#i heard this comment this week that i might’ve taken personally when it maybe wasn’t but

[dontneedmyheart]

x

[foreverfallingforthestars]

Don't Say No

I'm super excited about today's prompt because it's something that I think is really fun and I got inspiration for this from a pjo fic I read months ago and I can't remember the title so, uh, woops. Either way, I hope you guys like it!

Word Count: 2068 Read on AO3 Rowaelin Month Master list

Day 3 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: Secret Relationship

~~~~~

Nox was tired. Everything at work had become mundane, and there was nothing interesting ever happening anymore. People came into work, tired and complaining about how it was the start of yet another week, and they would chatter about their weekend and any plans for after work. All Nox desperately wanted was to not be mind-numbingly bored as he read through yet another manuscript.

Thankfully, this Monday turned out to be slightly different than all the other Mondays. Nox knew something was up when the low toned chatter turned high pitched and excited as people wandered about the floor where Ashryver Publishing was located, pointing to the open door that led to their boss’ office. The layout of the floor was fairly open to allow people to easily converse with one another and move about the area while the higher ranking members of the company had closed offices, but Aelin tended to leave her door open to allow people to come in and speak with her.

Nox was fairly friendly with Aelin, and it was because of her that he’d gotten the job as a publisher reader when he couldn’t find a job, so he was understandably confused when there was nothing different about her when she walked out of her office. Her blonde hair was out as it normally was, and her makeup was done perfectly as usual. Nox’s eyes scanned over her as he tried to figure out what people were so huffy about this particular Monday until his eyes landed on the folder she was holding in her left hand.

“Holy shit, you’re engaged?!” he blurted out, seeing that diamond glinting off her left hand’s ring finger. Aelin looked down at her hand as though she were seeing it for the first time before rolling her eyes at him.

“Yes, Nox,” she responded with a small smile that was almost teasing. “I am.”

“I didn’t even know you were dating anyone,” he answered, leaning his elbows against his desk.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly something to publicize at work. I was dating someone, and now my boyfriend is my fiancee,” Aelin answered. Her eyes glanced about the room before she sighed. “Alright, everyone has two minutes to ask me questions.”

It was like a pack of hyenas had been given their first meal in days with the way the questions were thrown at Aelin, but she answered each one quickly and with her usual dose of sarcasm that made Nox smile.

“Have we met him?”

“Maybe, maybe not, and that is a serious answer. I don’t know if you’ve ever run into him on the sidewalk or in a restaurant or bar.”

“Is he good looking?”

“Yes, I have standards.”

The two minutes seemed to fly by with the way people barely got any information about her fiance, and Aelin looked way too pleased with herself that Nox couldn’t help himself. When she had dismissed everyone after giving people work, he made his way over to her office.

“So,” he started, leaning against the doorframe, “the big bad CEO of a publishing company has gotten herself someone who can deal with her.”

“If you’re trying to fish for information, you’re going to have to try much harder,” Aelin responded, a mischievous glint in her eyes that he’d seen way too many times.

“It’s okay,” he answered instead, “I won’t pry. I’m just happy for you, Aelin.” That brought out a genuine smile on her face before a ping on her desktop drew her attention from him for a brief moment.

“Ah, it’s actually good you’re here! We have a temporary hire coming in for the next month, or so, while we try to find someone else who can help you read incoming manuscripts. Let me just go get him.”

Nox chose that moment to sit down in one of the two chairs in front of her desk while Aelin stood up to grab her ID off her desk and walked out of the office. Nox waited for a few minutes, taking in the decorations of her office, including the small mementos she had scattered everywhere. The office had only been hers for two years, but it seemed as though she’d been living in that office for years with the way she had personalized it.

The company wasn’t an insanely big publishing house, but they had quite a few popular authors with best-selling books under their belt, and it was the intimacy of the employees within the company that drew aspiring authors and people passionate about books to it. Part of it had to do with the fact that it was a family business, Aelin’s mother owning it before she did, but part of it had to do with how much Aelin loved what she did. The photo of her parents, cousin, and sister-in-law alongside a photo taken at one of the staff dinners two years back was enough proof of how much she loved her work family as much as she loved her blood family.

The sound of Aelin’s heels and the sudden lack of chatter indicated to Nox that she was back with the new hire, who must be definitely impressive enough that his entry topped Aelin’s engagement news.

“Okay, Nox, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to introduce you two, but Nox Owen, meet Rowan Whitethorn, our new temporary hire.” Nox turned around to find himself looking at a man that he worked with for nearly a year before he left the company two years ago. Rowan was a tall man with platinum silver hair and a handsome face, even from Nox's perspective. The tattoos swirling down his arm definitely also helped with his popularity amongst women.

When Nox made eye contact with Rowan, the man smiled, and Nox nodded back in greeting.

“Isn’t that technically rehiring someone?” Nox asked, looking at Aelin and raising an eyebrow.

“That’s what I said when she offered me the position last week,” Rowan responded, sitting down in the seat next to Nox while Aelin took her seat across from them.

“It’s temporary!” she protested. Nox sent her a look that he knew she’d be able to read perfectly for that doesn’t matter, and with the way she groaned, he was sure that Rowan might’ve sent her the same look.

“Ugh, both of you get out of my face. Rowan knows what he’s doing so I doubt you need to do anything, Nox, but just give him a new manuscript that came in,” she grumbled, waving them off and going back to her computer.

Nox stifled a laugh as he got up.

“Hey, is it just me or did she get a lot hotter over the last two years?” Rowan asked quietly, and Nox had to stop himself from tripping and falling on his face.

“Man, she’s engaged. Like very recently too,” Nox responded just as quietly.

“Oh,” he answered, his eyes falling to the ground before snapping back up to Nox’s face, “well, if it’s recent then I don’t really mind.”

“Dude! That’s not okay!”

“Harmless flirting never hurt anyone,” Rowan protested as they sat down in their seats. Ever since the last publisher’s reader quit, that seat had been empty, and luckily enough for Rowan, that was his seat when he still worked at Ashryver Publishing.

“It will hurt if you break up her engagement.”

“If it breaks her engagement because I’m flirting with her, then she was never meant to be with that guy.”

“Oh my god,” Nox responded, turning back to his work.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Rowan spoke, and Nox reluctantly set his gaze upon the man, “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Nox disagreed, but he did his part, so Nox simply shrugged before getting back to work. Hopefully with enough refusal from Aelin’s side, Rowan would get a hint and quit it.

*****

Rowan did not get a hint and quit.

In fact, as the week passed and so did the following week, he only grew bolder in the smiles he would send Aelin, in the side comments, the inside jokes (since when did they even have those?), and Nox was getting frustrated.

“Dude,” he hissed as he pulled Rowan aside before they stepped into the restaurant that they were going to have a staff dinner at, “seriously, quit it. I don’t want you breaking Aelin’s relationship just because you find her pretty.”

“She’s more than just pretty, Nox,” Rowan responded, more serious than Nox had expected him to be.

“Yeah, well, then you know that she’s a loyal person. Don’t make her break that.” With the way Rowan had nodded, Nox figured that he had finally, finally gotten through to Rowan.

Unfortunately, throughout the entire dinner, Aelin and Rowan were sitting next to each other laughing, leaning into each other. He couldn’t believe that Aelin was actually falling for Rowan’s bullshit. It wasn’t even like he was flirting outwardly, either. It was the small things that he was noticing while watching the two discreetly. Rowan would give her a napkin when she needed it, pass her something before she even asked, simply knowing that she wanted it when her eyes had drifted over to it. It was insane how attentive the man was, and it wasn’t fair that the subtle flirting was actually working.

Nox couldn’t even say anything in front of everyone, lest he risk bringing...whatever that was out into the public where he was pretty sure Aelin didn’t want it to be. He was contemplating whether or not he should talk to Aelin about the whole situation with Rowan, and he was doing just that as he leaned against his car, waiting for her to step out of the restaurant. He’d left along with the others so as to not make things suspicious, but he did notice that Rowan hadn’t left the restaurant either.

Nox was just about ready to leave when he heard Rowan’s voice ringing through the parking lot. “Look, maybe we could just tell them.”

“No, it’s way too risky. The whole reason why we stopped going out in public together was so that we could get all the other stuff settled first,” Aelin responded. Nox was definitely intruding on a private conversation, but also, he was incredibly curious about what was happening.

“They’re all about to lose their minds with the way they’re trying to figure out what’s going on between us.”

“That’s because they’re not blind, Rowan,” she laughed as their voices got closer. “I don’t really know what I would say to them, anyway,” she finished just as they were in his line of sight — holding hands.

Nox’s brain stopped working right then because, holy shit, his boss was cheating on her fiancee with her employee.

“Nox? What are you still doing here?” Aelin asked, catching sight of him.

“I, uh, wanted to talk to you...but apparently you...don’t care about your engagement.”

“What?” she asked, clearly confused. Her eyes drifted to Rowan who simply shrugged with a teasing smile.

“You’re cheating on your fiance with Rowan!”

A snort escaped Rowan, and that was the moment where Nox could see understanding shine in her eyes. She turned to Rowan before elbowing him in the ribs, and then turned to look at Nox. “This idiot is my fiance.”

Nox blinked once, twice, trying to comprehend the words that had come out of her mouth. “This man? Your boyfriend?”

“Fiancee,” Rowan corrected.

“Shut up, man. You had me thinking she was going to cheat on you! With you!”

“Not going to lie, it was really funny, though. You were freaking out for the last two weeks.”

“That’s just cruel, dude.”

*****

Despite being incredibly salty about the entire situation, Nox did have to admit that it was hilarious seeing his co-workers’ reactions to the wedding invitations that clearly started that Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, their dear boss, was marrying Ashryver Publishing’s ex-employee (now known as the new literature professor at University of Doranelle) Rowan Whitethorn.

Never had he seen more outrage at the fact that the two had hidden their relationship from the entire company for so long, and honestly, Nox was surprised they had managed to hide the relationship with the way the two couldn’t go longer than five minutes without some form of physical contact.

It was sickeningly cute, and he couldn’t help but think that Mondays weren’t so mundane, after all.

[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Reader) -- chapter eleven

I’m backkkk <33 Enjoy!

Today’s chapter title comes from “Wildest Dreams” by Taylor Swift and honestly? That song is Hotch and Reader’s song tbh

Chapter Warnings: fluff! Crime scene stuffs, case stuffs, and Hotch is an asshole at the end (what’s new?)

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Chapter Eleven: I thought, “Heaven can’t help me now.”

When you wake, you have a strange sense of Deja Vu. Hotch is shaking your shoulder again, only this time, you’re not in your bed.

“We’re landing soon,” he says softly, hand lingering on your shoulder, but you welcome its weight and warmth, forgetting for a moment that the rest of the team is on this jet.

“Mm, okay…” You bring the blanket underneath your chin, only this is when you realize it’s not a blanket.

You tilt your head down to look at the fabric, then lift your eyes back up to see Hotch isn’t wearing his jacket.

His jacket.

Oh my God.

He sees the realization on your face and smiles, but instead of commenting on it, he turns to start waking the others. As expected, Rossi didn’t sleep, but Reid is still quite frankly passed out. Emily, JJ, and Morgan are coming around, though, and upon seeing that, you scramble to get Hotch’s jacket off of you, catching Rossi’s eyes in the process.

“You were cold,” Rossi says with a shrug, and a smirk.

You shouldn’t be mortified, but you are.

After folding Hotch’s jacket over your arm, you wait until your boss is sitting back down to hand it to him with a raised eyebrow. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he says, thinking nothing of it as he shrugs it back over his shoulders. When he sees you’re still looking at him like that, he adds, “You were getting goosebumps. Would you have rather I let you freeze to death?”

Is he making a joke? You wonder, with the corners of his lips tugging upward. You shake your head, saying nothing else.

No wonder you slept so soundly.

+++

Upon arriving at the local police station, you’re all met with the usual: desperate officers who want you to snap your fingers and find the unsub ASAP.

And, they always look pretty displeased when you admit that you need time.

You swear sometimes people think the BAU is made up of sorcerers who can see the future and not regular humans who are just trained to recognize and predict behaviors.

Regardless, they’re happy you’re here.

“I was shocked myself when I made the connection,” Sheriff Ansley says, nodding to the pictures of the other seven victims, with Nathan and Jonathan at the end. “Those others were so spaced out, we just… Oh, it sounds bad, but when you’ve got other problems coming across your desk, they can all blur together.”

“We understand,” you say, trying to be the comforting one here, even though you’re feeling more and more like time doesn’t exist and that you’ve entered a third dimension.

A few hours of sleep and jet lag can really do a person in. Especially with the added stressor of Hotch standing next to you.

“Morgan, L/N, I need you to come to the crime scene with me,” Hotch says, and your eyes widen the moment your name slips from his mouth. Is he trying to mess with you? You figured after covering you up on the jet, he’d make a conscious effort to be as far away from you today as possible. Just because Morgan is also coming along doesn’t mean much. Profilers aren’t dense.

“Prentiss and I will go talk to the victim’s family,” Rossi says, nodding to Emily.

Reid says nothing, too engrossed by the pictures and details tacked up on the board. Though, after a moment, he says, “I need a map of the town. Maybe the region. Yeah...the region.”

