bullpen, just barely avoiding crashing into Anderson before making your way to your desk. Reid was seated across from you which meant that no matter how much of a mess you left at the end of a day, it still looked comparably neat.

Now though, it was nearly empty.

“Hi Derek,” you smiled tightly, your eyes still irritated from your impromptu cry session as you sat down at your desk.

You had splashed cold water on your face in hopes of somehow feeling and looking better. Still, you immediately went for your bag, scrambling to find your emergency mascara and lipstick to sneak back into the washroom before anyone noticed.

Especially –

“Agent,” Hotch’s voice boomed through the office and you winced, feeling the heat of tears collecting in your eyes again. You stayed ducked over your bag, hoping that maybe he did not mean you. Maybe he wanted to talk to Derek or Emily or Reid or –

Cleanly polished shoes appeared in your field of vision and you swallowed.

“In my office. Now.”

“Yes, Sir,” you mumbled, hastily wiping your cheek of a stray tear before straightening and following him up the stairs. You ignored Derek’s worried look, instead choosing to straighten your shoulders and stoically look ahead.

This was but an extension of the interview with Dr Johnson. You could do this even if the man terrified and intrigued you more than he should.

You had barely stepped foot in his office when he sat down. “Close the door. Sit down.”

You did, feeling much smaller than you had in Dr Johnson’s office. His lips were tight and he looked incredibly displeased, even for Hotch’s standards. You must have majorly messed up.

His hands were clasped in front of him and your eyes fell to his fingers. You swallowed heavily, hands wringing in your lap as you waited for him to start talking.

“Dr Johnson just informed me that a written evaluation of your performance on this team is being requested.”

“Sir, I can explain, I –“

He raised a hand, effectively silencing you and your mouth snapped shut.

“You do not need to explain anything,” he said calmly, “Dr Johnson is only doing her job and after what happened last week, it might not be such a bad idea.”

You nodded, trying to not seem as nervous as you were.

“Do not worry yourself over it. I meant what I said in Kansas,” he stated, facial expression unreadable, “You are a valuable addition to this team and I look forward to seeing your contributions in the future.”

“Yes, Sir,” you looked down on your hands, trying to hide your nervousness, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Call me Hotch.”

“Yes, Si- Hotch,” you corrected yourself with a sheepish smile. He was sitting at his desk, hands folded on top of it as he looked at you. And fuck, it should be forbidden to look this good. You froze, licking your lips and hoping you would be able to blame it on the dryness of your lips instead of you imagining what it would be like to feel his mouth on yours.

Not the time, a rational part of your brain reminded you, So not the fucking time.

*

Shuffling through the crowded metro you pressed your phone to your ear.

“I promise, it is all right, mom,” you assured her, letting yourself fall into one of the free seats, keeping your bag pressed against your chest. An elderly woman threw you an offended look and shuffled away from you as if you had any interest in stealing her dog off her hands.

“I am just worried, honey,” your mom said on the other side of the phone, “We are all worried. It is a hard job, isn’t it? And why do they keep putting you up for evaluations? You haven’t even been there for a full year!”

“Mom –“

“Are you okay?” she interrupted you in that voice that only your mom had, “Truly okay?

Your head fell against the window of the wagon, the heaviness of the day washing over you. You took a shuddering breath, “No, Mom, I – I don’t think I am.”

There was a sigh on the other side of the line. She was disappointed and worried, you could hear it already and it did not help to calm the anxiety raging in your stomach. You could almost see her in front of you, the pity in her eyes and the little furrow between her brows.

“You can always come home, hon, you know that, right?” she asked carefully and you cringed at how quiet she was being, “We can still find somewhere else for you to work. A nice option. You can come back home and dad and I will help you. I know it can take some time to find a good position. But you had so much fun doing literature, why not go back to it? You don’t have to stick there if it doesn’t make you happy.”

“But it does make me happy, mom,” you protested, wincing at how desperate you sounded, before adding quietly, “Saving people is what I want to do. And I can do it.”

“I am not saying you can’t, sweetie,” she assured you, “But maybe it is not what you should do with your life, hm?”

*

You could see that the light was on in the living room when you entered the small hallway. The sounds of the TV washed over your ears and you smiled.

“I’m home!”

A non-committal grunt answered you and you grinned, knowing that he was probably too entranced in whatever crime show he was currently watching. You let your keys fall onto the little side table and made sure to lock the deadbolt before making your way to Josh.

Your heels made clicking sounds on the floor and you took care to be as quiet as possible. “Hi,” you grinned, waving at him.

Josh was tall and lanky. And despite being offended if you ever told him that – looked exactly like one would imagine a law student to look. He was always well dressed and took great care when it came to all things cultural. He drank the best wine, read all the important books, watched all the niche movies to impress people.

Sometimes you joked that of the two of you, he was the one who could be expected to work for a government institution.

“It’s late,” he commented, nodding to the screen, “You’re usually here by the second episode.”

“I wanted to get some reports done,” you explained, shrugging out of your coat, “Had a chat with my boss today again. I thought it might be better to not give any more opportunities to criticize me. How was your day?”

“Boring,” he replied, “Attended that one event about intellectual property and want to lunch with a few friends from uni. You should come with us sometime, you will like them.”

You nodded, already thinking ahead of a day when you would have enough free time to join him and his friends. Dr Jones’ words about having a strong social life to fall back to echoed in your mind and you decided to make more of an effort to make friends.

It would be all right.

There was some Chinese takeout in Josh’s lap and you spotted a few grocery bags in the small hallway to your room and the kitchen.

“Did you get me the bananas like I asked?” you asked, slipping out of your heels.

Josh kept munching on his noddle, making a vague gesture that led you into the kitchen. And there, on the tiny dining table were two green bananas.

“They are not even ripe yet,” you called into the living room, “And I asked for four bananas, not two.”

“What do you need them for anyway?”

“I wanted to bake banana bread,” you said, turning to get out some flour and chocolate chips, “It’s an easy breakfast to have in the metro.”

Josh sighed, walking into the kitchen and throwing himself onto the black dining chair. “You barely eat at home anyway, that’ll just go to waste.”

“Which is exactly why it is nice to have something ready to eat on the go,” you explained, wondering if he had overheard your words.

Cracking two eggs into a bowl, you hummed. “I could bring it into the office,” you mused, starting to mush up the bananas, “I think JJ mentioned she liked it once.”

“To the colleagues that despise you?”

You frowned, “They don’t despise me. They are very nice to me, Josh.”

Josh took the last bite of his noodles, setting down the little container “By the way, Greg is coming over tonight.

“But it’s almost midnight,” you stated, throwing a confused look towards the clock, just to make sure, “Didn’t you say you will leave for that Seattle trip tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if it gets too late he will just stay on the couch,” Josh replied, shrugging. You nodded, not saying anything but knowing deep down that George would occupy the bathroom that morning so you would have to get up even earlier than normal.

That would be a stressful day.

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 20 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 20

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, the Duke

Rating: PG-13

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary.  While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter 20

Heisenberg pulled a clean undershirt from the tall, five-drawer chest next to the bed.  You lay naked, your head in your hand and your elbow on the pillow.  The sheets were pulled up over your breasts as you watched him put on his clothes.  Despite lots of begging and pouting from you, Heisenberg had to attend to his metal army and continue his work of vengeance on Mother Miranda.

As much as you loved watching him remove his clothing, there was something equally arousing watching him put on his clothing.  He stepped into his underwear and khaki pants, grabbing his belt and sliding it through the pant loops.  He pulled the undershirt over his head and buttoned up the khaki shirt, tucking them both into his pants.  The three items he always kept around his neck were next, followed by his hat.  His sunglasses followed and lastly, his long overcoat.  The ensemble was complete.

Heisenberg sat next to you on the edge of the bed, putting on his socks and boots.  “I need to continue my work down in the lab, but I need supplies from the Duke.  He’ll be here in a few hours.  But time is of the essence and what I have to accomplish will take all day,” Heisenberg said.  The last few days were less working in his factory and more fucking your brains out.  He wasn’t complaining in the least, but he knew that lots of work still needed to be done and he wasn’t forgetting the inevitable clash between him and Miranda.  The feeling in his gut was growing; the battle needed to be fought and he needed to vanquish her.

“Well, why don’t you give me a list and I can get everything from the Duke,” you offered as you sat up in bed, “and while I’m there, I would like to see if he can get any toiletries and other items I’m running low on…”

Heisenberg was quiet for a moment as he tied his boots.  You could see him mulling over things in his head...whether or not he should let you go on this little excursion.  Everything he needed were things that he had bought several times over, so he knew the Duke would know exactly what was on the list.  But the worry of you running away was always in the back of his mind.  He felt certain that with everything that had happened between you and him and the confession of love on both sides that you wouldn’t want to leave even if the opportunity presented itself.  Heisenberg knew that you would get what was needed and return to the factory.  But there was also the possibility of Mother Miranda snatching you the moment his back was turned.  He would never forgive himself if she got her hooks into you and used you for one of her sick, delusional experiments in order to get Eva back.

In the end, he did trust you and he wanted to show you that trust.

“Okay, I’ll give you a list,” Heisenberg said, “just give it to the Duke and he’ll know exactly what I need.  But the moment you are finished, march right back to the factory.  Close and lock the doors and hit the red button to the right.  It will signal an alarm and let me know that you are safe…”

“I promise,” you said.

Heisenberg smiled and leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.  You lifted your hands to his face, moaning softly.  The sheets fell into your lap, showing your tits to Heisenberg.  A soft giggle lodged in your throat as he opened his eyes and looked down.  He growled softly and broke the kiss.

“Such a cock tease,” he muttered playfully.

You chuckled as Heisenberg went to the table, grabbed a piece of paper,  and wrote his list of supplies.

*

The sliding double doors were heavy and it took a lot of your strength to push them open one by one.  The biting cold air rushed through the doors and nearly took your breath away.  It was cloudy and chilly.  The wind gusted in the distance.  You hadn’t been here that long, but long enough that you could tell snow wasn’t too far off.  Zipping your oversized jacket and making sure your wool gloves were on your hands, you exited the factory and made your way to the gate.