A little confused, Sheriff Ansely replies, “We’ll get that for you.”

JJ notices the confusion and says, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

With everyone focused, you pile into a vehicle with Hotch and Morgan up front (you purposefully sit in the back) to head to the crime scene. Sheriff Ansley leads in her car, and about two seconds in, you wish you would’ve thought to ride with her.

“You know I have to ask,” Morgan begins, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looks over at Hotch. “What did you get up to last night? Get lucky?”

Hotch looks ready to backhand his fellow agent. “No.”

Morgan keeps going. “Come on, Hotch, it’s about time you get some.”

“For now, I’ll stick to the case.”

Morgan huffs, giving in, which you think is for the better. But when Morgan turns his head to look out the window, Hotch catches your eyes in the rearview mirror.

You sink as far down as you can in your seat, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.

+++

You have no clue what you were expecting when you pictured the outside of Jonathan King’s house, but it wasn’t this.

A few police cars are already here, their men having already gone in to look around, but not touch anything. A few cars look tiny next to the monster that is the mansion you’re looking at.

“I thought this was a small town,” you mutter, closing the car door.

“Jonathan’s daddy was the owner of the only car dealership in town,” Sheriff Ansley explains. “They were big money.”

“I can tell,” you shake your head. “Definitely don’t have houses like this where I’m from.”

The sheriff chuckles. “Yeah. Before they built it, this was a wide open field. Tiny house. Space for all kinds of animals. Had a red barn out there,” she points off to where a gigantic pool complete with a rock waterfall is.

You hum. “A lot changes for the worse sometimes when money comes in.”

She looks at you then, almost like she respects you a little more now. Which isn’t unusual. The sheriffs in small towns don’t exactly like having to call the FBI in for help. Some do it rather begrudgingly. It’s more often than not that you find yourself being the bridge between big city and small town.

“Any signs of forced entry?” Hotch asks the first officer he sees and they shake their head.

“Nothing. But this damn mansion is so big…” He trails away, looking around at it all.

“I understand,” Hotch sighs. “If you find anything, let us know.”

“Hotch,” you speak up, nearly tapping his shoulder, but you quickly pull your hand back. “If this unsub is a woman, then it’s likely there won’t be any forced entry.”

The sheriff nods. “She has a point.”

“How?” Morgan asks, eyebrows furrowed over his sunglasses.

“Seriously?” You deadpan. “Do you want me to demonstrate?”

He catches on, and drawls, “Go right ahead,” prompting you to shove his shoulder.

“Focus,” Hotch scolds. “I hear you. He probably let her in.”

“Did Jonathan have a reputation of being a player?” Morgan asks. “Take a lot of girls out on dates? Get serious with a lot of them but never marriage-serious?”

Sheriff Ansley nearly snorts. “Oh, yeah. He was the town’s bachelor. New woman every week. Swore every single one was The One.”

You nod slowly. “He must’ve picked up the wrong one, then.”

“Evidently so,” she replies quietly, leading the three of you into the house.

Hotch opts for looking around the house with the sheriff while you and Morgan go to Jonathan’s bedroom.

And he’s still lying there. Wonderful.

You nearly gag, but stop yourself. You’re never going to get used to this shit. At least there isn’t blood literally drenching the walls like that other case.

Moving on.

“Looks like it’s the exact same MO,” Morgan comments, idly checking the body for anything the officers might’ve missed.

You dig around on Jonathan’s dresser, drawers, nightstand, everywhere.

“This guy was seriously rich,” you mutter, picking up a few really expensive watches. Upon opening one drawer, you literally find a wad of cash. At least two thousand dollars, stuffed in between pairs of socks. “The unsub didn’t take this?” You hold up the cash to Morgan.

“She must not’ve spent time here,” he concludes. “Doesn’t look like she took any trophies either.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you say, then crack a smile. “So you’re on my side then, huh?”

He turns his head, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“It’s a woman.”

Morgan chuckles. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m on your side. This has woman all over it.”

“Kiddo,” you groan, tossing the cash back in the drawer. “Any clothes from the unsub lying around? I’m guessing she’s smarter than that.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing,” Morgan says, going into the bathroom. “The window in here is locked tight.”

“I really doubt she forced her way in,” you say. “He probably took her out on a date, brought her inside willingly, and didn’t realize until it was too late that he should not have messed with her.” You pause. “Does this place have security cameras? It looks expensive enough to have them. We should get Garcia to get the footage.”

You’re too busy rambling to see that Morgan has walked back into the room, only this time he’s eyeing you carefully.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Listen, I know these guys were…” He gestures rather than saying it.

“Rapists?” You say tiredly, placing your hands on your hips. No need to be afraid of saying the word around you. You’ve heard it plenty and said it yourself more times than you want to. “What about it?”

“I just wanted to say I know how good it can feel to see someone like that taken down,” Morgan says slowly. “And then you feel guilty for feeling good.”

You set your jaw, hating he’s right. You’ve yet to admit it to yourself, though. Isn’t it wrong? On multiple levels? You’re supposed to catch the bad guys, not relate to them so much that you understand why they’re doing this.

“And I know it can also bring up some bad memories, but, I’m here for you,” he says, keeping his eyes on yours. “I mean that.”

“Thanks, Derek,” you whisper. “It does...kinda feel good, but...I know it’s the wrong way to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Make a difference,” you shrug. “If I killed Trevor, I’d be taking the short route. That’s why I’m here. To make a bigger difference.”

He smiles then, gently. “And you’re doin’ it. Trust me.”

You let yourself smile, too. “Thanks. Now let’s get back to work before boss man comes in here telling us to focus,” you mimic Hotch’s voice and tone at the end, making yourself laugh as you turn back around.

And that’s when you have the absolute shit scared out of you because Hotch is standing there, frowning at you. Oh, he totally heard that.

“Sorry, sir,” you murmur, knowing you should apologize while you’re ahead.

Thankfully, to save yourself from embarrassment, Morgan’s phone starts ringing. He pulls it out and puts it on speaker.

“Talk to me, babygirl.”

“All of our other victims? Yeah, they were accused of rape, too. Four of them were acquitted or blatantly dismissed, three of them with such short sentences it probably felt like a vacation.”

You roll your eyes. “Sounds about right.”

Hotch eyes you, but talks to Garcia. “Get us a list of anyone in this region that fits those same criteria.”

“Already done, and it is heading to JJ as we speak.”

Morgan shakes his head at how good she is. “Oh, and check and see if you can get the footage from Jonathan’s security cameras at his house. Y/N thinks he should have some.”

“She’s correct, I just found them,” Garcia says, no doubt through a smile. “I’ll send the footage over and start looking.”

“We should get back to the station and go over those names, see if we can narrow it down at all,” Hotch says. “Hopefully Garcia can get us something from that video.”

+++

Garcia gathers one thing from the video, but it’s not anything to do with facial recognition.

For now, it’s obvious this woman is a strong suspect because she’s the only one seen entering and leaving the house (she walked out right through the front door with her head down) in the window of time that Jonathan was killed. But...

“There’s not a clear shot at all,” Garcia says. “Because they’re… How do I put this? His lips are basically attacking her face and it’s a miracle they made it inside instead of just going at it against the door.”

Morgan snorts out a laugh, Reid (who is working on connecting the nine victims further) goes impossibly red, and Hotch shakes his head.

“Well, we’ve got a physical description now,” Rossi says, trying to see the bright side before Hotch loses it, you’re sure.

“Yeah, but it’s just a young brunette in a dress and heels,” Emily argues. “That’s nowhere near narrow enough.”

“Brown hair is actually the second most common hair color,” Reid supplies. “The most common is black, but they’re usually lumped together in studies. A recent one found that 84% of the world’s population has dark hair. But, of course, women are more likely to color their hair than men—”

“We got it, kid,” Morgan says gently, tapping Reid’s shoulder to get him to slow down.

“So,” you chuckle, “she has dark hair, which are the two most common hair colors.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a thought occurs to you. “Wait, can I see the video again?”

Garcia plays it again.

“Pause there,” you point to the woman’s hands. “See how she reaches for his wrist?”

“Where are you going with this?” Morgan asks.

It’s then that it occurs to you just where you’re going with this, and you try to hide your embarrassment.

“You can play it again.” After a few seconds, you get Garcia to pause again. “See? She tries to pin his wrists. She’s dominating. She’s the one in control there. See how his back is against the door, too? He didn’t start that way, she turned them around to get the upper hand.”

“So she’s confident,” Emily ponders.

“In sexual situations, at least,” you add. “Some women who are outwardly shy, but like to dominate in bed. It can be different for everyone.”

“So you’re saying we’re looking for a super quiet, shy woman?”

“Not necessarily. Given that she has had enough confidence to kill these nine men without anyone noticing, I’d be willing to bet she’s pretty confident now. It could be a newfound confidence, or she honestly could have always been this way. A lot of Dominatrixes are pretty confident outside of the bedroom, too. Maybe not in the same way, but they are. Just comes with the territory.”

“A territory you seem to know a lot about,” Morgan teases, poking your shoulder.

You scoff. “You wish.”

But your eyes find Hotch’s and you feel another rush go through you, all the way to your toes. You burn every single time you’re underneath his gaze. Averting your eyes quickly back to the screen, you try to shift in your seat in the least noticeable way.

It’s not like he doesn’t already know. If he seriously doesn’t know or at least have some suspicion, then you might suggest he get a new profession.

Redirecting the attention back to the case, Hotch turns to Sheriff Ansley and says, “We’re ready to give a preliminary profile.”

The team stands to head out to the main area. You and Hotch are the last two left, which you’re sure he did deliberately.

“You should take the lead,” he says, and you swear, your heart falls out of your ass.

“What?” You’ve never taken the lead on a profile in your life. Why would he just spring this on you right now? On this case, of all cases? Seriously?

He doesn’t change his mind. “I trust you to get all of the details right. And we’ll jump in when needed, but I want you to take the lead.”

You’re shaking your head. “Hotch, I haven’t—”

“It’s an order,” he says, voice firm. “Understood?”

“Yes.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes what?”

Bastard. He did it again. “Yes sir.”

And your jaw nearly ends up on the floor when he smirks, a quiet, “Good girl,” falling from his lips.

Damn him. Now you’re supposed to give the profile? How bad would it be to let Emily take over so you can jump Hotch in the nearest supply closet?

You never find out how bad it would be because Hotch walks out and thanks the officers for being there, and introduces you, giving you zero time to recover.

“Thank you so much for your patience,” you say first. “The unsub we’re looking for is, in fact, a woman, confirmed by some security footage that was recovered from Jonathan King’s home. She’s a brunette, average height, attractive, and she’s confident. She’s killed nine times and hasn’t been caught yet, so she’s likely to be gaining confidence.”

An officer raises his hand, so you nod to him. “No offense...but your description fits practically every girl in this town -- I guess, besides the killing part.”

“That’s what we figured,” you admit. “Unfortunately, this kind of unsub is the hardest to catch. They don’t stand out at all, they blend right in. It’s partly why they go so long without being caught.”

“But they’re not impossible to catch,” Rossi adds, helping you out with the annoyed officers. “This unsub has already killed twice in a week, which could be a sign that she’s beginning to devolve. When they’re in this state, they are easier to catch because they tend to get reckless and forget things, change patterns, which is what we need.”

“So we need to keep a tight lid on this for now,” JJ says. “The media isn’t going to cover this at all tonight because we need our unsub to believe she’s still getting away with it.”

Another officer pipes up. “If the news isn’t gonna report this, how can we keep people safe?”

It’s a valid question. It’s one that you always get when you decide to not have media coverage.

“Keep an eye out. And don’t take any women home,” Morgan offers.

But that doesn’t seem good enough, because the same officer says, “All due respect, sir, but asking a man not to do that is like asking him not to breathe.”

The amount of laughter and you got that right’s that you hear from the other male officers makes your stomach twist. Morgan’s small laugh makes you want to smack him.

“Well, try to refrain for a while,” you state plainly, bringing the focus back around. “If you can help it.”

Another officer says, “I don’t know if I can…” and clicks his tongue mockingly.

“Well, this unsub targets rapists,” you say loudly, placing emphasis on the word. “So if you aren’t a rapist, consider yourself safe and sound.”

That causes an uncomfortable silence to settle over the room, but you could care less. It should make them uncomfortable. It’s unfair that it’s something women have to just live with. It’s bullshit.

Emily and JJ share a look with you, the only kind women can understand. Makes you want a drink. And it’s not even late afternoon yet.

Rossi helps draw things to a close while Hotch practically stares you down. Not subtle at all. You feel it, and for that reason, you don’t look at him. But he’s hard to ignore.

Especially when he walks over and says, “I need to have a word with you,” and walks past you, giving you no choice but to follow.

Well, you could choose not to follow, but you’re not so sure you want to take your chances there. Not that the thrill of the idea doesn’t get you all excited, but now is not the time or place.

So, with your heart racing and your annoyance showing clearly on your face, you follow your boss to an office at the end of the hall. He’s waiting for you, already inside, and he doesn’t look happy.

What’s new?

He shuts the door behind you, his arms crossing over his chest again.

After a few moments of silence, you raise your eyebrows. “What?”

“Don’t be a brat,” he says sternly, causing your stomach to twist for different reason. “And don’t say what. You know what.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t, actually. That’s why I asked.”

He looks ready to absolutely devour you in the worst way possible, yet he doesn’t move. “I understand that after the case in your hometown—”

“God, why does everyone keep bringing that up?” You’re two seconds away from throwing your hands in the air like a child, but you stop yourself after the look he gives you.

“Because it just happened three weeks ago,” he replies, voice even. “And because it took a toll on you. That’s not something to be ashamed of, it’s just a fact.”

“You’ve never been up my ass about cases like this, not until you found out.”

“My knowing has not changed anything,” he says, and you think he might mean it. “And last I checked, this is your first case with a female unsub attacking rapists.”

You could punch him. You really want to punch him. “What’s your point?”

“I need to know that you can be objective,” he says. “I know you relate to our unsub. I know how easy it was for you to put yourself in her shoes. You did it almost immediately. I bet you knew it was a female unsub within the first few seconds of the debriefing.”

He’s right. Dammit. “And?”

“I need you to be on our side of this case.”

“I am!”

“Are you?” He counters. “If you knew who this unsub was, would you turn her in?”

“Are you suggesting—”

“Hypothetically.”

“Yes! For God’s sake, yes, I would turn her in.”

“Are you being honest with me?”

“What is wrong with you today?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you have something else to say you might as well say it while we’re alone.”

He doesn’t move. Or say a single word.

So much for that.

“Look,” you uncross your arms, tired of fighting already. It’s exhausting on any normal day, but pair it with jet lag and it being between you and the man you obviously care for, and it’s a million times more exhausting. “Yes, I get where this unsub is coming from. Honestly, if it was legal and if there was a market for a job like what she’s doing, I probably would’ve gone into it instead of the FBI. But there isn’t. Because killing people is illegal. So I decided to go to the FBI to make a bigger difference— a real difference. Yes, I relate to the unsub. I get why she’s doing what she’s doing. But just because I get it doesn’t make it right.”

“Good,” he nods. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I shouldn’t have even had to say it.”

The room falls silent.

Hotch sees it then, that look in your eyes. During the profile, it was all determination and confidence. When you entered the office, it was bratty and defiant. 

Now, it’s hurt.

That’s all he sees. And frankly, that’s all you’re feeling.

Since he doesn’t say anything else, you take it upon yourself to say, “Excuse me,” and join the team in the conference room with only one question on your mind.

Does he not trust me at all?

Next chapter

[pastelwitchling]

Journey to the Past

read on ao3

This was meant to be part of my one-shot collection, it turned out to be too long, and now it’s a separate fic. If you enjoy reading even a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

Michael woke to find he’d fallen asleep at Alex’s bedside. Before anything, he sat up, checked to see if Alex’s eyes hadn’t fluttered, if he wasn’t finally waking from his coma, but his hand remained perfectly still in Michael’s, the heart monitor echoed steadily into the otherwise empty room and echoing off Max’s bedroom walls.

They would’ve taken him to the hospital, but since the attack that did this to him had been by his father’s rogue Project Shepherd agents, they couldn’t risk leaving him in a room that any enemy could access. At least here, Isobel and Michael could set up forcefields around the grounds. At least here, Max could strike anybody that came too close with lightning and they could blame it on the weather. At least here, Michael could cling to Alex and no one would bother him about it.

Michael wasn’t Alex’s boyfriend, he knew. Alex’s actual boyfriend – or his ex, that is, as of two weeks ago – was back in New York, unaware that the man he’d fallen so deeply and treacherously in love with had fallen victim to his father’s pissed off and ridiculously loyal minions.

Michael followed the bruises on Alex’s jaw and cheeks with his eyes, the cut on his lower lip, visible under the thick respirator. There was a stitched up gash in his forehead, and his knuckles on his right hand were scraped and bloody from the fight he’d given the attackers. He’d fended most of them off, before Michael had arrived to blow the rest of them into the walls and knock them out, but not before one of them had managed a stray shot in and got Alex in the stomach.

Max had done his best to heal him, but the bullets had been laced with yellow pollen. Jesse Manes’ last attempt to kill his youngest son, apparently, had followed him out the grave.

Michael shut his eyes against the thought, and instinctively gripped Alex’s hand tighter. He didn’t want to think about Project Shepherd and what they’d intended. They’d failed, and that was all that mattered. His grip turned painful on Alex’s hand. They’d failed.

A knock came at the door, but Michael did not look away from Alex’s face. He heard Max’s voice from the end of the room ask, “How’re you holding up?”

“Why isn’t he awake yet?” Michael demanded. “You said he’d be awake by now.”

“No,” Max sighed, and closed the door behind him. “I said Kyle hoped he’d be awake by now.”

“It’s been two days.”

“We’re doing everything we can –”

“Well, it’s not enough!” Michael snapped, and the room collapsed back into silence.

“He’ll wake up,” Max promised him. “He will. Just give him some time.”

“I need him,” Michael whispered.

“I know –”

“No,” he growled. “I need him.” He rubbed his face roughly with one hand. “Where’s Is?”

“Outside,” he said. “Why?” When Michael didn’t answer, Max’s shoulders slumped and his frown deepened. “Michael, no.”

“I know we said there were risks –”

“Risks?” he scoffed. “I already told you it’s too dangerous to go digging through Alex’s head! Isobel told you it’s dangerous!”

Michael stood. “Valenti said his brain waves are normal, he’s just asleep. If I can find the part of him that doesn’t want to wake up, then – then I get him back.”

“Or you guys screw something up,” Max argued, “and change something that can’t be changed back.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “He won’t wake up, not like this, and I can’t just sit here and wait.”

“Michael,” Max tried, purposely calming his voice in that way when he knew Michael was seconds away from blowing up and wanted to ease him back down. “Listen to me. I know you’re worried about him, but if you go into his mind, you could make things worse.”

Michael swallowed. Max was right, he knew Max was right. But he remembered Kyle’s voice when he’d hoped Alex would wake up soon. He had been too quiet, his eyes downcast like he was praying and didn’t want the others to know it was that bad.

He had no idea that when it came to Alex, Michael paid attention. Only when it came to Alex.

“If I do nothing,” he said, “Alex stays asleep.” His fingers curled to fists at his sides at the thought. He looked back at Alex, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed softly. His unmoving fingers and closed eyes.

Michael sniffed, and decided, “If Alex doesn’t wake up by tomorrow morning, I’m going in to wake him up myself.”

 They waited until the next morning, then noon. Michael had been ready to start at dawn, but Kyle had seemed anxious, and Max argued for “Just a couple more hours, Michael, he’s the doctor here!”

Michael had argued that Alex didn’t need a human doctor, and Kyle had argued that Alex was human, so who else was going to treat him?

Michael forgot that sometimes; that Alex wasn’t actually an alien like him, that he didn’t have any superpowers like the others did. He’d just always seemed so strong and intelligent that it slipped Michael’s mind. But Alex was human, and more fragile than Michael allowed himself to believe. He’d been too careless, too willing to ask for Alex’s help fixing this or fixing that without ever considering what he might’ve been doing to him. What it might cost.

Maybe that was why Michael was so eager to go into Alex’s mind already and wake him up. It was time for him to save Alex for a change.

“Just for the record,” Isobel said, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You deal with brains all the time,” Michael argued.

“Not like Kyle,” she insisted. “And not memories. It’s like . . . time travelling! If you touch something in the past, you could change the future forever!” She swallowed. “And Alex is . . . he’s too important.”

She didn’t need to say the words for Michael to know what she was thinking. He’s too important to you, she seemed to be telling Michael. If I hurt him, it’ll break you, and I could never forgive myself for that.

Michael took her hand. “You’re gonna do great,” he said resolutely. “If anyone can do this, you can.”

Her brows pinched, unconvinced, but Michael didn’t have any more time for doubt or hesitation. Alex hadn’t woken up in too long, and his nerves were fraying with every passing second.

“Do it,” he said.

Isobel glanced hesitantly at Kyle. Kyle looked to Alex, as if weighing the damage that they could do, but even he must’ve known that Alex being asleep for this long was abnormal, because he looked to Isobel and nodded, clearly unhappy about it.

“Be careful,” Max warned. “For your sakes, and his.”

Isobel’s hand on Michael’s tightened, and she shut her eyes. Michael kept his gaze on Alex for as long as he could. Then he felt a sudden chill shoot throughout his entire body from his hand, and he inhaled sharply. One second he was looking at Alex’s sleeping figure, and the next, the world around him turned to smoke, and he found himself standing in the desert on a bright, sunny day.

He was still holding Isobel’s hand, but nothing looked familiar. There was just desert and gray-steel buildings built high with tall glass windows, clustered like boulders in the sea.

In the distance, he could see uniformed soldiers, marching in formation. Men and women training, sergeants barking orders, laughter from friends somewhere hidden. Where were they?

“What the hell?” he muttered, looking around. He didn’t recognize the area at all.

Isobel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Alex?”

Michael turned and found they were inches from a doorway that opened to a large, steel room. There was a raised platform at the very opposite end, and several soldiers fighting, sparring, exercising – but Michael couldn’t see any of them.

Isobel gasped. “Michael,” she pointed. “Isn’t that Alex?”

Michael had already spotted him. He was on the platform, fighting another young man. But even before Isobel and Michael approached him, Michael knew this was a much younger Alex. He looked barely eighteen, his hair having lost its spike and was cut short, he was throwing punches and kicks in a way that seemed very unnatural for the man who hardly had to raise a finger to induce fear. And he was losing. Badly.

“I don’t think anybody can see us,” Isobel murmured, looking around at the other soldiers as they passed. “Or hear us.”

Michael’s eyes were on Alex. His heart was hammering, beating painfully against his ribs with every beating Alex took, every time his body fell to the floor. His opponent delivered a roundhouse kick that had Alex on his face again, and Michael snapped. He held a hand up to blast the other fighter back, but his powers wouldn’t work.

“Are you crazy?!” Isobel hissed, slapping his arm. “You can’t change anything, remember?”

“Literally,” Michael spat, hoping Alex’s opponent could feel his glares. “My telekinesis isn’t working.”

Isobel looked around before her eyes focused on another soldier who was doing pushups. Her brows furrowed for barely half a second, then she winced and put a hand to her temple.

Michael tugged on her hand. “Are you okay?”

“It’s taking all of my power for us to just be here,” she sighed. “My other powers won’t work either.” She frowned. “What’s he doing?”

Michael followed her gaze, and saw that Alex, beaten and bloody, was slowly pushing himself to his feet with trembling arms.

“His face is covered in blood,” Isobel shook her head. “He needs to stay down!”

Michael guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Alex so resolved to stay on his feet. His hair was plastered to his temples with blood and sweat, his breaths were quick and short, like his chest ached, but his shoulders were straight and his eyes were filled with a fiery anger. Alex was looking at his opponent like he was every other person who’d ever beat him down and ordered him to stay there. He was screaming, without any words at all, that he wouldn’t.

It didn’t seem to matter to the opponent as he threw hit after hit, hurting Alex again and again, making Michael flinch and burn with rage every time.

When the fight was over, the other soldiers jeering and eager to start their own training match next, Alex’s opponent crouched down beside him and whispered, loud enough for Michael and Isobel to hear, as though they were in Alex’s place themselves –

“Nobody cares who your daddy and brothers are, Manes,” the opponent sneered with disgust. “Your kind will never survive here.”

Michael clenched his jaw. He felt Alex’s anger, his frustration, his grief. He’d often wondered what happened to Alex after he’d enlisted, how a soldier trained and what that did to them, whether it was hurting Alex the same way.

No one offered Alex a hand, no one knew what to make of this lesser Manes. Michael wanted to kill them all for hurting him, for pushing him down. Alex, on the other hand, seemed to see things differently.

With all the charge of that emo kid from high school, Alex groaned and pushed himself to his feet. He spat the blood in his mouth out, and wiped his forearm against his nose. His eyes were dry, his expression unreadable, but that same anger stayed.

More than a few soldiers looked surprised and even impressed, but Alex, already walking away, didn’t notice.

The scene changed.

Before Michael could blink, they were outside again. A cursory look around told them they were behind the building this time, where rocks and stray blades of grass grew out. Alex was sitting against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. In the distance, soldiers marched on, but nobody seemed to see Alex as he cried.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to see him.

Michael glanced at Isobel, and saw her eyes were wide and sympathetic. Alex wiped the tears away faster than they could fall. He sniffled, and pulled a picture out of his pocket, hiding it between his eyes and knees, a secret for no one else.

“I’m sorry,” Alex sniffled again, and wiped his cheek on his shoulder. “I’m trying not to. I’m getting better at it. Not that I think you’d be disappointed that I cried, I just . . . don’t want to cry in front of anybody else. Never again.”

Michael and Isobel each went to a different side of Alex to see whose picture he was talking to, all the while Michael trying not to scrunch up with the uncomfortable thought that Alex had taken enough comfort in someone else that he would sneak a photo of them into base, even back then.