The Duke was seated in the back of his carriage and waiting as always.  You smiled and waved as you got closer to him.  Heisenberg had opened the gates earlier before making his way down into the depths of his factory.

“Well, good morning, Y/N,” the Duke greeted, a smile on his face, “is it just you today?  Is Lord Heisenberg not going to grace me with his presence?”

You shook your head, digging in your pants pocket for the list.  “Not today.  He’s busy and I told him I could get everything.”

“That’s fine with me...gives us some time to get to know one another…” he smiled.  You stood on your tiptoes and handed the Duke the list.  “Oh yes,” he said, looking over the items, “these are supplies that Lord Heisenberg is always in need of.  I know them all very well.”

The Duke handed you a burlap sack and showed you all of the things that Heisenberg needed.  One by one, you placed the items in the bag.  You also looked around at things that might catch your eye.  Thankfully, the Duke had toiletries and supplies that you needed.  You placed them in the sack along with the rest.

“Duke,” you began, “I also wanted to see if you could help me with something.  I wanted to do something nice for Karl.  Do you have anything that he likes that he doesn’t always purchase?  Maybe ingredients for a meal that he likes to splurge on from time to time?”

The Duke thought for a moment.  “I do happen to know that Tochitura de Pui is one of his favorite dishes!  I can’t remember the last time he bought ingredients for that meal.  Here…” he handed you a rectangular piece of paper with ingredients and directions for preparation.  The Duke went through the recipe and gave you all the products needed, giving you instructions on how to prepare it.  “Also…” he added, “another thing he doesn’t splurge on often is Asbach Uralt!  It’s a German brandy that his father and grandfather loved.  Lord Heisenberg buys a bottle of this a few times a year.  This would be a lovely surprise for him...and coming from you, it would make his day!”

He handed you the bottle of the alcohol and you inspected the writing.  It was in German, of course, but it filled you with excitement.  Heisenberg had cooked for you ever since he brought you to the factory.  Aside from the occasional meals you fixed yourself when he was off working, it was always him cooking.  You wanted to do this….to cater to him and make him happy with something he loved and would never see coming.

“Thank you so much for everything, Duke,” you said as you reached into your pockets, “I have some American currency, I hope you can use it or exchange it…”

“Not necessary,” he said, putting up his hand to stop you.

“Oh, please, take it,” you insisted, “you let me have that bracelet that I gifted to Salvatore.  I insist you take this!”

“Y/N,” he began, “I am more than happy to help you free of charge.  I do feel sorrow for the circumstances that brought you here.  I can’t imagine how traumatic a plane crash is.  But in the few times I have seen you here with Lord Heisenberg, I can sense a difference in him.  For years, he has been unhappy.  I assume he has told you what happened to him…”

You nodded your head.

“...then you know the horrors he has seen as a young child and growing up under the rule of Mother Miranda.  It has hardened his mind and his heart.  But since you have been here, I’ve noticed that icy exterior he has put up has slowly begun to melt.  You are a kind woman, Y/N, and you two are good for each other.  Consider these supplies as payment from me…”

You had to swallow the lump that formed in your throat.  The kindness and generosity he has shown you had not gone unnoticed.  Between him, Heisenberg, and Moreau, you have been lucky enough to see the small ounce of good this village had to offer.

“Thank you so much, Duke,” you said, “and if there is anything I can do for you, please let me know…”

The Duke smiled.  “Of course, I will.  Is there anything else you might need from me?”

“I think that’s it,” you smiled, holding the bottle of Asbach Uralt in one hand and pulling the hefty sack over your shoulder, “I’ll see you later!  Goodbye!”

“Take care,” he said as you closed the gate behind you.  He watched you walk up the path to the factory, making sure you were okay.  Once inside, you gently placed the sack and the bottle on the ground and closed the sliding double doors, locking them securely.  Lastly, you pressed the red button, alerting Heisenberg that you were safe and sound.

Heisenberg was pouring liquid metal into the press, making a cog for a broken machine.  He smiled when he heard the alarm.

[ddarker-dreams]

Contractual Obligations II. Yan Childe x Reader

Warnings: Unwanted physical contact, general yandere themes. Word count: 2.2k. →Part I. 

The sound of heavy, wooden doors shutting behind you feels like a premonition of what is to come. 

Fiddling with your skirt, your eyes dart around, taking in Liyue’s signature rich architecture. Fatui building or not, they still must abide by Liyue’s aesthetic. You thought being surrounded by your home’s design would bring solace. Warm shades of mahogany with gold motifs are illuminated by paper lanterns, giving a glow that would be otherwise pleasant, if not for the circumstances. 

You had anticipated a long wait. Ekaterina, upon hearing your name, informed that you would be seen without delay. The others in the lobby of Northland Bank grumbled at this, much to your embarrassment. It’s no secret that getting appointments here is a time-consuming endeavor. Sailors, business owners, and Qixing’s personal assistants alike had to wait. 

For whatever reason, you were allowed to skip ahead of the queue. The glaring special treatment is bound to spread rumors. Now, here you stand, unable to quell your nerves. This is no different than strolling into a ravenous lion’s den. The vulnerability you feel now makes you wish you were facing a carnivorous beast, at least then you might have hope to defend yourself. 

Even with the unexpected privilege of not waiting in the lobby, you’ve been standing here in this private room for a while now. Thirty minutes is your guess, impatience creeping up on you. Your shoulders slump, a sigh leaving your lips. There’s lots of work to be done when you’re done here, time a precious resource. Wasting it to get answers from the blight on your life is infuriating. 

Figures, the one time you need to speak with Childe, he’s nowhere to be seen. Every other time he’d show up at the least opportune moments. He has a habit of appearing uninvited and ruining what would’ve been a pleasant day. Lost in thought, you consider all that must be done when you return to your parent’s shop, too occupied with your thoughts to notice a looming figure. Two hands go out to cover your eyes, the world suddenly going dark. Heart pounding against your chest, the touch is too unexpected, heat rising in your body as protection.

“Guess who?” Childe hums into your ear with a singsong tone. His scent reminds you of the ocean, fresh and light. 

You frown, noticing how close he is to you, his chest pressed against your back. Does Childe not know what personal space is? “The source of my problems.” 

He lets out a scandalized gasp and slinks in front of you. Childe boasts a lighthearted demeanor, mirth dancing in his eyes, and a tight-lipped smile on his face. Inauthentic as ever, you note. You’ve seen what lays dormant behind the thin veil of boyish charm. The infinite darkness that you never wish to see again. He’s still closer to your person than you’d prefer, but pointing it out won’t do any good, so you decide to overlook it. Picking your battles wisely is vital when speaking with Childe.

“Is that the greeting I get, after rushing all the way here?” Childe sighs. Before you could respond, you notice a new scent in the air, unmistakably leather. It takes you a moment to identify the source. A thin, wispy trail of smoke rises from Childe’s leather gloves that had been touching you just prior. Does that not hurt? Childe catches you staring and laughs. 

“So you didn’t notice,” Childe sounds amused, lifting his hands to inspect them. Raising his hands to his mouth, he bites the tip of his gloves and pulls them off. “Looks like I caught you.” 

He nods to your necklace which is tucked beneath your blouse, scarlet light shining through the fabric. Instinctually, you cover it with your hand, the jewel warm to the touch. Childe’s abrupt physical touch had activated your Vision. It’s only when you take a few deep breaths that the telling glow fades away, but the damage is already done. Did he plan this on purpose? Whatever the case may be, Childe is the last person you want having this information.

Sensing your apprehension, he speaks up. “Relax, I already assumed as much, but my interest is undeniably piqued. Why hide your Vision? This isn’t Inazuma, I was under the impression Visions were revered in Liyue.” 

You don’t owe Childe an explanation, but your intuition tells you he’s not going to let this go anytime soon. This isn’t what you came here for, you remind yourself. Don’t let him distract you.

“It’s a long story,” comes your dismissive answer, glancing around to see if anyone else had seen, even though it’s only you two in here. “Can I talk about what I came here for, please?” 

Childe closes his eyes, humming while considering your proposition. Instead of walking behind the desk in the room, he sits on a bench against the wall, motioning for you to come over. At your blatant hesitation, he decides to pester you, which doesn’t come as a shock. 

“What’s up with that look? There’s plenty of room,” Childe pats the spot next to him for extra emphasis. A dangerous twinkle shines in his eyes with a mischievous smile to match it. “Though, I wouldn’t complain should you come to sit on my lap instead.” 

Your cheeks flush brightly, a weak glare being sent his way which he laughs at. “I would never…” 

“Sure, sure. Come over already, it’s the least you could do, considering you just scorched a pair of my favorite gloves.” Childe’s carefree tone doesn’t match his scolding words, stretching out his arm on the back of where you were supposed to sit. Gingerly stepping over the smoking gloves on the floor, you wonder if it’s somehow a fire hazard, but assume Childe’s Hydro Vision could put it out if need be. You stop just short of sitting down, gnawing on your bottom lip at this new internal dilemma. Glaring daggers at his outstretched arm doesn’t seem to faze him. 

“The offer still stands.” He teases, leading you to huff and take your seat by him. You try to ignore the close physical proximity, but it’s rather difficult, as your thighs are touching. Is this a common theme for Snezhnayans? Why is Childe so needlessly touchy? Maybe you don’t want to know. Childe drums his fingers, staring at you with dangerous intent. 

You’ve wasted enough time here. Hoping to move on to the pressing issue, your lips part without further delay. “So, as I was--”

Childe places a finger to your lips, in an act that leaves you speechless. What is his problem? Furrowing your eyebrows together, you have half a mind to scorch the finger in front of you, but dismiss the thought when remembering his strength. Damn him for getting you riled up with such ease. 

“Uh uh uh,” Childe chastises with a shake of his head. “Not yet. Business can come later. First, you’re going to tell me about that.” 