When he saw the picture, he froze. Isobel breathed, “Oh my god . . .,” and Michael had to kneel down next to Alex. It was a picture of them – him and Alex – similar to the picture he had in his airstream. Except this one was taken at a different angle, and they were smiling at each other, taken in the exact moment Alex had noticed Michael watching him play guitar, and the two had laughed, giddy at being so close together and knowing what they knew about their feelings for one another.

Michael tried to breathe, but a lump lodged itself in his throat. Alex had kept a picture of them with him when he’d first gone to the base, and he pulled it out whenever he needed strength and comfort. All this time, he’d thought Alex hadn’t thought twice about him . . .

“I’m scared, Guerin,” Alex confessed to the picture, his grip on the edges tightening. “I don’t – I don’t know what to do. I’m not strong enough to be here. I don’t want to be here.” His lower lip trembled. “But that’s why you started to pull away, right? I was too weak to protect you . . .”

“No,” Michael breathed, shaking his head. “No, please, don’t say that, please.”

“That’s why Alex enlisted?” Isobel said. “Because his dad hit you?”

“It was after Rosa,” Michael croaked, eyes on Alex. “Everything changed, and I . . . I could never tell him what happened. But he – he thought . . . I didn’t know he thought . . .”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alex cried, hiding his face with one hand. “I’m trying not to cry, I swear I’m trying. I just miss you so much, Guerin. You’re the only person that’s ever felt like home to me, and now I’m here, and I’m more lost than ever.” He exhaled shakily. “All I wanted was a goodbye. I keep thinking about the way I left. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Isobel’s own eyes were glassy. “Michael?”

“I didn’t want to,” he whispered in response to her silent question. “I didn’t want to say goodbye. It felt like I would never see him again if I did.” He clenched his jaw. He tried to press his forehead to Alex’s temple, to inhale his scent, but he couldn’t feel Alex at all. He could only watch him suffer.

“The last thing I ever said to him before he left was –” he scowled at the bile in his throat “—that I’d be better off if he left. I was just angry, and – and hurt!” he tried. “I didn’t mean it!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly, pulling her eyes off Alex. “It’s in the past, Michael. That’s what all of this stuff is. Memories. You know Alex now, you know what he thinks of you. He loves you.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not what hurts, Is.”

“Then what does?”

“It’s that he loved me this much even back then.”

“Private Manes,” a voice sounded, and Alex gasped just quickly enough for Michael to catch it before he was on his feet, straight as a board.

Michael looked up and found none other than Sergeant Ramos, Alex’s mysterious leader who’d come to Roswell a mere few weeks ago. The man Alex had looked up to and smiled around and trusted. The man who seemed more Alex’s father than Jesse Manes had ever been.

Sergeant Ramos, looking about twelve years younger, raised a brow at Alex’s right hand which was subtly pushing the photo back into its hiding place in his pocket.

He tilted his head at Alex. “You’re the new kid, right? Jesse’s youngest. Alec?”

“Alex Manes, sir,” Alex said loudly, coherently. Like a soldier.

“Alex,” he nodded. “You miss your friend, Alex?”

Alex faltered. “Sir?”

“Your friend,” he nudged his chin at Alex’s pocket. “In the picture.” His eyes were meaningful when he said, “You must’ve been very close.”

Alex swallowed. It was no use trying to hide the panic in his eyes. He’d just come back from his father’s house, he was too used to being afraid. He hadn’t spent a decade learning to hide that fear.

“Is he the reason you’re here?”

Alex raised his chin. “I’m here to be stronger, sir!”

Ramos smiled, like he knew something Alex didn’t. “You seemed plenty strong to me up on that platform, Private.”

Alex frowned. “I was . . . losing, sir.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, you were getting back up. No matter what he hit you with.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I don’t like bullies, sir.”

“Did a bully hurt your friend there?” he asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

Alex said nothing, and Michael could see the questions in the furrow of his brow. What would happen to him if a sergeant discovered he was gay? Would he report him to Jesse?

Ramos sighed and looked around. “If you don’t know why you’re here,” he said, “you won’t last long, I can guarantee you that. You know where you are?”

Alex blinked, confused. “The – the US Air Force Base?”

“Are you asking me?”

He straightened. “The US Air Force Base, sir!”

“You ever been in a plane?” he asked. “Ever seen what we see up there?”

Alex hesitated, then shook his head. He quickly caught himself and said, “No, sir!”

Ramos hummed, then patted Alex’s shoulder once, hard enough to make Alex stumble. “All right, follow me! I’m about to show you the few good things about being out in this godforsaken desert.”

Alex followed as he was supposed to, though doubt never left his face. He seemed convinced that there was nothing good about being out here.

Michael and Isobel exchanged a glance before they quickly followed. Michael stayed close to Alex and reached for his hand several times, until they passed right through each other and Alex hardly seemed aware of him.

They went into a hangar with several smaller planes inside, and Alex tensed just for a moment at the sight of them all before he realized Ramos was leading him to a little aircraft at the far right of the room.

“Stay with me, Guerin,” Alex suddenly whispered, his eyes wide and betraying some fear. Michael looked to him, surprised, but realized that Alex was just talking to himself. His hand covered his pocket where his picture of him and Michael was, and with a deep, shaking sigh, he followed Ramos to the plane.

When Alex got close enough, Ramos tossed him a helmet. “Hop in, kid!”

Alex swallowed. He looked like he wanted to stutter an excuse not to, but he gripped his pocket tightly and nodded once, putting on the helmet.

“Oh my god,” Isobel said with a smirk tugging at her lips as realization dawned. “You’re like his good luck charm.”

Michael swallowed, though he definitely didn’t want to smile. When did it stop? When did Alex realize that he wasn’t good luck at all? When had he stopped needing him?

Before Michael and Isobel could say anything else, they both ended up in the backseat of the little aircraft, Ramos and Alex in the front, the plane on a wide stretch of road. Michael didn’t know if this aircraft had initially fit two people in the back, but it was like the memory warped and changed for them to be able to follow.

“We’re tied to Alex,” Isobel told him. Despite the roar of the engine, they heard each other, and the other two passengers, perfectly. “We’ll keep getting tugged along with him.”

Alex gripped the edge of his seat tightly as the plane took off into the air. Michael could hear his gasp, his eyes wanting to close but unwilling to do it in front of his sergeant. They rose high to the clouds, Alex’s knuckles white. Michael wanted more than anything to reach for him, to hold and comfort him, but this Alex was on his own. He’d never had Michael there as Michael had had Max and Isobel. It was just him, alone, with nothing but a picture to comfort him.

“Better hold onto somethin’,” Ramos laughed and pulled up high above the clouds.

What they saw knocked the breath out of their lungs. High above a bed of white, the sun shined brightly, turning the sky around it to gold and pink and purple and blue. It looked like the color of their spaceship surrounding them.

The sunlight hit Alex’s wide eyes, and Michael watched him breathing quickly, emotions turning from fear to shock to grief to wonder to amazement to grief and shock again. He could’ve done anything in that moment. He could’ve cried, could’ve screamed. Instead he smiled, a surprised burst of laughter escaping his lips.

He held up his hands and yelled, “WOOOOOOO!” and Ramous laughed harder. Isobel couldn’t help but laugh along, and Michael couldn’t look away from Alex. The bright sunlight had turned his tear-filled eyes to crystal green, and if Ramos noticed his crying, he didn’t say anything. Alex just laughed and ran his hands through his hair, marveling at the sight before him, as if he’d never expected that such a beautiful treasure could be right over his head this whole time.

After they’d come back down, Ramos handed Alex his half of a ham and cheese sandwich. “Every year,” he told him, “I look at new recruits, try to decide if there are any worth keeping an eye out for. This year, that’s you.”

Alex blinked. “Why me?”

“Because a soldier who can start a battle is a dime a dozen,” he said simply. “I need the kind of person who can win them. I think I can make you captain in record’s time.” He raised a brow, and finished his sandwich in one bite. “Would that be something you would want?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “That would outrank my dad – er – Sergeant Manes.”

“Yes,” Sergeant Ramos said slowly, as though he’d just figured out the bully’s name. “It would. He would have to answer to you.”

Alex’s cheeks were red, but his expression fierce and hopeful. “You can really make me captain, sir?”

“If it’s what you want,” he said. “If it’s the kind of person you want to be. But you ‘aint gonna get it getting beaten down the way you do.”

“I’m – I’m trying –”

“Trying is for excuses,” he said. “‘Round here, you do. If you want to outrank your old man, there’s only one way to do it, Manes. I can train you, but the work’s gotta come from you. What do you think?” He tilted his head. “How far are you willing to go to be the stronger one?”

The look on Alex’s face said it all. He would become whatever he had to, do whatever needed doing. He had enemies, and he wanted them to burn.

The picture changed. It was like walking through a film, memories too blurred and passing now for Michael and Isobel to cling to.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked Isobel, and she shook her head.

“Alex doesn’t clearly remember any of this stuff,” she said, “so we can’t see it any better than he can.”

They saw Alex get older, training harder, running faster, shooting better than anybody else around him. They saw him rise in ranks quickly, uniformed men pinning medals to his chest, congratulating him. Alex laughing with a team of his own, men with muscles larger than Michael’s head, following him like he was their hero.

The memory then stopped, and Michael and Isobel found themselves in a hospital hallway.

Isobel shivered and clung to Michael’s arm. “What is this?” she asked. “Where are we?”

Michael looked around, and pointed at a familiar man pacing along the wall, his thumb pressed to his lower lip.

“Gregory?” Isobel blinked. “What’s he doing here?”

A doctor stepped out, and Gregory was on him in an instant. “How is he?” he demanded at once.

The doctor sighed. It sounded sad. Gregory’s face fell, anguish overtaking his expression. “We did all we could,” he said, “but we couldn’t save the leg.”

Isobel gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “No,” she breathed. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to see this.”

Michael couldn’t hear anything else she said. He was watching Alex who was sitting up in bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. Michael went inside and stood at Alex’s bedside. He did not look at the sheets and what they revealed.

“Private,” he whispered, leaning in as close as he could without touching Alex. “Can you hear me?”

Alex said nothing. He didn’t look down or move. The circles around his eyes were dark. He slowly reached over to the tray beside his bed where a few of his belongings sat in an opened plastic bag, and took something out. It was a picture, his picture of him and Michael, tattered around the edges and stained with specs of blood on the back. He hugged it against his chest as a tear wordlessly rolled down his cheek, though he remained expressionless.

“Alex,” Gregory came in. He looked over Alex’s missing right leg, and swallowed thickly. “Hey,” he brushed his hair back from his face. Alex was either half-asleep or still filled with anesthetic. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Michael knew Alex could, that he remembered this moment perfectly, or he and Isobel would never have been able to see it.

Alex’s lips tugged up in half a sad smile, his brows furrowed as another tear fell down the bridge of his nose. “He’ll think I’m broken now. He’s so beautiful, he’d . . . he’d never love me like this.”

Michael stepped back, feeling like he’d been shot. Alex had kept the picture. Alex had thought Michael wouldn’t love him without his leg. Even now, after all these years, he’d kept the photo of them together. Even now, Michael was still his comfort.

The scene changed.

“I’m getting dizzy,” Isobel groaned. “Where are we now? It looks like Alex’s house, doesn’t it?”

It did. It was night, and they were right in Alex’s driveway, the trees lit with fairy lights, and there sat Michael, or a previous version of Michael, on the bed of his truck.

Michael’s heart fell into his stomach. “No,” he breathed. He remembered this.

“Whoa,” Isobel looked between Michael and Memory Michael. “It’s like Inception.”

“No, please, no,” Michael whispered as Alex pulled up. He stepped out and saw Michael shaking his head.

“What?” he asked in that cute way Michael had never admitted to.

“Pick another memory,” Michael told Isobel. “Any other memory!”

“I can’t control where we go!” Isobel said. “Why? What happens here, Michael?”

Michael pressed the bottoms of his palms into his eyes as Alex’s plea to help him find out more about his mom sounds in his ears. Then Michael’s own cruel words, “I like Maria, okay?”

Isobel’s hand tightened on Michael’s. “Oh.”

Michael was about to say something, though he didn’t know what, when the image before them blurred. It didn’t go away, it just faded to darkness.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked Isobel.

Isobel’s brows were furrowed. “It’s Alex,” she said. “He – he stopped paying attention.”

Michael swallowed thickly as the colors ran around him. Then he and Isobel were in Alex’s living room as Alex came in. It was right after Michael had left his house.

Alex sat down on the couch, staring off into the distance. He pulled off his cap, and his arm fell limp to his side. Slowly, Alex let his head fall back against the wall, and he stared at the ceiling, the same numb expression on his face as when he’d woken up to losing his leg. Any pretense of being fine or indifferent to Michael’s confession was gone.

Alex sniffled, then straightened. His eyes were dry. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out that same picture of him and Michael. He stared at it for a long time, but he didn’t say anything.

“He kept it,” Isobel breathed. “All this time, he’s loved you so much.”

“I didn’t –” Michael croaked, shaking his head. “I didn’t know.”

He’d thought Alex didn’t care who he was with. Then he thought to the way Alex’s eyes had fallen time and time again; in his driveway, his backyard, outside Michael’s airstream over and over and over again. Never surprised, just afraid that his suspicions had been right. That he was too broken for Michael to love anymore.