You don’t need to look down to see he’s pointing at your hidden necklace. “It’s... personal. I have no reason to tell you.” 

“Oh, sweet [First]. I wasn’t asking. You did just burn my gloves, didn’t you? Instead of charging you Mora, which -- no offense -- you don’t have enough of to replace it, I want an explanation. I think that’s a fair deal.” 

So he is going to hold that mishap over you. Messing around with a debt collector and money seems counterintuitive, giving a quick explanation the plausible option. Whatever it takes to get him to drop the sensitive topic. Childe must have a semblance of tact to have made it this far in life after all. 

“Fine, fine. It’s not really that remarkable a reason. I have a younger sister, Chunghua. We used to be inseparable as kids. More than anything, I just wanted her to be happy. You’d do anything to accomplish that, y’know? It was… all my fault, really. She wanted a Vision like mine more than anything -- hair accessories, Mora, pretty outfits -- she never cared for that. 

I had no idea why I was given a Vision and not her. She was the one who prayed to every Archon at night for it, the one who burnt incense and gave offerings, not me. I could see her gradually losing hope every day that she woke up without one, like a piece of her was breaking off. At meals, she’d just… stare, silently, at the Vision around my neck. I don’t blame her for starting to hate me. I didn’t notice until it was too late.”

Taking a deep breath, your eyes fall to your lap. “I only wanted to cheer her up. To see her smile like she used to. When I first got my Vision, Chunghua would ask me to do these little tricks. Forming animals or whatever, stuff kids like. Anyways… I tried doing it again one morning. Needless to say, it didn’t go well, she practically screeched at me. I had no idea that was how she felt. But, yeah. That’s why I hide my Vision. See, not that interesting, right?” 

Childe’s expression feels impossible to read. You’re not sure why you even shared so much, especially with him, but his lack of interruption made you keep going. Maybe you weren’t expecting him to sit perfectly still and listen to every word. Whatever the case, you clear your throat, desperate to clear the gloomy atmosphere. 

“She would’ve reacted the same eventually,” Childe says after a moment of deliberation. You tilt your head, the serious answer was unexpected. “That’s what I think, though only older siblings could understand.”

There’s a brief tenderness in his words that leaves you speechless. If he’s acting, you have to commend his abilities, because right now it almost feels like he’s being genuine. Playing with a strand of your hair, you look past him and clear your throat.

“Yes, well, I suppose you’re right.” 

Childe’s somber appearance twists into a more impish visage. “Why don’t I give Chunghua a talking to? It’s a shame seeing your cute face so sullen.” 

Mortified, you shake your head. “There’s no need for that.” 

“Hmm… a shame. I could really take care of everything if you just let me.” 

“Somehow I doubt that,” you shrug with a frown. “What you could help me with is this ridiculous situation at the shop! Why are there Fatui guards outside the front doors? It’s scaring away customers.” 

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” 

Unbelievable. Childe continues to test your patience at every turn. After your previous conversation outside Liyue, which you’re still hoping was a bad joke, you’d noticed an increased presence of Fatui around the shopping district. That was bad enough for business. Now that they’re stationed right outside your parent’s shop, it’s far worse. Rumors have begun to circulate that you’re somehow involved with the Fatui. This has Childe’s doing written all over it.

“Why else would I be here?” 

He smiles and you immediately regret the rhetorical question. “Because you missed me, of course.” 

“I missed when there weren’t Fatui around the shop. Please, I don’t know what you did, but it’s going to be harder to get money for...” you gulp as if saying it cements the reality of your situation, but power through. “Paying off the loan with this drop in revenue.”

“Tempting as that is, I’m already happy with the results. I got you to come to me and learned more about you. From my position, this is a sizeable gain.” 

Everything from your head to your toes feels hot as if molten lava is stirring inside. He’s not taking you seriously, like the time at the stream and all the times before that. Memories flash in your mind. Your father hunched over letters containing bills, frowning, hair going greyer by the day. Your mother, sneaking out when she thinks you and your sister are asleep to pawn off her old jewelry. Even Chunghua, who offered to take time away from her education to help at the shop. It hits you like a pile of bricks, heart twisting painfully and tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

“What do I have to do,” Your voice is so low that Childe has to careen his head to hear it. He blinks, incredulous, waiting for further clarification. Each breath you take feels like a losing battle, your composure threatening to shatter. “For you to stop… whatever this is. I’ll do anything. Give anything. Please, just leave my family out of it.” 

Childe crosses his legs and leans in closer to you, arm secured tight around your shoulder.

“Didn’t I tell you already?” 

His breath is warm against you, lips ghosting over the skin of your neck. He presses his lips softly against your pulse. Smiling, he notices how it quickens underneath his touch, all too pleased with your physical reactions. 

“That what I want to take is you.” 

[vrishchikawrites]

Some Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian friendship please?

Like wwx was the first person to understand that Nie Huaisang was a "useless" young master only on purpose.

You can choose if :

Post cannon?

Cannon divergence?

Cannon divergence: where he's a better friend so he makes him joint he Nie clan? Or something? who knows?

You can also choose if Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang are friends.

(Imagine NHS-WWX-LWJ are buddies since cloud recesses days and go forth, lol. Canon divergence from the point of JC denouncing WWX)

“Listen to me for once!”

Nie Huaisang didn't mean to shout, not really. It is never a good idea to shout at his da-ge because it only provokes anger in return. But Wei-xiong is in danger and no one is helping. Nie Huaisang may be a useless cultivator in many people’s eyes but he refuses to be a useless friend.

The desperation in his stone catches da-ge’s attention and his older brother looks at him with a severe frown, “That boy is cultivating the ghostly path, Huaisang! Even his sect leader distrusts him!”

“Exactly! Da-ge, I’m not stupid, no matter how much you like to believe I am-”

“I don’t!”

Huaisang ignores him, “I know Wei-xiong. He may be mischievous but he’s not evil. If you don’t believe me, ask Lan Wangji! You can trust his word, yes? If you can’t trust your own brother’s.”

“Watch your tone,” Nie Mingjue growls, “You have earned every bit of my suspicion, Huaisang. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Huaisang winces, “I’m not dismissing your concerns but I need more than just your instincts to intervene. Do you have anything more than ‘i know him, da-ge’?” His brother asks and arches a brow.

Huaisang takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts. Hundreds of little observations, pieces of a puzzle too scattered, swirl around in his mind. He has held these pieces close to this heart for years, knowing that it would’ve been disastrous to reveal them during the war. But Nie Huiasang can no longer afford to be silent. Every time he hears someone spitting out his best friend’s name like a curse, something in him burns.

Wei Wuxian is so genuinely good-natured, he will accept everyone as they are. Wei Wuxian is always willing to step between an enemy and a friend, ready to take the blow of them.

There are few people in cultivation as honorable and compassionate as Wei-xiong and Nie Huaisang doesn’t want to see that light diminish.

Da-ge is silent, as though sensing Huaisang’s turmoil.

He straightens and tucks his fan away, meeting his older brother’s gaze head-on, without hesitation. That is enough for da-ge to frown and gesture towards an empty seat. Huaisang quickly goes about making tea as he speaks, “Please be patient with me, da-ge,” He begs, “Let me explain the full picture so you can see what I see. All of this may seem like speculation, but I have proof, circumstantial, but proof nonetheless.”

Nie Mingjue’s expression is now serious and placid, like he’s fully willing to listen to what his brother has to say.

“You… you don’t know, Wei-xiong. He cherished his cultivation, da-ge,” He explains, “It is no accident or act of fate that he was so good at it - good enough to even challenge Lan Wangji. He did the work to get there; he was brilliant but he was also incredibly hardworking. His cultivation was the result of years of refinement. Suibian was his constant companion and he wielded it like it was his soul.”

His brother is still because he’s not stupid.

“Is it not strange that we hear rumors of Wei Wuxian being captured by Wen Chao- by Wen Zhuliu - and see him return with a new cultivation that doesn’t require a Golden Core?”

His da-ge is definitely paying attention now.

“But is it not stranger that the Wens claim they had taken Jiang Wanyin’s core, only for Jiang-zongzhu to come back stronger? His cultivation is so refined and powerful, he is now a force to be reckoned with. Is it not strange, da-ge, that a man that couldn’t push his core even after years of diligent training managed to strengthen so significantly in a matter of months?”

“What are you saying, Huaisang?”

“I’m saying that Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a Golden Core. He hasn’t had it for the entire duration of the war. He lost it during or before those three months he was missing. I’m saying those rumors about him being tossed into the Burial Mounds are likely to be true. I’m saying that Wei-xiong is exactly the kind of person who would use word games to make people believe otherwise. He’s also the kind of person who would do everything in his power to protect his martial siblings.”

Nie Mingue looks stunned, “He walked into war without his Golden Core?”

“I am absolutely certain he did.”

Nie Mingjue stares at his brother, “But you… don’t believe Wen Zhuliu took his core.”

Huaisang hesitates, “This is where I hesitate, da-ge. My instincts tell me it's not that simple. I have known both Wei-xiong and Jiang-zongzhu for a long time. We lived in close quarters and I may not be a good cultivator, but that doesn’t mean I miss small details. Jiang Wanyin feels just as powerful as Wei-xiong did, back then.”

“And you believe that’s impossible?” Da-ge arches a skeptical brow, “You, by your own admission, don’t like him.”

“Wen Qing nearly published a paper on Golden Core transfer. Wen Ning rescued Jiang Wanyin from Wen Chao’s grasp.” He takes a deep breath, “Wei Wuxian just gave up everything to repay a debt that Jiang Wanyin admitted he owed.” Nie Huaisang doesn’t know everything, but he has had years to figure out enough.

Suddenly, all the skepticism leaves his older brother’s face.

“Let’s speak with Lan Wangji.”

---

Wangji-xiong takes it like a blow to his chest.

Huaisang sees him flinch and he sees Xichen-ge step forward in concern, “Wangji...” Xichen-ge looks like he doesn’t know what to say and how to reassure his brother.

Huaisang may consider Wei Wuxian his best friend, but he firmly believes that no one cares for him more than Lan Wangji.

The Hanguang-jun believes him. That's clear from his expression.

Wangji-xiong has likely been aware of those scattered puzzle pieces as well. He just hadn’t put them together until now.

“This is all speculation,” Xichen-ge tries to interject, “There may not be any need to worry, Wangji.”

“Wei Ying’s heart hasn’t changed.”

Xichen-ge stills and Huaisang watches as icy resolve settles on Wangji-xiong’s face, “I’ll bring him.”

“Wangji-”

“Wangji begs your pardon, xiongzhang,” The Hanguang-jun turns around and walks swiftly towards the door. He offers no other word or explanation.

“Huaisang,” Xichen-ge’s voice is displeased, “You should have come to me with this first. Wangji is… attached to Wei-gongzi.”

Surprisingly, it is da-ge who intervenes.

“If you can give Meng Yao the benefit of the doubt, you can extend the same courtesy to Huaisang and Wangji’s friend, Xichen.” Nie Mingjue is scowling, “We have more reason to fault his character than Wei-gongzi’s.”

It is probably the harshest thing da-ge has ever said to Xichen-ge and it shows. The First Jade visibly calms himself and nods graciously, but there’s a glint of displeasure in his eyes. Jin Guangyao has been a bone of contention between da-ge and Xichen-ge for several months now. Huaisang should probably look into the matter a little more but Wei-xiong’s situation demands all of his attention.

Now that Jiang Wanyin announced Wei Wuxian’s defection to the entire cultivation world, he’s a free agent with a powerful ability and an even more powerful tool. With the Jins and their successful rumor-mongering, Huaisang fears they don’t have much time. Jin Guangshan has already driven a wedge between Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian. How much more can they accomplish if Huaisang doesn’t intervene somehow?

---

Wangji-xiong doesn’t return with Wei Wuxian. He brings Wen Qing and wears an expression of outright fury on his usually stoic face.

“I transferred his Golden Core into Jiang Wanyin.” Wen Qing declares with a straight back and a steady glare. She looks right into da-ge’s eyes, “I helped Jiang Wanyin recover from his captivity and then agreed to perform the procedure.”

Huaisang sits down as his worst fear is confirmed.

He had hoped… he had desperately hoped he had been wrong but as Wen Qing goes on to describe everything, explaining how the procedure worked and what Wei-xiong had to endure for his martial brother’s sake, he becomes certain she is telling the truth.

And this is exactly what Wei Wuxian would do. It would be too far-fetched and outrageous for anyone else, but Wei-xiong- his capacity for self-sacrifice has always worried Huaisang and Lan Wangji.

“Where is he?” Nie Mingjue demands, “Did you leave him in the Burial Grounds? In his state?”

“Wei Ying refuses to come,” Lan Wangji says, his expression pale and tight, “He must keep the resentful spirits at bay and protect the Wens. There’s a child among them, barely two years old.”

Xichen-ge sucks in a breath, closing his eyes in dismay.

“He’s injured.” Wangji-xiong continues, “He was gutted by Jiang Wanyin in a staged fight.” Huaisang looks up sharply, “He hasn’t healed and yet persists to place himself at risk.”

“Wangji, we will help him,” Xichen-ge assures, “I apologize for not understanding the situation, but now we know and we will help him.”

“So they fought to spare the Jiang Sect,” Huaisang speculates with a frown, “But… why not just tell us? Surely Jiang-zongzhu knows he just had to mention his debt to you, Wen-guniang.”

“We have misunderstood Jiang Wanyin’s character greatly.” That is a big condemnation coming from the Hanguang-jun himself. Huaisang is certain that Wangji-xiong isn’t inclined to be charitable now. Jiang Wanyin did hurt Wei Wuxian seriously, after all.

“He won’t move until we do something to help the Wens.” Huaisang concludes, opening his fan in a snap and waving it furiously, “Because he’s just that stubborn. If he owes Wen-guniang and Wen-gongzi a debt, nothing is going to move him, not even Wangji-xiong.”

“I have never been able to move him.” Lan Wangji says icily and it seems like they’re feeding off each other’s ire.

Really, Wei-xiong is so frustrating to deal with sometimes. He doesn’t know how Lan Wangji handles being in love with him, Huaisang already feels nauseous. Wei Wuxian is in such a precarious position now that if they don’t act fast, he would…

He would likely be imprisoned or killed.

“Let’s offer the Wens some protection then.” Nie Huaisang says.

“Huaisang,” Da-ge warns, “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” He demands, turning towards his brother and Lan Xichen, “Will the Jins retaliate? If both Lans and Nies stand together on the matter, what will they do? The Wens don’t need to be free, they need to be safe and healthy. We can keep them contained in a small farming village, forbid cultivation and absorb any children into one of our clans. Let’s take Wei-xiong into the Nie clan and let the Wens settle in the northern reaches. The area is fairly remote and life will be hard but safe, better than the Burial Mounds at any rate!”

He doesn’t know what kind of expression he has on his face but da-ge looks faintly amused, “You’ll take on the Jins?”

“If I have to!”

“He means that much to you?”

Huaisang swallows and thinks of days spent in merriment and comfort. Of a friendly arm tossed around his shoulder and a laughing voice dragging him into all sorts of mischief. He thinks of warm silver eyes that never looked down at him and nods, “Yes, he does.”

Wei-xiong has always helped him and treated him with respect. It is time for him to return the favor.

---

It is a near miracle that everything works out as planned. Well, almost everything. No one is pleased when the Lans and Nies band together to take over the Wen remnants. Fortunately, the Jiangs don’t have any room to object. Da-ge doesn't hesitate to reveal that Jiang Wanyin owes Wen Ning his life. Jiang Wanyin's honor is called into question but he suffers no other consequence for his dishonesty. Nie Huaisang doesn’t care but he notices how it guts Wei-xiong.

Apparently, when Wei-xiong and Jiang Wanyin agreed to part ways, Jiang-zongzhu only needed to say Wei Wuxian had left the Jiangs. There was no need to outright state that his sect brother had betrayed the entire cultivation world!

Either Jiang-zonghzu is incredibly naive or he deliberately placed Wei Wuxian in a difficult position without his knowledge.

Either way, Nie Huaisang is content to see that relationship severed. In his humble opinion, he makes a much better martial brother. And Wei-xiong could certainly benefit from being under the thumb of someone as protective as da-ge. He’s entirely too willing to place himself in harm’s way!

Humming under his breath and happy that everything turned out according to plan, Nie Huaisang turns around the corner and pauses. He quickly takes a few steps back until he’s out of sight. Peeking cautiously around the corner, he hides a grin behind his fan as he sees Wei-xiong fall off a tree and right into Lan Wangji’s arms.

Huaisang bites back a laugh when Wei Wuxian stays in place, arms around Lan Wangji shoulders and eyes peering up at the Second Jade.

He had been suspicious about them since Lan Wangji all but dragged Wei Wuxian to the Unclean Realm. His best friend arrived with flushed cheeks and suspiciously red lips but everyone pointedly ignored it, too eager to avoid that particular mess.

He smiles, chuckling under his breath when Wangji-xiong pulls Wei Wuxian closer and dips his head.

Turning around, he starts walking away, leaving the lovers to their business.

Besides, da-ge would want to know about this.

[writtentodeath]

Hello, I love your writing this is my first time writing an ask so sorry if it's formatted incorrectly. Could you write a piece where the protag is sick and the antag sneaks into their work to give them stuff like soup and tissues but is really pissy and annoying about it? And maybe if trying to convince the protag to work for them instead?

Ty

Antagonist leaned over Protagonist’s desk. “You look like hell,” they said, their face a mask. 

Protagonist glared up at them. In truth, they were definitely sick- they’d woken up with a bad headache, and it only got worse from there. As far as they could tell, though, it was a batch of infections paired with allergies paired with not enough sleep, so there was no reason not to come in to work. “I’m not in the mood today, Antagonist.”  

“Don’t be snippy, I was just making an observation.” They took a step back, gave Protagonist one last once-over, and backed away. “I wouldn’t want to get infected, anyway.”

They left, and for a blissful moment Protagonist thought they were gone for good. 

But of course, the day wasn’t gonna give them that small mercy. 

“You know,” Antagonist said a few minutes later, strolling back into the room, which was now somehow devoid of people. “You must be feeling really bad.”

“How are you even here!?” Protagonist demanded, standing up. Black spots flashed, almost clouding over their vision. It took a moment while they steadied themselves against the desk, but the black faded. They took a shuddering breath. “You can’t be here.”

“Ignoring the fact that you can’t even stand up properly, you’re feeling bad enough that you’re not even remembering to fear me.”

Protagonist would have said something snappy, but a wave of pain crashed through them. It was really more of an accomplishment that they didn’t fall over, and their knuckles went white on the back of their chair. 

They were right. Protagonist should be afraid of them, and it was only just starting to occur to them that it wasn’t entirely normal for no one to be in the office. “Did you do something?” 

Antagonist stared at them. They didn’t say a word. 

“You’re gonna have to cut me some slack, alright? I told you I’m not in the mood for any of your crap. Actually? Actually? I want you to leave. Okay?” The headache had almost faded into the background while they were yelling at Antagonist, but it slammed back in full force the second they stopped. 

“Look at you,” Antagonist said. “Why are you even here? You should really be at home. Unless, of course, your bosses are making you come to work, which isn’t your fault at all.”

“It’s none of your business,” Protagonist managed. They had been functioning pretty well before Antagonist showed up, but now, now, there was no chance of getting anything done. Every muscle ached for no reason at all, the lights were too bright and all the sudden every minor sound felt like a needle driving through their skull.

“So they are. You deserve better, you know.” 

They took a steadying breath. Yelling was only going to prove Antagonist’s point. “I assume you have an alternative in mind?” 

“Actually, I do. You could come work for me.”

“What makes you think I want to work for someone like you?”

Antagonist looked around the empty room. “You’re wasted on them. Why do you think I wanted to have this conversation in private? They don’t deserve either of us. I’d take care of you, at the very least.”