Alex lied down with a deep sigh that sounded frighteningly like resignation, his hand with the picture hanging off the couch. Slowly, his jaw clenched, Alex let the picture flutter out of his fingers and to the floor. He turned over to his other side and closed his eyes. He didn’t pick the picture up again.

“Alex . . .” Michael whispered, but before he could try reaching for Alex, the picture changed again, and he and Isobel were standing next to Alex in front of a short building. Kids played outside and elders swept their front porch.

Isobel leaned her weight against Michael. He put an arm around her waist. “Whoa, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I don’t think I can keep this up much longer, Michael. We have to find the broken part here, fast.”

Michael looked Alex over. “I think we’re getting there. Wasn’t this what he was wearing the day he was ambushed?”

Isobel straightened, eyes narrowed. She gasped. “Kyle told me Alex had gone to visit his mom that morning! He called on his way to the bunker, and –”

“That’s where they got him,” Michael growled, his hands turned to fists at the thought. “We’re close.”

As if hearing the urgency in their voices, a woman opened the door to greet Alex. She had Alex’s dark eyes, dark hair, and kind smile.

“My baby,” Alex’s mother pulled him in for a hug. Alex hugged her back just as tightly.

“Hey, mom,” he said. He sounded exhausted.

His mother quickly noticed and her smile faltered. She cupped his cheek. “Okay, baby, come in. Come on. I’ll make you some tea.”

That was how they found themselves minutes later, seated in a small but comfy living room with plush floral couches, Michael and Isobel on each side of Alex as he and his mother nursed hot cups of tea.

“What’s going on?” Alex’s mother said. “Why do you look like that?”

Alex scoffed halfheartedly, “Are you saying I look bad?”

She brushed his hair back from his eyes. “My son is the handsomest in the world.” She brought her hand to his chin and lifted his head. “So why is he so upset?”

“I’m not upset, mom,” he said, smiling weakly. “I’m just . . . so tired.” His smile fell away and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a sip of his tea and set the mug down. He rubbed his hands together. “When you called last night, I told you everything was fine. I lied, mom.”

She nodded, like this didn’t surprise her in the slightest. “I know.” She tilted her head, and softly asked, “Is it your breakup? I thought you were okay with that.”

“I was,” Alex shook his head, eyes shut. “I – I am, but I . . .” He sighed and pulled something out of his pocket. He huffed a miserable chuckle. “I tried to burn it. I couldn’t.”

She took the picture from him, and Isobel gasped softly. It was the same one Alex had had of him and Michael for all of these years. He’d never gotten rid of it. Michael had never stopped being a comfort to him. Until, apparently, now.

Realization dawned on Alex’s mother’s face. “This boy. What was his name again?”

Alex rubbed his face. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters anymore. Forrest and I broke up, and he still won’t tell me anything.”

She frowned. “I thought you said you loved each other?”

Alex nodded. “I used to believe that.” He sighed shakily. “Not anymore.” He chuckled sadly, and covered his face with his hands. “I’m so tired, mom. I’m so tired of – of excuses and being afraid and – and being brave just to find out that it makes no difference. It’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

“Alex,” Alex’s mother looked horrified at her son’s words. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to,” Alex confessed in a whisper. “He showed me. He told Maria he loved her.”

Isobel’s eyes were wide. “Michael, you what?” she demanded. “Why would you lie like that?”

“I was scared,” he said, his eyes on Alex. “I wanted to hold onto something easy.”

But he didn’t know this was what he’d been doing to Alex. That he was hurting him this badly, all to date someone he’d never actually wanted to date. Michael looked at the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, his hollow cheeks, his tousled hair, and wondered how long it had been since Alex had eaten or slept.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Alex said. “I’d always hoped that . . . that we’d end up together. But it’s not something he wants anymore. If he ever wanted it at all.” His eyes shut tight. “I can’t keep clinging to bread crumbs, mom, I don’t want to.”

His mom looked concerned, but she took Alex’s hands in both of hers and said steadily, “Alex, what’re you trying to say? You can tell me.”

Alex exhaled shakily, and lifted his gaze to his mother’s. “Mom, I’ve thought about this a lot. I’ve thought about it since he and Maria first started . . .” he clenched his jaw and looked away, like just the thought of Michael and Maria together pained him. Finally, he said, “I’m leaving Roswell.”

“No,” Michael breathed.

“And I’m not coming back this time.”

“NO!” Michael stood. “Alex, you can’t leave!”

“Michael,” Isobel tried. “He can’t hear you.”

“Alex can’t leave me,” he shook his head. “He can’t.”

“I can’t see him anymore,” Alex said. “I can’t pretend he still loves me. It hurts too much.”

Despite Isobel’s protests, Michael leaned over Alex and grabbed his arms. He kept going through him.

“Alex, look at me!” he demanded. “I’m right here, look at me!”

Alex flinched just as Michael’s hands collided with his arms, grabbing onto him. He could feel Alex, and Alex could feel him.

Alex looked startled, his mother’s voice was gone. Everyone’s voices were gone but Michael’s, Isobel’s, and Alex’s. The world around them was turning to black as Alex searched the air in front of him, as if looking for the source of the sound.

“He can hear me,” Michael muttered, eyes wide. “He can – he can hear me!”

Alex’s eyes fell onto Michael’s, and his brows furrowed. “Guerin?”

“This is it,” Isobel stood. “This is the faulty memory! The part where Alex’s brain is screwed up and is keeping him asleep!”

“Isobel?” Alex blinked. He tried to stand with Michael clinging to him. Michael was afraid that if he let go of this memory, Alex would disappear from him for good. “What’re you guys doing here, what is all this?”

They were standing in darkness. Nothingness upon nothingness.

“You were attacked,” Isobel told him, “by Project Shepherd agents.”

“You’ve been in a coma for three days,” Michael said. “We couldn’t get you to wake up, we had to come into your mind, try to wake you from here.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Alex shook his head. “Attacked? Coma? None of this makes any sense!”

“Remember!” Michael demanded. “Remember! This is just a memory, the real you knows what happened! Remember, Alex!”

Alex looked shocked, doubtful, disbelieving. Then something in his expression slotted together. “I was – I was at the bunker . . . the door was open . . . it all happened so fast.” He blinked, and gasped. “A gunshot. Someone – someone shot me.” He frantically patted down his stomach, looking for the wound, but he wouldn’t find it in a memory. He looked back to Isobel, then Michael. “You’re telling the truth.”

“You have to fight it, Alex,” Isobel urged. She leaned forward on her knees and huffed, like just breathing was getting tiresome for her. “You have to want to wake up.”

“Want to wake up?”

“Yeah,” Michael cupped his jaw. “Come on, baby. Wake up for me,” he breathed. “I miss you, please wake up for me.”

Alex searched his face, then said, “No.”

Michael faltered. “N-No?”

“No,” Alex tried pulling his arms out of Michael’s grasp, but Michael held on. “Guerin, I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to? Alex, this is your life we’re talking about –”

“My life?” he laughed. It sounded so sad. “What life, Guerin? The one where the man I love won’t say two nice words to me? The one where my friends don’t think twice about what their decisions might do to me? Where my own brother tried to kill me because I got in his way?”

Alex shook his head. “No, Guerin. No. I’ve been tired for a long time, and I want to rest now.”

Michael gripped his arms harder. “You think I don’t know the real you?” he demanded. “You think I don’t know that you’ve had hope for us even when I didn’t? You think I don’t know that no matter what you say, you’ll believe in us whether you want to or not? We’re cosmic, Alex, this won’t kill us, and you know it won’t. If you don’t wake up, I’ll just come after you again, you know I will.”

Isobel stared, shocked. “Michael . . .”

His grip on Alex turned painfully tight. “I’ve never trusted anything, Alex. I’m not like you, I can’t see the good even when everything just feels bad. But I trust you. If you don’t wake up, I’ll die.” He shrugged, a sad smile tugging at his lips as a tear rolled down his cheek. “And you won’t let me. I believe that.”

His grip loosened.

“What’re you doing?” Alex said, though he seemed to already know the answer.

“I’m trusting you to come back to me,” Michael said, his whole body trembling. “Because you always do.”

“Michael,” Isobel warned, “if you let him go now, we might lose him for good.”

Michael smirked, and a tear fell down Alex’s face. “I’m not letting you go,” Michael told Alex. “I can’t.”

“Guerin,” Alex tried, but Michael was already straightening, bracing himself.

“You’ll come back,” he said, sure of this more than anything else.

Without another word, he let go of Alex, and a sudden wind hit his face. Then he blinked, and he was back in Max’s bedroom. He and Isobel both broke apart and fell to the ground.

“Oh my god,” Kyle gasped somewhere in the distance and helped Isobel up while Max came to Michael’s side.

“You guys have been frozen for hours!” he said, pulling Michael to his feet. “What happened?”

“Michael had Alex,” Isobel said, and looked to her brother. “Why?” she demanded. “Michael, after what he told us –”

“What?” Kyle said, looking between them. “Told you what?”

Michael lumbered out of Max’s hold and took his place at Alex’s bedside again, taking his hand in his. “Come on, Alex,” he begged in a whisper. “Come on. Come back to me.”

“He said . . . he said . . .”

“It doesn’t matter!” Michael snapped, and Isobel fell silent. “He’ll wake up. He will. Come on, baby,” he murmured into Alex’s hand. “Come on.”

The minutes ticked by in silence, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.

“Michael,” Isobel said quietly. “He’s not going to wake up.”

“Yes, he will,” Michael said at once, his grip on Alex’s hand bruising. “He will.”

“Just give him a minute,” he heard Kyle say. He must’ve been clinging to that hope just as desperately as Michael was.

“Come on,” he pleaded. “Come on, Alex. Stay with me.”

A moment. Two. Michael’s eyes burned, and his hands started to tremble. Then he felt it; he felt Alex’s fingers move in his.

He gasped, and waited. Alex moved again.

Kyle pointed at one of the monitors. “Brain activity’s increasing!” he all but yelled. “Alex?”

They looked to Alex, waiting, waiting, waiting. Then Alex’s eyes fluttered open, and a sob escaped Michael’s lips before he pressed them to Alex’s fingers, kissing each one. Kyle gently pulled off the respirator, and he and Michael both helped a confused Alex sit up.

Alex��s brows were furrowed as he took in the room. When he spoke, his voice was dry and hoarse. “I had the weirdest dream.”

Isobel collapsed into tearful giggles, and Max, relieved, patted Alex’s shoulder twice. Kyle ruffled his hair, and Michael moved to sit next to him, hugging him tightly and keeping him close.

“Don’t ever do that to us again, Manes,” Kyle warned him with a trembling smile.

“Do what?” Alex asked. “I don’t remember anything – ow!” He lifted up his short sleeve to reveal red nail marks. Michael’s nail marks from when he’d been gripping him a little too tightly, terrified of losing him.

Alex met Michael’s gaze with furrowed brows, realization quickly dawning. Michael pressed their foreheads together and took a second to breathe Alex in before he closed the distance between them, taking Alex’s lips in his own.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and then Alex broke away, panting, though they kept their foreheads together.

“Get off him,” Kyle slapped Michael’s shoulder. “He still needs a minute to breathe.”

“No,” Michael said simply, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder and nuzzling his neck, feeling as much of him as he could.

“Oh!” Isobel started. “Alex, what ever happened to that photograph?”

Michael tensed.

“What photograph?” Max asked.

“Alex,” she said, “had this picture of him and Michael when they were seventeen. We saw it in all of his memories.”

“Isobel,” Michael warned through grit teeth. He expected the same out of Alex, to see him embarrassed or shy, but Alex simply blinked like he’d forgotten about the picture.

“That?” he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small photograph.

Michael hugged his waist with one hand and took the photo with the other. “I have one just like this.”

Alex laughed. “Yeah?”

“I’ll show it to you,” he promised into his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed. “I think it might be time for a new one.” He smiled at Michael like he adored him. No, more than adored him. The thought made Michael’s heart flutter and made him cling tighter.

Michael kissed Alex’s neck, then his shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I have a few ideas.”

“Um,” Isobel said testily as Max and Kyle looked away with red faces. “Y’all know we’re still here, right?”

[justcourttee]

could you do another fic where mari has too many overprotective relatives (batfam, jason in particular, adrien, luka, kagami, chloe, jagged, bruce, penny, clara, tony stark and the avengers maybe lol) and all the boys who want to date her are scared away by them until she starts seeing damian or someone else i love your writing and thanks! ♡♡

I loved this prompt immediately and I really hope I did it justice! Hope you like it!

The Never-Ending Cycle of First Dates

“No! Wait! He’s just kidding!” Marinette ran out of the building trying to grab the boy's hand before he could escape, but she was too late. Her hand slapped her forehead in defeat as yet another man hurried off before they could even order drinks. Turning her attention to where her target stood, she couldn’t help the bubbling anger directed at his smirk.

“Why must you ruin every date? It’s like you guys have a pool of names and you just reach in and see who's in luck to scare off the next guy that tries to date me!” She threw her hands into the air, only earning a chuckle.

“C’mon Princess, if the man can’t handle a little threat then how is he gonna stick around for the long term? Hmm?”

Marinette wanted to argue, but she knew it was pointless. Jason and the others were firm in their beliefs; Marinette must be protected from heartbreak at all costs. She tried arguing with them that if she never got hurt in the first place then she could never learn, but alas, her words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“How did you even find us?”

Jason’s smirk widened which only fueled her rage.

“What? You thought meeting at the restaurant would actually change anything? I can find you anywhere and everywhere. Plus Adrien totally snitched.”

Marinette made a mental note to lay into Adrien later after she found the poor kid that Jason scared of.

“One day I’m going to find someone who isn’t scared by you lot and he’s gonna make it through the first date.”

She turned her back on Jason’s boisterous laughter. She was determined to prove her point. After all, there had to be one man in Gotham City that wasn’t afraid of her, right? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The rest of her week had gone as smoothly as Monday had to say the least.

Tuesday’s date was crashed by Kagami’s foil. One look at her slicing the bread and he didn’t even make it to the table.

Wednesday’s date was a double date with Luka and Chloe. Marinette begged Tikki to lend her a little luck, but the small God would do no such thing. At least this guy made it past drinks. Marinette almost cheered until Luka donned his infamous stare. She watched as her date squirmed uncomfortably before excusing himself for the bathroom, never returning.

Thursday’s date ended with the man strung up by his ankles, none other than Nightwing and Red Robin dropping in to apologize, claiming they thought he was trying to mug her.

By Friday, she was ready to cancel her date before it even began.

“Adrien, you guys are making it impossible to even think about dating.” She collapsed on the couch, letting out a small whine.

“I think that’s kind of the point Mari, besides, you’re a working woman now, shouldn’t you be focusing on your career-”

Adrien paused as his eyes narrowed in on Marinette’s hand mocking his lecture. Her hand paused as she noticed his now silent voice. Meeting his eyes, she simply shrugged.

“You sound like my mom. She’s worried that I’m too worried about dating but guess what? I kind of missed out on that experience in high school pining after a guy who wasn’t even interested!”

They both chuckled as they remembered the awkward dance they both did from the time they were 13.

“So what are you going to do about the date tonight?”

Marinette shrugged once more as she pulled at a piece of her hair, twirling it around her finger.

“Who is on date duty tonight?”

“First of all, it’s not called date duty,” he waved off the pointed look Marinette gave him before continuing, “and it was supposed to be Jagged and Penny but in case they fail, Tony is on backup duty and Jason is on backup, backup duty.”

“Not date duty my ass.”

Marinette sighed longingly as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

“I’m giving this one more chance before I swear off dating forever.”

Adrien chuckled before offering his hand to pull her into a standing position.

“Well, guess you better prepare to look good. After all, they always say if you’re gonna go out, at least do it in style.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she pushed Adrien to the couch, ignoring his protests. If this was going to be her last date, then maybe he had a point of going out in style.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  .

Marinette pulled at her dress nervously as a black limo approached her outside of her apartment. She had checked the perimeter once as Marinette and once more as Ladybug; there was no sign of Jagged or Penny. Somehow though, that didn’t calm her nerves.

As the limo pulled to a stop, a man stepped out of the back seat causing her breath to hitch in her throat. As if him being drop-dead gorgeous wasn’t enough, her worst fears stepped out from behind him, wide grins on their faces.

“Oi, there she is Penny! Marinette, we tried calling you but you sent us straight to voicemail, that wasn’t very rock n’ roll of you. Luckily, this nice man right here was there to give us a ride, right Penny?”

Penny nodded sweetly as if the two of them were innocent victims of Marinette’s forgetfulness. She wanted to turn right back into her apartment and never leave again, but a small hand grasped hers, pulling it up to their lips, as soft and gentle as his movements.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I have heard many stories of you from my brothers and father. You seem to have impressed many powerful people such as the two strays I picked up off the streets earlier.”

His smile was playful as it coaxed a small laugh from her. It helped even more to see Jagged panicking in the background at the sight of the small gesture. This man, no, his name was Damian. Damian had already broken through the first wall without even knowing it. Marinette let herself feel a spark of hope at the thought of finally making it through a first date.

“Anywho, now that we have arrived, I must apologize for leaving you two here, how does the saying go? ‘High and dry?’ but I do have a date to continue.” He nodded to Penny and Jagged leaving them both with their jaws almost touching the ground.

If she had a moment, Marinette might’ve taken a photo, but she instead quickly grabbed Damian’s arm, shutting the limo door before either could protest. She didn’t bother to release the breath she had been holding until the apartments were gone from the rearview mirror.

“I am so sorry about them, they-” she tried to let the apology spill out of her mouth but Damian simply shook his head, that same playful smile monopolizing his face.

“I am fully aware of the so-called ‘date duty’ your friends have. After all, my brother is in charge of the scheduling.”

It was Marinette’s turn for her jaw to drop. This was Jason’s brother? The literal spawn of satan as Jason had put it. There was no way. He was so nice, and such a gentleman, there was no way they could be the same person.

“How come nobody ever told me you were in town? Last time Jason introduced me to the family, he made sure to wait for when you left on a business trip. I’ve only ever been invited over when you’re not there!”

Damian chuckled as if this was a normal occurrence.

“They knew I had a crush on you ever since I watched your alter ego take down an akuma three times your size. It was only a matter of time until I asked you out, but with Jason observing your every date, he made it quite difficult.”

Marinette felt her face flush as his words washed over her. A man that was actually interested in her and was willing to take on the trouble a date with her could mean? She lightly pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“You know it’s only going to get worse from here right? Like, Jagged and Penny were only the first round worse.”

Damian leaned in, placing his hand overtop hers, that smile of his killing her slowly.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Marinette nodded as she leaned closer, nearly closing the gap between them, her heart racing from the distance.

“I borrowed his rotation schedule and have prepared for every incident that could occur tonight.”

Marinette couldn’t help the words that slipped out of her mouth.

“I think I might love you.” Immediately she slapped her hand over her mouth letting out a string of apologies as she scooched away from the red-faced man. He cleared his throat, trying to overcome his shock as his smile pulled into a small smirk.

“Don’t apologize, just tell me again if you feel the same after we’ve finished the date.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Somehow, they managed to make it through dinner without a single hiccup. It was suspicious, but she was having too good of a time to care. She fell in love immediately with his animals as he showed off his many photos, commenting on whichever one seemed to make her melt the most.

They talked about where they had gone to college, where they were working now and what they were hoping for their futures. Marinette felt her heart swell with excitement for how compatible they were, it almost made tonight ending that much more painful.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, Marinette heard a familiar voice that made her blood run cold.

“Do you know who I am? I could buy this whole place and then you’d have to let me in! I’m the damn Ironman, doesn’t that count for something?”

The poor hostess was shaking her head, trying to apologize to the other guests for the wait he was causing. Marinette let out a defeated sigh as she took a step forward to intervene, but Damian’s hand intertwined with hers pulling her in the opposite direction.

“There aren’t too many places in Gotham City that Tony Stark isn’t banned from. However, you can thank my father for that. He agreed for me to host my dinner at his restaurant to nullify backup number 2, Tony Stark.”

Marinette almost wanted to laugh at the irony of a billionaire being banned from a small Italian restaurant in Gotham.

“There’s not much that Uncle Tony can’t fix by throwing money at it, but I suppose that’s pointless when it’s another billionaire causing the said problem.”

Damian sent her a wink that warmed her to her core. They decided to ditch the limo in favor of walking home, spending more time with each other coincidentally. Marinette felt her mind racing like she was in middle school once again planning her imaginary wedding and their future hamster.

He was everything she had hoped to find in a man and so much more. She honestly regretted not meeting him sooner, it would’ve saved her so much trouble over the years.

She opened her mouth, only to close it immediately as her eyes narrowed in on a figure leaning against her apartment building.

“Jason, what are you doing here? There’s no date to ruin now and I finally found a guy who can’t be scared off by your stupid date duty.”

She crossed her arms in defiance but Jason paid her no mind.

“Damian, I didn’t know you were home so soon. I would’ve locked you up in the Batcave to make sure this would’ve never happened.”

Damian scoffed beside her as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“As if you could.”

The two men were locked in a staredown, leaving Marinette to wilt in the tension that had formed. She moved towards her apartment, only to be stopped by Damian’s hand for the third time tonight.

Turning her back to Jason, she watched as he brought her hand to his lips, his kiss still as gentle and soft as the first when he had given her hours earlier. She ignored Jason’s protest as she pulled his hand forward placing a quick peck on his lips.

The man’s face matched her own in shades of red.

“Does this mean you would be interested in a second date?”

Marinette nodded furiously before waving him goodnight, darting past Jason’s brooding figure.

“This is not the end of it Marinette!”

Jason’s threats felt empty compared to the excitement racing in her heart. She had finally broken the cycle of never-ending first dates and boy, did it feel good.

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy

[hes-writer]

Favourite (2)

Summary: harry loves one of his children less

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 1804 words

A/N: y’all know I’ve been feeling sensitive about posting this piece so if you have any comments BE NICE BE NICE BE NICE 🥺

Part 1

___

The events from the previous weeks rattled the Styles’ household. Caleb woke to a tense morning the next morning where his dad was nowhere to be seen and Beatrice was holed up in her room. Dinner was even more awkward when silence draped over their backs like a cold blanket. Y/N tried her best to continue a dwindling conversation but there was only so much she could say until Beatrice’s silence towards Harry’s questions started to suggest that she didn’t want to speak to her dad. The youngest daughter, Ruby, seemed to be the holy grail of each family dinner when she babbled about her day in pre-school.

Beatrice was set to leave home in exactly two days. Y/N could feel a sense of pride seeing her eldest leave the family home, setting off to university and becoming her own person. Y/N knew that Beatrice had a difficult time separating Beatrice, Harry Styles’ daughter, to just Beatrice. Y/N looked back to when Beatrice was younger--an unexpected surprise that she learned to love when she felt the first symptoms of morning sickness--how she was bound to change her and Harry’s life forever. 

___

Y/N wasn’t sure if her brain blocked out the memories of Harry being hostile to their first child until recently; maybe it was a denial that there was no way Harry could blatantly show anything less than love for their child. But the more Y/N thought about Beatrice’s birthdays, recitals and school events; all she could see notice now was Harry’s distanced posture. His distraction when Beatrice performed on stage, the excuses when she had a dance recital, and unenthusiastic greeting of ‘happy birthday’. 

Harry leaned his shoulder against the door frame of the barren room, observing the bed and bedside table as it was stripped bare of the flower-printed sheets, watching his wife flip through the photo album filled with Beatrice’s accomplishments. The parents could not help but let a wave of nostalgia wash over them. The lamp on the bedside table lit the entire room. The fairy lights that were hung on her wall were taken down a few days ago; one of the items that Beatrice packed last. 

“She asked me to help her put the lights up,” Harry whispered, tracing his fingers over the cream walls, walking over to where Y/N sat on the mattress. “I told her I was busy and she did it by herself,”

Y/N sighed, lifting her head to direct Harry to the spot beside her, “I know,” She sunk with Harry’s weight at her side, his slouched shoulders further emphasizing his despondent mood. “We raised a good done, hm?”

Harry shook his head in disappointment, “No..not me,” His chest ached with missed opportunities to bond with his daughter; all because he couldn’t get over the fact that she came as a surprise. He was at the peak of his career and he wasn’t too glad that he was forced to push everything back--his album release, promo, and tour--to the next year all because of a child that he didn’t even plan on having in the first place. 

In retrospect, Harry should have known better. He should have reacted like a mature adult, a father-to-be and became an actual dad to Beatrice instead of holding a grudge to an innocent little baby. He still had a successful career that he always dreamed of but he can never turn back time for all the shortcomings he had with his child. 

Harry felt extremely guilty for missing Beatrice’s childhood, so he tried to compensate for the guilt looming over him by presenting his younger children the type of love that he failed to give her. How daft was he to not notice his actions would only push her away from him? That, to Beatrice, it was Harry’s way of highlighting the fact that he would never accept the way she was conceived? 

“What’s this?” Harry mused, tilting his jaw on where her hand rested to keep the page bookmarked. 

“Jus’ some pictures over the years. Wanna see?”

Here Harry was, flicking the glossy pages of an old photo album, looking at a dopey-smiled Beatrice on her first day of kindergarten. Her hair was in pigtails done by Harry that morning because Y/N had an early day at work. She was saddened that she couldn’t go but Harry reassured her that he will be there every step of the way. It was a half-lie. Harry dropped her off, took a quick picture and left the premises as soon as he could, missing the way his daughter’s eyes glazed over. Lips formed a pout and her tiny chin quivered as she watched her dad drive off in his black Range Rover.

The next photo was 7-year old Beatrice in her pink long sleeve and a wispy tutu wrapped around her waist. Her hair was pulled back in a ballerina bun; this time was done by Y/N if the slickness of her hairstyle was anything to go by. The left page was of Beatrice on the sidelines of the auditorium. The room was partially filled. Harry concluded that it was before the performance because of the dimple printed on her cheek since the right page showcased a sullen girl surrounded by her dance mates and their parents. Harry could remember Y/N’s frantic phone calls that night, asking ‘where are you?’ and ‘what time are you getting here?’ as the faint music blared through the speakers. 

Harry gulped at the memory. He came home to find Beatrice asleep in her costume, a plastic tiara gripped in her hand. Y/N said that she wanted to give it to him. Beatrice could at least give him something from her performance because he didn’t make it.