“You’ll do what I want?” Protagonist asked. 

Antagonist shrugged. “Within reason.”

“Great, because what I want is for you to leave me alone.” They turned around and sat back down. 

The other chuckled. “Nice try.” 

And then they were at Protagonist’s back, looking over their shoulder at the papers on the desk. 

Protagonist stiffened. 

“You’re not getting anything done. Take a couple of painkillers, go home, and go to sleep,” Antagonist said. “That’s an order.”

“You can’t order me around, I don’t work for you.” 

Antagonist put a bottle on the desk. It took a quick glance to see that it was a bottle of ibuprofen, which instantly begged Protagonist to down the whole bottle. Probably a bad plan. “You’re absolutely right,” they said. “I got these for you- apparently you’re too much of an idiot to stay home when you’re sick or get a damn painkiller for yourself, but here you are.” 

“Then why do you want me to work for you!?” 

Before Antagonist could respond, Protagonist grabbed the bottle and stood up. “You know what? Nevermind. If you’re not leaving, then I am.” They roughly pushed past Antagonist, who, surprisingly, didn’t offer much resistance. “You can go bother somebody else.”

They left, swallowing a pill on their way out the door.  

Alone in the office, Antagonist smiled.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Targets - ao3

- Chapter 3 -

Meng Yao wasn’t supposed to be for sale.

His mother had worked hard her whole life to make sure of it, refusing every offer for him no matter how tempting or how desperate their situation. He was a cultivator’s son, she told him, a sect leader’s; one day, he would return to his father’s side, and if he was going to do that, he couldn’t have his past be marred with scandal. He couldn’t have a slave contract, and he couldn’t have done any work as a whore – it was one thing to do odd jobs in a brothel, but another thing entirely to actually work on your back, and somehow, somehow, someone would find out, and he’d be ruined. They would know.

The only way for him to really make it is if he never did anything like that at all.

So when the cultivator – a real cultivator, from the looks of him, not one of the fakers they often got – walked into their brothel and asked for Meng Yao, his mother said no.

The man frowned, then turned to the owner of the brothel who shrugged, indicating that he was helpless. “The boy doesn’t belong to this establishment,” he said apologetically. “But if the venerated Immortal would prefer something more boyish, I can direct you to some of our more masculine girls, or to a neighboring establishment…”

His voice trailed off when the cultivator pulled out a large chunk of gold, about half the size of Meng Yao’s thumb.

“You can keep it all – if I get the boy, a room, and your word to tell no one else that either of us are here,” the man said.

“No!” Meng Shi exclaimed, but Meng Yao knew from the look on the brothel owner’s eyes that it was too late. This wasn’t a good brothel like the one they’d been in before – the one that had kicked them out when they decided his mother was too old and her health too poor – but a lower tier one, less rich and more desperate. A piece of gold like that was more money than all the girls put together would make in a year.

If they continued to refuse, the owner of the brothel would use force. There were the bully boys at the door – they would grab his mother and drag her away, grab him and throw him into the room, maybe tie him down, rob him of any ability to defend himself…

So Meng Yao put his hand on his mother’s arm. “It’s fine, Mother,” he said to her, hoping to offer comfort where there was none to be had, and then forced himself to smile at the cultivator. “How can this humble one best please the venerated Immortal?”

The man’s eyes flickered between them, and his frown deepened.

“The woman comes with us, same deal,” he told the owner, who nodded, eyes fixed on the gold, and never mind that both Meng Yao and his mother had now frozen in horror. There were women in the brothel who sometimes pretended to be sisters and might even be, it was a popular request by clients, but – his mother… “All right, where’s the room?”

“I’ll give you the best one in the house,” the owner said, tone fawning, and showed them the way.

By the time they were upstairs, Meng Yao was shaking like a leaf and his mother looked on the verge of weeping.

The moment the cultivator closed the door behind them, shooing the owner away, she threw herself onto the floor in front of him. “Venerated Immortal,” she said, begging, and Meng Yao averted his eyes, feeling rage build in the pit of his stomach. “Spare my son, please. I will do anything you wish –”

“You misunderstand,” the cultivator said stiffly. “Your son is safe – as are you. I’m not here for that sort of thing…boy, get her off the floor and seated somewhere, get her something to drink to calm her.”

Meng Yao got his mother into a chair, pressing some wine usually reserved for clients into her hand. By the time he was done with that, he was more puzzled than anything else, even the rage at his mother’s mistreatment fading away into confusion. “What does the venerated Immortal want?” he asked delicately, and the cultivator shrugged.

“I actually have no idea what I’m doing here,” he said frankly. “I received a message from my sect leader that told me to find and secure a ‘Meng Yao, son of Meng Shi’ from Yunping City, and when I asked around it led me to you. I was hoping you could tell me the reason.”

“Your sect leader asked for me?” Meng Yao asked blankly. “By name?”

Could it be – his mother had always said –

“You’re not from Lanling,” his mother said, wiping her eyes, expression back to fierce and calculating. “My boy is the son of the sect leader of Lanling Jin, not…”

She trailed off deliberately.

“Qinghe Nie,” the cultivator said automatically, and even folded his hands in front of him to salute – perfunctorily, but still more than most would bother with for a whore. “The message said only that you were in danger, and that I was to hide you until the sect leader could come pick you up himself.”

So it wasn’t his father, Meng Yao thought, disappointed, but still – a sect leader of a cultivation sect, knowing him by name? Sending a message from far away?

He had no idea what to think of it.

And so they waited, each one sitting awkwardly in their own place, as several shichen passed. It was already evening when there was a knock – at the window.

The window on the third floor.

The cultivator got up and opened it, and a large fierce-looking man carrying three children – one on each hip with an arm around them, and another seated on his shoulders, clutching to his hair like reins – wiggled his way through, shaking all the children off as if his arms were hurting the second his feet were on the ground.

“Is that him?” he asked, nodding at Meng Yao, and the cultivator nodded. “He’s young.”

“Thirteen,” Meng Yao said, and noted that it was probably older than any of the three children who were looking at him in fascination.

“One of Sect Leader Jin’s bastards, Sect Leader,” the cultivator reported, and Meng Yao felt something fall in the pit of his belly at the term one of. There were many like him, then – perhaps his mother’s optimism regarding his reception in Lanling City was as misplaced as her optimism in buying all those pointless cultivation manuals that he slaved over and which accomplished nothing.

“Well, that can’t be the reason, then, or the list would be thrice as long,” the sect leader said, frowning. “I’d even started wondering…no, it still makes no sense. Regardless, no point in waiting around here any longer – I saw two Wen patrols making their way through the city as I flew in, and I have no doubt they’ll find this place soon. We should be gone before they do.”

“If this humble one can ask, what is the honorable Sect Leader’s plans for my son?” Meng Shi asked, ducking her head demurely and looking up at him flirtatiously through her eyelashes, even as she leaned forward a little in a way that set off her shape to its best advantage.

“Oh no,” the sect leader said, and took two full steps backwards. Without the fierce expression on his face, he looked much younger – in fact, Meng Yao thought with wonder and maybe even a little disbelieving amusement, it seemed like this sect leader was most certainly still a teenager, and awkward with it, too. “No, I – I don’t – Gao Jianguo, do something!”

“She’s a whore, Sect Leader,” the cultivator said, rolling his eyes. “They flirt. It happens.”

The sect leader was bright red. The children were all giggling.

“Madame,” he said, bowing to her – an actual bow, respectful, not even the perfunctory dip the cultivator had given earlier, and he didn’t have to call her Madame, either. “Forgive me, I’m not…I don’t have much experience with women. My name is Nie Mingjue, sect leader of Qinghe Nie. I have reason to believe your son is in terrible danger if he remains here, and I intend to take him with me to a safe location.”

“What assurances do I have of his safety?” Meng Shi asked, and Meng Yao knew then that she intended to send him whether he wanted to go or not.

Not that he didn’t intend to go. Such an earnest sect leader, this ‘Nie Mingjue’…even if it was all a mistake or misunderstanding, which had to be what had happened, there were benefits that could be gotten here. If Meng Yao could become a servant there, learn cultivation, he could maybe save up enough to later go to his father’s side – no matter what they asked of him, it would be better than a brothel, especially one where the owner had already seen an indication of Meng Yao’s worth as chattel.

And yet…

“You have my word,” Nie Mingjue assured her.

“I won’t leave without her,” Meng Yao suddenly spoke up, and ignored his mother’s glare. He didn’t want to leave her here. He wouldn’t, not unless he was forced, which seemed likely, but he had to try his best. “If I’m in danger, then so is she. They might want to use her to lure me in.”

“That’s a good point,” Nie Mingjue said, which Meng Yao wasn’t expecting. He even nodded in approval at Meng Yao. “Very well, we’ll take you both with us. Gao Jianguo –”

“The amount I’ve already paid would be sufficient to cover any slave bond,” the cultivator said. His frown suggested he wasn’t happy about his sect leader’s actions. “There will be paperwork –”

“Only for me,” Meng Shi said quickly. “My son is free, and always has been.”

Nie Mingjue looked out the window, clearly calculating – two patrols, Meng Yao thought, this sect leader thought someone was hunting him down for some unknown reason – and then glanced at the two of them. He sighed a little, almost imperceptibly, before firming up his expression once more.

“Take Meng Shi and buy her bond,” he instructed the cultivator. “Collect anything she wants to take with her and take her back to Qinghe through safe routes. I’ll take Meng Yao with me and we’ll meet there.”

“What should I do with the ownership papers? There’s a tax for taking slaves out of the county, and people might notice –”

“Burn them,” Nie Mingjue said, and Meng Yao’s heart gave a sudden thrill of delight. “She can travel as a free woman. Make sure she sees a doctor, if she thinks she would benefit from seeing one, and cover the cost – I want her to arrive at the Unclean Realm alive and well.”

Alive and well, Meng Yao thought, even more delighted. That was a warning, no doubt about it – telling the cultivator not to take advantage of Meng Shi during his trip. And a doctor! With his sect leader ordering it, the cultivator would have to take her to a good one, not some phony sawbones, and she could finally get that cough of hers looked at…

Meng Yao would do whatever this sect leader wanted. Just for that.

(It was more than his father had ever done for them.)

“Can you handle flying with four boys?” the cultivator asked, frowning, and – flying? “Especially if you already came all the way from Qinghe, and through Yunmeng, you must be exhausted –”

“I’ll be fine,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “He’s thirteen; he can stand on his own and hold onto me, arms around my waist, while I hold on to the others…hey, are you afraid of heights?”

That question was directed at Meng Yao.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, aiming for honest. It seemed to be what this sect leader appreciated, and Meng Yao was good at figuring out and catering to people’s likes. He’d have to exert himself especially this time. “But I’ve never gone higher than the fourth floor.”

“Well, you’re about to,” Nie Mingjue said, and his saber unsheathed itself and floated on the floor. “All right, everyone back on – you can introduce yourself in the air. We still have to make the ride back to the Lotus Pier, and I’m sure your parents are worried sick already, Jiang-gongzi.”

[argylemikewheeler]

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he  wished  some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift.  Fucking off  and  being a better piece of shit son  just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So  don’t  call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was  sure  his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be  cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um,  puzzles  to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He  failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we  can’t  . So,  that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over  one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w  eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is  more  than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially  his  familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green  dash  barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded  cool  in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like  everyone  was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an  obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I  have  to show you all my inventions! Camp was the  best  four weeks  of  my  life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa!  Girlfriend  ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just  Steve  that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s  super  smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I  just  saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s  crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the  Chief  now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not...  looking  at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car  could  speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was  upset  that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.”  Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since  no one else  in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright--  Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they  weren’t  dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected:  his  sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike--  just  Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he  really  was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re  not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly:  do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for  damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re  never  early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s  not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t  have  to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s  not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy.  Doctor  doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t  too  comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just  was  . Rather than being  cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in:  In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole…  thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it  cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything  to  forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but  instead  seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to  obscure  the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well   are  you seeing someone, Jonathan?  -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will  needed  to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels  boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t  care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little  understanding  between  best  friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an  I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too  everything  to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but  blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the  disgusting  amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress.  Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No--  no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s  nothing  . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even  see  us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I  meant  what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my  mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I  meant  because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your  dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just  disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

[lcvemalfcy]

Mission Accomplished || D.M

summary: pansy and blaise make it their mission to get y/n and draco together

pairing: draco x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, not sure abt anything else — please comment if I missed something!!

word count: 1.6k

a/n: pls ive been writing this since the beginning of feb but i didn’t know how to end it off

draco had taken an interest in you ever since you had laughed at a joke he mumbled during class, with no intention of being heard. he turned to the owner of the laugh, to see you sitting next to your friend with your hand over your mouth, trying to conceal your giggles. that’s when he decided that your laugh was now his favorite sound in the world and that he wanted to hear it more.

he hadn’t made his crush on you known, besides to blaise. he rarely even talked with you before, but he wanted to change that this year. he started off by greeting you whenever you two passed each other in the halls, to initiating small conversations with you during your shared classes, and now he was joining you in the library to read after he ‘coincidentally’ shared the same reading spot as you.

pansy and blaise entered the library together, in search of a book they needed in order to start on their astronomy project. they both walked to the aisle where the book would be found, pansy’s fingers gliding over the spines of the books as she searched for the one in particular. “do me a favor and help me find it?” she spat out to blaise, irritated that he stood there staring off at something she could care less about.

“is that draco with y/n?” blaise asked instead, noticing the familiar blonde boy sitting at a table across from you. this immediately caught pansy’s attention as she averted her focus from the bookshelf in front of her to the table you two sat at. “no way!”

“they are so into each other,” pansy silently squealed as she watched you burst out into giggles due to some awful joke draco had made, you seemed to have a thing for his jokes. “draco’s liked her for months now.” a grin appeared on blaise’s face, trying to hold in his laughter at draco’s lame attempt at flirting with you.

“and he hasn’t made a move on her yet?” pansy questioned. blaise shook his head side to side to answer her question when an idea suddenly entered her brain. “blaise we have to do something!”

“like what?” blaise was confused, unsure of what pansy meant. “forget the project, we have to set them up! mission y/n and draco!” pansy exclaimed. she excitedly grabbed blaise’s hand and dragged him to a table far from yours to create a plan, while blaise internally groaned, knowing how passionate she could become when it came to stuff like this.

being a prefect always was an advantage. and luckily for pansy and blaise who were both prefects, this made it easy for them to execute their plan.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

one foggy night, you threw a jumper and sweats over your body, preparing for your late night stroll around the castle. you liked to do this whenever you couldn’t fall asleep, finding that a walk seemed to be relaxing and calm the thoughts running through your head.

you exited your dormitory quietly, being careful enough to not wake your sleeping dormmates. you walked down the stairs and into the common room, feeling chills run up and down your body as you felt the temperature drop. you made it across, about to exit the room when you walked straight into something — no, someone.

“sneaking out again, y/n?” there stood pansy ahead of you. she kept a straight face, slightly raising her eyebrow in attempt to intimidate you.

“weren’t you just asleep?” you looked back and pointed towards the steps to the dormitories, confused as to where she came from. she was asleep in the dorm, right? 

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to give you a detention,” she stated as you gave her a questioning look. “you’re not serious, are you? you know I’ve snuck out a million times already and never gave me one before,” you tried to reason with her.

“and that’s exactly why I should be giving you one, you’ve snuck out one too many times y/n. meet me for detention in snape’s classroom. saturday, 5PM, and don’t be late.” she left so quickly and was already gone before you could question her sudden change in opinion.

meanwhile, draco sat in the common room one afternoon, looking back and forth between papers as he copied goyle’s homework. with one question left, he was almost done and turned to glance at goyle’s paper one last time when it was suddenly snatched away from underneath him.

“what the hell?!” draco looked up to see blaise holding onto the piece of parchment he desperately needed in order to complete his assignment.

“really, draco? cheating? I’m absolutely flabbergasted and disappointed in you!” blaise overexaggerated and flailed his arms around, causing draco to furrow his brows in confusion. “I’m giving you a detention for going against your academic honesty!” blaise sighed and crossed his arms, dramatically shaking his head at his friend.

“what are you on mate? did you not just copy off of his homework before me?” draco was irritated as blaise prevented him from finishing his homework. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. now, meet me in snape’s classroom at 5PM on saturday for your detention.” and with that, blaise left, not giving draco a chance to hex him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

it was now saturday, a few minutes before the clock struck 5PM. you were making your way to snape’s classroom, pissed that you had to spend your free time in detention.

arriving at your destination, you opened the door and entered the classroom, curious as to what pansy had planned for your detention. the first thing you noticed was an empty classroom, before turning to the back corner and spotting your favorite blonde. “draco? what are you doing here?”

“blaise gave me a bloody detention for ‘going against my academic honesty,’ whatever that means. you?” he raised an eyebrow as he waited for your reply. “pansy caught me trying to sneak out.”

he slowly nodded as you took a seat beside him, “don’t you find it odd that blaise and pansy never give slytherins detentions, especially not their own friends. and the one time they do, it happens to be on the exact same day at the exact same time?” he questioned as you thought it over.

“you’re right, that is a bit odd.”

after waiting a few more minutes for blaise and pansy to arrive, draco went to grab his bag off the floor as he stood up. “I have better things to do and seeing that they’re late, I’m going to go do those other things. care to join?”

“lead the way, malfoy.” you grinned at him, gesturing your arm towards the door. he made his way over to the door, you following right behind him. you waited for him to open it, yet that never happened.

“the door won’t open,” he concluded after a few moments of him rattling the doorknob.

“what do you mean the door won’t open?”

“it means, the door won’t open.” you lightly shoved him out of the way, pulling out your wand and muttering alohomora. you became frustrated when you went to open the door and the lock still wouldn’t budge.

after multiple attempts to open the door, both of you realized it was no use. you guys were locked in.

you found yourself sitting on the floor besides draco, talking with one another for hours on end as you wore his jumper. he had politely offered it to you when he noticed you shivering due to the cold dungeon air, in which you denied it at first, but he kept on insisting.

you started drifting off, his words started twisting into gibberish and his voice became muffled. draco felt his heart warm when your head fell onto his shoulder. “oh c’mon y/n, don’t fall asleep on me.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just your jumper is so comfy and warm,” you lightly spoke as you snuggled closer into his body. draco thought his heart was about to burst.

suddenly, the door opened and entering the room was snape, who only stared at the two of you when he noticed his two students just casually sitting on his classroom floor. the sudden noise made you bolt awake.

“out.” his voice was curt and blunt, causing you and draco to rush to your feet. you hurriedly exited the room as draco mumbled a “sorry professor.”

you and draco ran down the hall, hardly able to contain your laughter when you entered the common room.

sitting on the couches before you and draco were pansy and blaise, who wore amused looks upon draco’s and your appearance.

“nice jumper, y/n.” blaise wiggled his eyebrows at the two of you when you and draco finally realized what was going on. “they did this on purpose, didn’t they?” draco spoke up beside you.

“I’m gonna get those little gits.” you ran straight for pansy as she yelped and ran towards the dorms, you following straight behind her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the following day at breakfast, pansy was fangirling over the sight of you two walking down the hall hand in hand. “mission accomplished, blaise! you were actually a good partner, we should do it again sometime. ooo how about daphne and theo?”

truth be told, you were glad blaise and pansy had done that as it allowed you and draco to realize your feelings for one another.

what you did not like, was the fact that pansy and blaise had the audacity to take credit for your relationship with draco. and while it may be true, you would never admit it to them out loud.