__

Y/N’s phone buzzed in her pocket, halting Harry’s thoughts as she answered the call. She pointed towards the door, mouthing silently that she had to answer it. “It’s Beatrice,”

Harry’s brows perched on his forehead, nervousness filled his body at the sound of her name. He didn’t even make things right before she left; too afraid of rejection when he deserved it. 

His fingers flicked through the pages. Beatrice’s piano recital. 

She was fourteen at that time. Caleb was sat on the seat next to him while Ruby was being nursed in Y/N’s arms. Beatrice peeked through the curtains, wanting to make sure that her dad was planted in his seat. She was excited to showcase the skills she learned in the past year. She was hoping to impress Harry in musical terms when she won first place. Beatrice was sure of it! She practiced for long hours until her fingers were stiff from overuse. Her other tries to catch her dad’s attention garnered her little-to-no attention and this was her last idea. 

Y/N gave her daughter a thumbs up as Beatrice walked towards the grand piano center stage. 

Beatrice was in the middle of her piece when she heard her Caleb’s curious voice over the silent crowd, “Dad, where are you going?”

She looked up just in time to catch Harry’s emotionless eyes. His expression was painted in annoyance and his phone was clutched in his hand. Beatrice’s fingers jittered with a shaky breath, feeling her fingertips trace over the wrong keys and eventually stopping altogether. The crowd gasped, murmurs flittering in and out of her ears as she stared at her lap. She tried to compose herself, maybe even pick up where she left off and continue playing as if she didn’t stop. The show must go on, right?

When Beatrice gathered enough courage to continue, she took a deep breath and lifted her head towards where her family sat. She was certain that her dad took his seat again but she could not be more wrong. Beatrice was just barely able to see Harry’s blazer flapping as the door closed shut behind him. 

__

“She ran off stage after that,” Caleb spoke from beside him. “Didn’t want mum around. She kept asking for you but you left or something,”

Harry closed his eyes tightly, tears dripping from the corners as he breathed out a sigh. He did. He left the building as soon as he could. The urgent phone call he received was from Jeff relaying that the media claimed to have found where his kids went to school. He couldn’t jeopardize their safety because of people wanting to meet him; because of him. There was no way he would let anything hurt his children. 

“I know I haven’t been the best dad to your sister,” Harry shut the book softly, wrapping his arm around Caleb’s broad shoulders. “But I really do love her,”

Caleb’s curls tickled his ears as he nodded, “She knows,”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, “Really?”

“Yeah. Before she left, she was talking about everything she was gonna miss. She said she was going to miss you, even if you, and I quote, ‘might not miss her’,” Caleb formed his fingers into bunny ears.

Harry desperately wished that he was brave enough to fix his mistakes. A simple, wholehearted talk with Beatrice might’ve been all he needed to start mending his relationship with her. But he stood back like a coward; hiding from his own daughter because of an irrational fear of rejection. Instead, he walked by her room, door left wide open as Beatrice gathered clothes from her closet to pack in the next box. Each time he would pass by the hallway to his and Y/N’s room, more of her items would be packed up, taped and ready to go. Packed boxes slowly filled the hallway and her closet emptied as her clothing was folded in an organized manner.

First, it was her desk. Her pens and notebooks leaving the cluttered space empty. Then, it was her hangers stripped off her dresses, jackets and coats. Her shoes were the next to go, leaving more space in the downstairs closet by the door until only one pair remained unpacked; the one she used to walk out of their house. Next, it was her dresser packed with moisturizers and makeup closed tightly to prevent spillage. Beatrice peeled off her duvet and bedsheets to wash the night before she left, opting to sleep next to Ruby on her final night at home. 

One image that he kept reeling in his head like a film projector was Beatrice climbing the metal steps of the ladder from the garage. She placed it sturdy on the floor before she stretched her hands to unhook the fairy lights from the wall. Unlike before where Beatrice knocked on his office door, hesitantly asking for help to put up the fairy lights--she didn’t ask for Harry’s help taking it down. 

___

A/N: I know that a lot of people might've wanted a full circle ending where Harry apologizes but I'm pretty happy with this ending because it's open-ended. 

___

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[amor-immortalem]

Everything Undesired chapter 10

Chapter 9

After a quick diaper clothes change, Arella was quick to join the brothers at the table, Cyrus tucked comfortably in the crook if her arm. It felt like a normal morning, albeit just a tad quieter. Whether that be due to the events of the night prior or just in consideration of the baby, it wasn’t quite so clear. She took her usual seat next to the place where Mammon usually sat and began to eat. The only one who looked even a little uneasy was Levi likely due to how he felt about having been the one to suggest last night’s movie.

They all spoke casually amongst themselves as they ate, multiple of them having to stop Beelzebub from consuming the food that had been set aside for Mammon as the demon in question joined them shortly after. It had taken him a while to find clean clothes, realizing he really should do his laundry soon. It had probably been a good two or three weeks at least since he’d washed anything. With everything going on, he just didn’t have the energy lately. Thank the celestial realm for his human helping him out with his school clothes.

All their heads turned to him as he joined them at the table, a round of ‘good mornings’ rang out and he returned them. Two asked how he was feeling after last night, the rest carried on with their own side conversation figuring he didn’t need to answer the question four times over.

As breakfast came to a close, Arella took her leave to feed Cyrus once more and Mammon returned to his room to gather up his dirty clothes and begin the process of doing his laundry. Thankfully, it was the weekend which would give him enough time to have all five of his school uniforms ready to go while also not hogging the washer and dryer all day.

“Man, I gotta start doin’ my laundry more often...” The Avatar of Greed sighs. “The amount of clothes in here is ridiculous.” He hefts the basket of clothes into a more comfortable position in his arms and carries them down to the laundry room.

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

“Mammon, do you want to go shopping with me?” The Avatar of Lust chirps as he catches up to his brother while he’s working on switching his clothes from the washer to the dryer, “I need a new outfit for date night tomorrow and I’m sure you could use a shopping spree too considering you haven’t really gone out to spend or visited the casino lately. Even last night, when the three of us took the baby out, you didn’t even buy anything. You know what happens if you let your sin build up.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Just gimme a couple hours to get a couple more loads done. I’m kinda runnin’ outta clothes to wear.”

“Alright, three hours good?”

“Three hours is perfect.” The white haired demon says as he loaded another round of clothes into the washer. “Thanks, Asmo.”

The strawberry-blonde demon only nodded as he headed off.

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“Hey, Mams... Can we talk for a minute?” Levi asks as he approaches his brother.

“Yeah, I got a few minutes before I go out with Asmo. What’s up?”

It takes Levi a few minutes to speak. “I’m really sorry about last night. I should have screened before we watched it.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Ya said you had never seen it before and wanted to watch it with all of us, right? And you were so excited ‘bout it, so it’s fine.” he shrugs.

“But it wasn’t fair to you...” The Avatar of Envy frowns. “We shouldn’t have even watched a horror movie to begin with. I know you hate them but you still watch them with us anyway.”

“’Cuz I know you all like them so I jus’ bare with it for the time being. Y’all are my brothers, so I just want y’all to have fun even if I suffer for a bit. Y’know what you always say about me, I’m a masochist through and through.” He smiles, hoping to make his little brother feel better. “I don’t blame ya, so don’t blame yourself, ‘kay?”

The third-born only nodded, feeling minimally better after finding out the second-born didn’t blame him for what happened.

He ruffled Levi’s hair as he flashed him a smile. “Alright, I gotta go, love ya.”

“Love you too,”

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

As the pair of demons walked down the street, Mammon was distracted. He was lost in thought as he thought back to the conversation he had with Arella. He thought about telling Asmo as even though Arella had told him she was comfortable with everything they had done together but he felt like she was telling him a half-truth just to spare his feelings.

“Are you alright, Mammon? You’re not as talkative as usual... Mammon?”

“Huh?” blue to gold gradient eyes look to his brother. “Yeah, I guess I’m alright. Just thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’...”

“Care to share?”

Mammon considers this for a few moments, deciding maybe he should tell his brother about what’s on his mind. “You can’t tell a soul about what I’m going to say, ‘kay?”

“No promises,” The demon says in a sing-song voice, “You have some good gossip?”

“It’s not gossip, Asmo. You absolutely have to promise you won’t tell anybody.”

Asmo’s eyes widened at his brother’s words and the serious tone in his voice. “Alright, what’s on your mind?”

“Arella told me something last night... She told me she was...” He’s not sure he can say it but thankfully Asmodeus seems to get the message.

“That’s horrible. How did it happen?”

“A quote unquote boyfriend drugged her drink when she was sixteen.” The demon has an irritated look on his face. “The bastard was twenty three, like who seeks out a teenager like that?”

“Boyfriend?” The Avatar of Lust has a disgusted look on his face. “Sounds more like a predator to me.”

“Right?! It makes my skin crawl just thinkin’ about it.” He exhales, “She’s such a good person and some monster takes advantage of her and does that?! If I could get a name and a face, I’d absolutely destroy him. The worst part? She blames herself for what happened, for making a mistake.”

“I’m not surprised,” Asmo frowned. “Considering how the human world treats women- she may very well have been told it was all her fault- especially as a minor? I don’t know what her family was like but to end up with that mindset, it’s very possible she didn’t have anybody to for her what we’re doing for you.”

Mammon only frowned at that. “Yeah and now I feel bad for pushing so hard. She said she wanted all that but I feel like she was only sayin’ that just to make me feel better. Is that wrong of me?”

“Mmm, I don’t think so... You love her so it’s only natural that you would worry about having forced her into a situation she didn’t want. But I also don’t think she would lie to you just to make you feel better. Can you remember a time where she’s ever been disingenuous with you?”

“No...”

“Then I think you should take her words at face value. In all actuality, I think she only told you because she wanted you to know you weren’t alone and she knows what you’re going through.” Asmo smiles as he pats Mammon’s shoulder. “And if you’re still worried about it, think of it this way: As long as you had a resounding ‘yes’ at all times from her, then you shouldn’t worry about whether or not you forced her to do it. Or you could do the adult thing and actually talk about your feelings as scary as that may be.”

Mammon only rolled his eyes at Asmo’s comments.

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

The pair got home later than intended. As they split up, the Avatar of Greed made his way up to his room. Everything seemed to be fine, there was no baby crying and the house seemed at peace until he got to his room. He tossed his bag into the closet and slid down the railing on his staircase. That’s when he heard it, a small sniffling sound.

“Treasure?” He called softly as he approached the bed, placing a hand on the ball of blankets that his human had buried herself under. “Hey, look at me.”

A soft ‘no’ was heard from under the blanket followed by a ‘I’m alright, don’t worry’ which had the opposite effect on him. So, he just made himself comfortable beside his mate, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close so her back was pressed to his chest. When she was ready to talk, he would listen and if the baby monitor went off, he would do all the work tonight. It was the least he could do since she practically took care of their son on her own around the clock when he couldn’t even look at the child for the first few weeks.

He rubbed his thumb over her stomach in a motion that was meant to be comforting. While not exactly what he wanted to do, their position didn’t grant him much elsewhere to rub if he wanted to keep his arm wrapped around her, he hoped it would have the same effect. They just lay together in silence for a time as her sniffles slowly came to a stop. She was so quiet, Mammon thought she might’ve fallen asleep until she moved her head from under the covers and slowly turned to him, allowing him to move his hand to her side.

“Wanna talk about it?” The demon asked as she shook her head in response. She cried regularly for others but she wasn’t much for crying when it came to herself and when she did, it was often over nightmares she wouldn’t tell him about. “When you’re ready, I’ll listen. I don’t like to see you so upset and not be able to do anything to help you, Baby.” It was an offer he hoped she would finally take him up on. She only let out a sigh as she moved closer to him and he reached up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek.

“I’m sorry I was so selfish last night...” She catches his hand in hers and just holds it to her cheek. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“No...?” The Avatar of Greed wracks his memory from last night, trying to think of anytime she could have been selfish. “When were you selfish?”

“When I told you I had been assaulted...” Her response only leaves Mammon more confused. He hardly considered that to be selfish at all. She was only trying to reassure him everything he was going through was normal.

“How was that selfish?”

“I made the situation all about me when it should have been about you. I’m sorry.”

“No you didn’t? ‘Rella, Baby, you get to talk about your feelings and things that have happened to you too, y’know. Everything’s not always about me. Actually, it was kinda validating to know you understand what I’m going through.”

“No, I don’t. I just want to help but I always bring things back to me some way or another. My problems aren’t important. They’re not a big deal. I’m just attention-seeking and being selfish a-and-- mmph!”

He couldn’t take listening to his human, his treasure, bring herself down like that anymore, choosing to silence her with a kiss instead. When he pulled back, he pressed their foreheads together as he looked into her eyes, glossy from her earlier tears.

“Do you know what an amazin’ person ya are?” he asks as he rolls them so he’s leaning over her, “You get to talk about these things. Your problems matter. You're not bein’ selfish or attention-seeking when you talk about them. Hell, for somebody whose primary sin is greed, you’re probably the most selfless person that I know. You are patient ‘n kind ‘n giving. You do way more than anybody asks of ya. You give so much love and don’t ask for anything in return for it. I don’t know who the fuck put those thoughts in your head but ain’t none of ‘em true, got it?”