[chudleycanonficfest]

Stars in the Night Sky

Day 3, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: Stars in the Night Sky

Author: adenei

Pairing: Jily (James Potter x Lily Evans)

Prompt: Stargazing

Rating: PG

TW: None :)

****************

The castle is peaceful as it nears midnight, a calm surrender to the usual bustling halls during the day. Rounds ended over an hour ago, but the quick pair of footsteps was not rushing through a late shift, they were on their way to the Astronomy Tower to meet their partner and begin Professor Sinistra’s constellation project. 

Allocation of the work was all in the luck of the draw. Where one half of the class drew a name, and the other pulled the astronomical phenomenon they were to study. Lily Evans had pulled the piece of parchment on stars and constellations, and according to the project’s outline, she and her partner would be tracking Orion, Cassiopeia, Gemini, and Canis Major for the next two weeks.

The project left Lily questioning why she chose to pursue the subject after passing her O.W.L.s. Maybe it was because she has always been fascinated by the subject, or maybe it’s for the sole fact that Astronomy is one of the subjects she can discuss with her family since it relates closely to muggle sciences. Regardless, she’s not sure it’s worth the lack of sleep she’s about to endure over the next few weeks.

As Lily climbs the steps of the Astronomy Tower, her heart thunders in her chest with anticipation about who her partner will be. The class is small, with only ten students, but she didn’t bother to hang around and discuss ‘who had who’ at the end of class. She had a meeting with Professor McGonagall about her Head Girl duties and couldn’t be bothered to worry about who her partner was. 

But now, after finding out through Mary that she’s been paired with Remus and Sirius pulled Benjy Fenwick’s name, Lily is nervous. Rumblings at dinner also confirmed that Calliope Forsythe of Hufflepuff was disappointed that she chose Bridgette Marls’s name instead of James’s, leaving Lily sweating the remaining possible outcomes. She doesn’t want to jinx it by getting her hopes up that James may have pulled her name out of the cauldron, and she’s mad at herself for wanting it so desperately.

We already spend enough time together with our Head duties. Plus, we’re friends now, so we can hang out whenever we like...just not alone.

Her last thought is only a partial lie, considering they’re ‘alone’ when creating schedules for rounds, but it never fails that some fifth or sixth-year students are always barging in to use the Prefect’s lounge to study, ruining any potential chance for either to make a move. Even when they’re on rounds, their conversation is constantly interrupted by catching a couple in a broom closet or empty classroom. 

Lily lets out a huff of frustration as she recalls the last time, when she was sure he was about to ask her to Hogsmeade, but then there was a loud clatter from a room up ahead, breaking the moment. So really, it’d be ideal if James were her partner for this project. She’s sick of the song and dance they’ve been playing since the start of term and wants nothing more than to find out whether he still fancies her or not. After all, it’s only a matter of time that some other girl will swoop in, causing his devilishly handsome smile to be trained on them instead.

As Lily approaches the foot of the stairs leading up to the observation room, she checks her watch. 11:59. Right on time. She holds her breath during the entire stair climb, and only when she rounds the corner to the dimly lit area with one singular candle on the table to take notes, does she see him. He’s leaning over the table, the light illuminating his messy black hair as his glasses slip down his nose. The sleeves on the white shirt of his uniform are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the sinewy muscles of his forearm as Lily stands there, getting lost in a daydream that finds those arms wrapped around her body.

The hoot of an owl in the distance snaps her out of her thoughts as she takes a few steps closer.

“I hope you haven’t started without me.” 

Lily’s light chiding gets James’s attention as a wide smirk dons his face. Her insides tremble as her heart pounds faster in her chest.

“How can I get started if I don’t know what we’re supposed to be looking at,” he remarks, eliciting a nervous laugh from her chest.

“Yeah, sorry for not sticking around after class. I had another appointment.”

“Well, I hope my reveal isn’t too much of a shock.”

“Better you than Mulciber or Avery,” she teases. “Why didn’t you ask Professor Sinistra what topic I pulled after you gave your information and got our timetable?”

James walks around the table to join her as she pulls out the project guidelines. She assumes he would have known what they were studying, considering everyone had to check-in and get their schedules from Professor Sinistra. Depending on what the group has chosen, their research times varied.

“Because I thought we were going for the surprise factor,” his cheeky grin matches the lightness in his voice. “Besides, I figured it’d be another excuse to pore over the parchment in close proximity.”

Lily searches the space next to her to see just how close James is before meeting his gaze. She becomes dizzy from the scent of his cologne, with hints of cinnamon and sandalwood invading her sense of smell. If she gives in to temptation now, they won’t accomplish anything on their first night.

Work first, play later.

Strengthening her resolve, Lily makes a swift turn and heads for the telescope. “We’re responsible for tracking the four constellations that are listed on the first page. I’ll see which one I can find first and we’ll go from there. We can take turns tracing, and observing if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure, I’ll get the parchment set up,” James agrees.

Lily’s not sure, but she thinks she may have heard a hint of disappointment in his tone. She pushes the thoughts aside and peers into the massive telescope that’s bolted down in the center of the room. It doesn’t take long to find Jupiter, and from there, she’s able to see a handful of the stars that make up Orion. The belt is the most prevalent as she takes mental notes to transfer on the paper.

Settling into a steady hum of working together, the pair take turns between the telescope and table, making light work of the night’s observations. When Lily checks her watch again, she realizes they’ve finished with time to spare. She wanders over to the railing, and even though she’s spent the better part of the last ninety minutes studying the stars, she finds herself looking up to the sky once more. Only this time, she’s stargazing with only the naked eye. 

She feels James approaching before he arrives at her side, gazing up at the twinkling stars among the backdrop of black and midnight blue.

“We make a pretty good team.” Her voice is soft as it carries through the air between them.

Lily’s exhaustion is prevalent as her eyelids become heavier, but she can’t be bothered to move away from James’s side. Not yet, anyways.

“You haven’t gathered that from our flawless round schedules and seamless Prefect meetings we’ve run so far as Heads?”

Lily can’t help the smile that creeps across her lips. He’s playing into her words in the exact way she was hoping for. “Of course, I’ve noticed. I was just thinking out loud…” she trails off, hoping she’s got him hooked and wanting to know what else she’s about to say.

“About what?” Barely a second passes before the question leaves his mouth.

She drags her teeth over her bottom lip as she looks up at him. Here goes nothing.

“Just about how our teamwork might work in other respects, too.”

His lips part as she hears a sharp intake of breath. “Evans,” he warns as he inches ever closer to her face.

“Potter,” she challenges right back.

They are mere centimeters away from each other now, and it’d be so easy to close the gap between them. James seems to have frozen in front of her as she finds herself leaning up on her tiptoes to press a feather-light kiss to his lips. She pulls away, not wanting to push her luck.

When he doesn’t move after she pulls away, her heart sinks. Lily grabs her bag and turns to head back to the common room. Clearly, I was mistaken.

“Sorry, I just thought—” but she never finished her apology.

Her foot grazes the top step of the staircase before a warm, strong hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her back, where she hits a wall of muscle. Her lips are on his again, and this time he’s kissing her back as her arms snake around his shoulders and her foot lifts off the ground of its own accord. 

James Potter is kissing me!

The moment only lasts a few moments before they pull apart, their breathing heavy under the starry night.

James breaks the silence after a minute. “So, er, Hogsmeade this weekend?”

Lily grins as she backs away slightly, leaving him standing there as she heads toward the stairs for the second time. She flashes a ‘come and get me’ look. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[squiggledrop]

Tying the Knot - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Part 1: No Strings

Part 2: Frayed Ends

Summary: Strings Part 3– Spencer and Reader have a friends with benefits arrangement. The only problem is, they both have feelings for each other. Spencer tries to fix things between them and convince Reader to let down her guard and let herself love him.

Word count: 3k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: implied smut, crying, kissing

Note: Thank you so much to everyone who showed so much support for the other two parts!! You all mean the world to me!

Spencer sat on the subway alone that night, his mind swarming with thoughts of you. When he saw you smiling earlier today, he knew he never wanted to see it fade, and that he would do whatever he could to make sure it stayed like that. 

He loved you. There was no denying that. He felt horrible that you thought he didn’t love you because that was the farthest from the truth. He needed to tell you how he really felt. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise, knowing that you thought he really meant it when he said it was just sex. It was never just sex, at least not to him. It was never just anything when it came to you.

That night, he decided to write you a letter explaining everything. He came to the conclusion that it was the safest option, and if things went in an unfavorable manner, it was the easiest medium to recover from and pretend nothing happened.

So, that’s how Spencer found himself sat up at his desk all night, crumped paper littering his floor, as he tried to pour all his feelings for you onto a piece of paper. Needless to say, he didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next morning, Spencer gently placed the cream envelope on your desk, fiddling with the corners to make sure it was noticeable. He looked around the room, feeling his heart rate increase. How would you react? Would you throw it away and never talk to him again or would you realize that you love him too? Spencer told himself he would be okay either way, so long as you knew how he felt. He didn’t want to hide his feelings from you. He knew you were it for him, and he would love you for the rest of his life. And if he would have to hold his unrequited love for you for the rest of eternity, he would do so happily, knowing that he was honest with you and gave it his all. He couldn’t live with himself, thinking you didn’t know the extent of his feelings for you. Trying to calm his nerves, he ran his thumb along the pads of his fingers. Not wanting to be here when you read the letter, he heads to the bathroom when he hears the ding of the elevator.

Taking a deep breath, you walked into the bullpen. You had already survived one day of heartache, what’s one more? Sure, with every breath you took, you could still hear Spencer’s last words to you piercing your lungs: “I didn’t mean it. It’s just sex.”  And every time you closed your eyes, you were met with his cold, rigid frame walking away from you, as if you meant nothing to him. Which apparently was the case. How could you be so stupid and think he actually meant it. But, it doesn’t even matter now, because no matter how much you want to blame this on Spencer, you can’t. Yes, he broke the rules, but you were the one who left. You were the one who took a heat of the moment slip up and blew it out of proportion and pushed away the one good thing in your life.

When you got to your desk, you threw down your bag, grateful that Spencer was nowhere to be seen. Although, you would lie if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed. As you took out some paperwork from your bag, you noticed an envelope sitting on your desk next to a stack of papers. You felt your heart clench, instantly recognizing the handwriting your name was written in on the back of it. Slowly, you wedged your finger under the flap, breaking the seal. You pulled out the slightly crumpled lined paper that looked as if it had been read through a hundred times already. Letting out a small gasp, you fell into your seat, scanning the room for Spencer. Not seeing him anywhere, you held up the letter with shaky hands, your watery eyes pouring over every word.

(Y/n),

Throughout every book I have read and paper I have written, words never seem to fail me, that is until it comes to you. No matter how many times I try to write this, it still doesn’t feel good enough. I have read countless stories about the triumphs and tribulations of love. I have tried finding a single one that could capture even an ounce of the love I hold for you, but they all fall short. 

I think that’s because, when I read the words that surround me on these dusty shelves, I am reminded of all the things I love about you. Ask me to find a poem about your beauty and I can do that with no problem. Ask me to find a book about how it feels to kiss you and make love to you, and I can reach for one without leaving this chair. But, ask me to find one that perfectly explains why I love you, and I would not be able to. 

Yes, I love your beautiful smile and sparkling eyes. I love how it feels to hold you in my arms and press my lips all over your captivating body. I love everything about you, even the parts that you deem unworthy, but that is not why I love you. 

I love you because, in a group of people, you are the only one I care that is laughing at my stupid jokes. I love you because when I am having a terrible day, you are the person I want to sit with me and just breathe. You are the person I trust with all my secrets, and the one person I want to share all my accomplishments with. I love you because you are the person I want to bicker with over stupid, petty things. You are the person I want to set off the fire alarm with while attempting to cook dinner and the person I want to yell at me for getting the wrong kind of milk at the grocery store. You are the person I want to wake up next to every morning, sipping our coffees in a calming silence before we head into work. 

We see the darkest parts of humanity through our job. Yet, every time I look at you, I am reminded of how beautifully wonderful life can be. You make my life beautiful. And because of that, I love you.

I lied. That night, when I said that I didn’t mean it, I lied. I meant it, and I mean every word that I just wrote. (Y/n) (Y/l/n), I love you. I love you so much that it consumes every part of me. I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt my feelings for you. I will never do that again. I love you.

I know you said not to get feelings involved, but I have loved you from the first day I met you.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I lied. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry that I broke our rule and that you left. But, I’m not sorry for saying it. I will never be sorry for telling you how I feel. Because I love you. I just hope that you love me too.

All my love,

Spencer Reid

Tears now covered the paper in your hands, and you threw it onto the desk, not wanting anyone to see you like this. You cupped your hand over your mouth, trying to hold back your sobs until you made it to the file room. Once inside, you collapsed onto the floor, slamming the door shut behind you. You don’t know what to feel. You are so overwhelmed and your heart is beating too fast and Spencer’s words that are replaying in your head are too loud. You don’t know what to do, so you do all you can do, and just sit there.

Spencer convinces himself that he has given you sufficient time to read the letter and that he should probably make an appearance. If not for you, then at least to actually do some work. What’s the worst that could happen? You ignore each other again? He could handle that, or so he tells himself. He just has to walk out there and sit down at his desk. He can do that.

Exiting the bathroom, his steps falter as he notices you aren’t at your desk. He walks over, noticing that the envelope had been opened. But, when he looks at the contents of the letter, his heart drops. The ink is smudged with tear stains. He didn’t mean to make you cry. That’s the last thing he wanted. He curses himself for hurting you even more and begins frantically searching the office for you.

He hears muffled sobs coming from the file room, and he reluctantly knocks on the door. After hearing nothing in response except for your continued whimpers that were sending daggers through his chest, he forces himself to open the door. When he sees your disheveled state on the ground, he gasps, feeling guilty for causing you to feel this way.

At the sound of the door opening, you turn your head, revealing your puffy eyes. Upon noticing that it was Spencer, you quickly stood up, trying to dry your cheeks. You both stood there in shock, not knowing what to say. Through your foggy eyes, you notice as tears begin to form in his sullen eyes too. Both of you looked miserable, and it broke the other’s heart. 

Spencer was the first to say something, breaking the silence. “I-I’m so sorry for making you cry, I didn’t-”

“Spence-” you cut him off. You didn’t think you could handle the sound of his pained, raspy voice. You didn’t trust yourself, not with how broken you felt inside.

“No. I just- I need to say this,” he insisted. Reluctantly, you nod, figuring it was the least you could do while trying to stop any more tears from falling. “I meant every word,” he continued, trying to meet your gaze. “A-and I don’t want to take it back, any of it. I don’t regret any of it. I-I love you (Y/n).” 

You sigh at his words, unsure of how to respond. There was no doubting what you felt about this man, but you couldn’t admit that to yourself, let alone him. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you croaked out. You still hadn’t dared meet his eyes, but you could feel his heavy gaze penetrating into you.

“I want you to say you love me too,” he whispered. 

“You know I can’t do that.” You bit your lip as you shook your head.

“Why not?” The desperation in his voice was almost palpable. You swallowed thickly before speaking again.

“Look Spencer, I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I can’t be what you deserve, but I-”

“But that’s just it,” he interjected. “I don't need you to be anything but yourself. That’s all I need. You are all I need. I love you and I just need you to let me.”

“But Spencer, I-”

“Please,” he begged, shaking his head while on the verge of tears. “I can’t listen to you say you can’t do this. I can’t listen to you lie to me and to yourself. I know you love me too. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here crying.” You roll your eyes, running your hand through your hair. “If I'm wrong, and you truly want me to stop, I will.”

You were silent. Spencer’s eyes searched yours for an answer, for any indication that you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you. 

“Am I wrong?” he pressed. The insecurity he was trying so hard to quell still seeped through his voice.

After another moment of silence, you looked away, blinking away more tears that fell.

“No.” you choked out, looking up at the ceiling. “God, Spencer, why do you have to make this so difficult?” You look back at him, finally meeting his gaze. “Of course I love you. How could I not?”

“Then what’s the problem?” he demanded, stepping towards you. But, you still backed away from his touch.

“Because I love you too much,” you whispered.

Spencer’s mouth opened as looked at you, confusion clouding his face. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Fuck, Spence,” you sighed, gathering your thoughts. “I can’t let you love me just so I can hurt you later on, okay? Every time I've let someone in, I end up hurting them. And I've hurt you enough already.” 

Spencer stared at you in disbelief, trying to formulate a response. At his silence, you swallowed the lump in your throat, pushing past him towards the door. Before you could, however, Spencer grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

“I don’t care,” he whispered. His eyes bore deep into yours, his hand that still clung to your wrist was burning your skin. 

“Spence-” you scoffed, pleading with him. 

“No!” he shouted, full-on sobbing now. You reluctantly rolled your eyes again, trying not to show him how the tears that dripped down his face were plummeting straight into your heart, each one forming creators in the fragile fabric of your wounded heart. Spencer swallowed thickly before continuing. “You don’t get to decide how I feel or what I can handle, okay? That’s up to me. I love you and that’s all that matters. I don’t care if we break up in fifty years or in five weeks. I love you, just give me a chance before you give up on us. I-” he choked on a sob, “you haven’t even given me a chance”, he whimpers.

You were so close to caving in and just letting yourself give in to him. You wanted to feel his arms around you again. You desperately missed how safe and warm they made you feel.

“But what if we do break up?” you cried, looking deep into his eyes.

“Then we break up.”

“But I can’t lose you, Spence. I-I couldn’t survive it. I don’t want to know what it’s like to have you just for it all to be taken away one day”

“Who says I’m ever going to leave?” Your mouth opened and closed, you didn’t know what to say. “(Y/n), I love you. Even if we break up, I promise I will always be there for you.” He ran his hand through his hair, pacing slightly in the tiny room. “God, (Y/n), before I met you I didn’t even know it was possible to love someone this much, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you.” He stopped moving, turning directly towards you. “But, I can only do that if you let me. I-I know it’s hard to let yourself be vulnerable, but I promise I’m here to catch you. It’s okay if you want to go slow, I’m willing to wait as long as you need. I just need you to not act like it’s over before we’ve even started.”

“I-I don’t know…”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know, okay?”, you snapped, looking up at him

“What are you so afraid of?”

“Everything Spencer!” you admitted a bit too loudly. “Everything…” you sobbed, collapsing. Spencer rushed forward, catching you in his arms. He wrapped his arms tightly around your back, supporting you. He ran his hands up and down your back, trying to soothe your muffled cries that stained his shirt. He could feel his own tears running down his face, but at that moment, he didn’t care about anything but holding you, so he let them roll down his face and into your hair. 

Your mind was racing, voicing screaming at you to leave and never look back. They told you that you were only hurting him more and that you were ruining everything. 

But, when you felt Spencer’s gentle hands roaming your back and his soft hushes brushing against your ear, you had never felt safer. When you had finally calmed down and your breath steadied, you pulled back slightly so you could look at him. You stared at Spencer, into his deep amber eyes. For the first time, you didn’t see all the ways you could destroy him and lose everything. Instead, you saw a future. You saw all the possible ways in which you could love him and share a life together. Slowly, after taking a deep breath, you nodded your head.

“Okay”, you whispered.

Spencer’s face lit up upon hearing you. “Yeah?” he asked, weary that one wrong move would send you running.

“Yeah,” you smiled, falling back into his open arms. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, never wanting to let you go. He sighed in relief and kissed the top of your head while rubbing your back. Your arms tightened around his neck as you lifted your head to his ear. He could feel your warm breath on his neck, sending comforting shivers down his spine.

“I love you too,” you breathed into his ear. You pulled back slightly, but before you could do anything, Spencer smashed hip lips onto yours. He kissed you with such passion, that swore you felt your heart become physically tethered to his. 

When you finally broke apart, desperate for air, you looked at each other, both standing there with glassy eyes, reflecting each other's smiles. You held one another in comfortable silence, knowing that regardless of what uncertainties the future held, it would be okay, because Spencer loves you, and you love him.

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