“It.... It was my mother....”

———————————————————————-

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[mc-lukanette]

Ladybug had long since gotten used to the monotony of her superhero life, though perhaps it was more accurate to say that she'd gone numb to it. There were only so many akuma one could take without seeing it as something formulaic, and she'd seen more than she could count.

Even when she went out on patrol, she didn't think about it, merely hopping to wherever the next rooftop was and surveying the area. Thinking about the life she'd been roped into wasn't productive and only succeeded in making her imagine unnecessary what-ifs. Paris didn't need that kind of hero; they needed one devoid of attachment or longing.

And the more time passed, the more she tried to be exactly that.

In the midst of her patrol that particular day, late into the night as it always was, she stopped as she suddenly heard the sound of a guitar. Granted, it wasn't rare for her to hear someone blasting music or playing an instrument in the evening, but there was something inherently familiar about the way the guitar was being played.

Deep down, she knew that there was only one person who could play guitar like that.

Ladybug turned her head towards the source of the sound, her heart involuntarily skipping a beat when she saw him, sitting on the balcony of a house she didn't recognize.

Luka. He was just as she remembered: the highlights, the guitar, and the gentle blue eyes.

Ladybug sat on her heels, staring down at him curiously. How long had it been since she'd seen him? She knew it had to have been at least a few years, though she didn't know the exact amount.

She wondered if that was his house. She wondered if the guitar in his arms was brand new or was cared for with years of love and attention. She wondered if he chose the balcony because he was playing for the night itself.

She wondered how he'd been doing since she'd cut him and everyone else out of her life.

Almost as if he'd sensed her, Luka suddenly glanced up to the rooftop she was on, his fingers bringing the song to a sudden end. She stiffened, just as his eyebrows rose at the sight of her.

He glanced down at his guitar, seeming to make the connection, then smiled up at her. Raising the volume of his voice so she'd hear, he asked, "Do you want a front-row seat, Ladybug?"

She blushed lightly, standing up and waving her hands dismissively. "Uh—no, I'm just passing by!"

But she couldn't deny that he looked really inviting sitting there, and he had already noticed and spoken to her. She debated with herself for a good few seconds before deciding that a small conversation would be okay.

Patrols were supposed to be unpredictable in timing, after all, or else people could plan around them. Getting a little side-tracked helped with that, she supposed.

She took a few steps back, then took a running leap onto the balcony that Luka was seated at, just barely missing the table and chairs next to her. Glancing over at his welcoming smile, she put on her best superhero demeanor and simply asked, "Have you seen anything strange going on recently?"

He shook his head, though his expression didn't change. "I haven't." He looked down at the neck of his guitar, running his hand along it. "Sorry I can't be of more help."

"Oh! No, it's okay!" She frowned. She knew he meant patrol, but she couldn't help thinking of when his identity had been compromised. "...It's Viperion, right?"

He seemed pleasantly surprised. "I'm glad you remember."

She bit back the ’of course I do’ and opted for a more formal, "It's part of the job. Even if I can't call on certain heroes anymore, I always remember them." She glanced at his guitar. "It's the same with your music, isn't it?"

He chuckled. "You could say that."

He played a quick melody that she recognized but didn't dare put a name to. She'd only arrived to talk, not to be reminded of the past, so she averted her gaze to the fence around the balcony, idling running her fingers along the railing.

Reminded of one of her earlier musings, she commented, "This is a nice place. Is it yours?"

He hummed with a nod. "I bought it a few weeks ago."

That explained why she'd never heard him play there before. "And the balcony?" She paused in thought, realizing after a moment, "I guess it's no replacement for playing on a deck, but it's the closest you can get to it?"

"Mm." He leaned his chair back, propping his feet up on the railing. "It's something. Nothing will ever beat the Liberty though."

She understood to some degree. She'd moved out of the bakery as soon as she could and it took time to stop missing the warmth and scents. "But you're happy at least?"

"Yeah," he replied, though the look on his face was less "happy" than she would've expected from him. She supposed it was her memory failing her, given all their time away from each other.

"What about you?"

Her shoulder went stiff. "W-what?" Did he really just ask her for personal—

"Are you happy too?" he clarified, offering her a smile. "You deserve to be."

She relaxed, though turned back to the fence to look at the night sky instead of him. It might've been a long time since they'd seen each other, but she was afraid that he'd read her somehow.

Happy. She supposed that it depended on the definition one might use for it.

"...I'm happy that Paris is happy under my watch," she finally answered. Eyes giving off a hint of a sparkle, she added, "I'm happy that it's safe enough for musicians like you to stay up past their bedtime to play me songs."

That earned her a chuckle, and she couldn't help turning back to him to see what his face looked like. If it made her feel happy at all, she didn't acknowledge it, the only hint being the wide smile on her face.

Luka had always been a special case. He was so unlike everyone else she knew, not only in the way he acted, but how he treated her. While she was never able to figure out how she felt about him, there was a gentle tug he had on her that she couldn't deny.

Not that she missed him though. She didn't, and she wasn't lonely either.

She wasn't lonely at all.

After his brief giggling fit was over, Luka dropped his feet from the railing, settling his chair back down before getting up. He turned, walking to the sliding glass door and pushing it open. "Do you want a drink before you go?"

She tilted her head at him. "A drink? Are you sure?"

In response, he slipped inside, the gentle tug urging her to follow after him. She was hesitant, but supposed it'd be rude to refuse him, so she walked into his house and closed the glass door behind her.

She couldn't help smiling at the casual way he'd simply invited a superhero into his house.

The living room and kitchen weren't separated by any wall, Luka heading towards the latter from the former after setting his guitar back on its stand. Ladybug took a look at her surroundings, noting that it wasn't unlike his room on the Liberty. Anarka was messy, Juleka was more controlled, and Luka himself was cleanest just out of not having a ton of belongings.

There were a few instruments, of course, but she also noticed the same Jagged Stone poster from back in the day. In addition, there were two pictures hanging on the wall, one of his family and one of the time she'd taken a photo of Kitty Section for their contest entry. The family picture seemed to be from a time she wasn't around him for, as he looked older than how she'd remembered.

Luka called from the kitchen, "What do you like?"

She turned to him. "Oh, tea's fine, thank you." Then, approaching the photos, she observed aloud, "You must be really close to your family and friends."

"I am," he replied, a smile in his voice. "Are you? You care so much about Paris that—"

"No," she cut in. "I don't have anyone like that." She could tell that Luka was thrown off and continued, "It's for the best."

Luka didn't reply, an awkward silence stretching on. She looked over at him, wondering if maybe he was pitying her, but he was occupying himself with making her tea. She turned away, walking over to his couch and taking a seat on it.

A few minutes passed. Luka returned to her with two mugs and offered her one. She took it, giving him a grateful nod, but waited until he sat down next to her to say, "You think it's strange."

"No," Luka assured. "I'm just surprised. I've never been alone, so I don't know how it must be for you." He took a sip of his drink, then stared thoughtfully into the mug. "...And everyone already knows about Chat Noir having a girlfriend."

She shrugged. "Chat Noir can afford to blurt out those kinds of things; to have those kinds of things. He doesn't have the responsibilities that I do."

On a basic level, she knew that she should've left it there. She'd held everything in for so long that she could do it for a few minutes longer, at least as long as she was staying there.

But it was always different with Luka. With Luka, all of her secrets and pent-up emotion grew wings and fluttered around her stomach like a swarm of her magical ladybugs, begging to come out and heal some unknown damage. Any attempt to drown them by sipping Luka's tea just made them fly faster.

"...It was too exhausting," she finally admitted.

Luka glanced over, giving her his attention.

She continued, "I used to have them, but it drained me. It was too much and I couldn't balance it with my hero life. It felt like I was always doing something for someone and I couldn't do it anymore without risking Paris."

He didn't respond verbally at first, but let out a sympathetic hum. He took another, much longer sip of his drink, and all Ladybug could think was, Not you though. You weren't that way.

"I wish it hadn't been like that for you," he told her, setting his drink down. "That's not how it's supposed to be, and it's never been that way for me."

She went to reply - to tell him it was okay and he shouldn't worry - when she noticed a somber expression wash over his face. He averted his gaze from her, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.

Ladybug breathed up when she noticed his phone's wallpaper: it was her, in civilian form, next to him, back when they were teenagers. She swallowed, seeing the soft look in his eyes even as he frowned, and wondered what exactly they'd talked about that made him think to pull out the image of her on his phone.

She'd tried not to think about it when she saw the pictures earlier, but apparently he still thought about her after all.

"Ah—" She leaned over, trying not to be obvious about what she was feeling. "Is that... your girlfriend?"

He glanced over at her, brows raised, then relaxed and shook his head. Managing a sad smile, he replied, "No. She knew I was interested in her, but I never got a reply; I never asked for one. I haven't talked to her for years either. She just left one day."

She stared down at her lap, running her free hand along her leg. "She—um—sounds unreliable. It was cruel of her to abandon you. Didn't that hurt?"

He looked at his phone a moment longer, then set it down on the table. Leaning back, he tilted his head up at the ceiling and replied, "Not like that. Marinette doesn't do anything without a reason, and I trust her. I—" He sighed. "—I was hurt because I wished that she would've relied on me."

Ladybug gaped, blurting out, "You wanted her to rely on you more?" She covered her mouth as she realized what she'd said. "I-I mean, ah..." She tried to figure out a way to salvage it, but curiosity won over. "Why?"

"I wanted to see her happy," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "and I was happy to be the one she went to. It meant that she trusted me more than anyone else."

Suddenly, Ladybug recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same look he gave her when he held her hands while they were ice skating together, and the same look he had on when he confessed. She didn't understand it.

"But," she began, trying to pull herself out of her speechless stupor, "you thought she didn't return your feelings? Wasn't it a bother?"

The soft gaze gone, he jolted up, looking at her like she'd offended him. "Marinette didn't owe me anything, and her happiness doesn't mean less to me because she didn't feel the way I did. She didn't take advantage of me and her relying on me isn't suddenly a bother because we never dated. I cared about her, and I didn't need anything else out of making her feel better."

She blushed, both from the intensity of his words and the embarrassment from feeling as though she was being scolded. Unable to meet his eyes anymore, she stared down at her tea, drinking it slowly at first and then scarfing it down when she realized that it'd gone cold.

She wondered how many times he'd had to tell people that, given the way he so actively jumped on what she'd said. It wasn't that he sounded wrong, but...

wow.

"I-I'm sorry," she managed. "I didn't mean to make it seem like..." She trailed off, biting her bottom lip.

Luka breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's okay." He averted his gaze, meaning neither of them were looking at each other anymore. "Marinette had a lot to deal with. She cared about everything and had so much talent. I can't imagine how suffocating it was to be known by so many celebrities and have so many expectations put on her." His hand twitched, then curled into a fist. "That's why it puts me so out of tune when I see people talking about us like I was doing all the work or that I shouldn't care as much because she might love someone else."

Ladybug always thought that relationships were a give-and-take, and they were, but it hadn't occurred to her that maybe she'd misconstrued what the "taking" part entailed. When she'd initially decided to cut off everyone, including Luka, it was because she wanted a completely clean break; to be separated from every person she'd put time into so she could focus on being Ladybug. It'd hurt, of course, but she'd gotten over it, hoping to put Paris as her top priority.

Luka had been an afterthought in a way, because she'd presumed that he would've done so much better without her there. She honestly believed that she was doing what was best for both herself and him, since everything she'd been taught implied that she was only troubling him.

Perhaps there was such a thing as "foolish selflessness" then, where she'd focused so much on what she thought might be best for him without actually confirming it. She thought she could be sure based on what she'd experienced before, but she couldn't.

There was no one else quite like Luka, it seemed.

"...How did you know?" she asked, peeking up at him.

Luka looked over, blinking at her. "Know what?"

"That—" She took a breath, knowing that she was in too deep to back out now. "That you were in love with her?"

His eyes went wide. She grew sheepish, pulling her empty mug closer to her face like she was ready to hide behind it.

"If it's too personal, that's okay. I've just—never seen someone as sure as you are."

After a few seconds, Luka calmed, his expression turning thoughtful. He stared straight ahead of him, looking at nothing in particular, then finally smiled.

"Maybe it's because I didn't grow up with a normal family," he mused, "but I've always thought about love differently."

She tilted her head at him. "How so?" Then, hesitantly, she suggested, "Do you mean you're not really in love with her romantically?"

"No, I am," he stated, and so bluntly that she started blushing again, "but it was never about that for me."

He eyed his phone, though it'd already gone dark from being idle. "Dating, marriage... those aren't things I think about when I see Marinette." He smiled, the softness in his eyes coming back. "Of course I'd be happy going however far she wanted with those, but I don't think loving someone should be about worrying about things like that."

"Really?" She leaned towards him. "Then, what do you think when you see her?"

He met her gaze, accidentally directing that softness her way. For a moment, it was like she was her civilian self, and it was impossible not to feel loved.

"That I want to be with her," Luka answered, "forever, if she'd let me. Whether we're friends or lovers, I want to be able to make her happy and let her rely on me. If there's something bothering her, I want her to know that I'll listen, no matter what it's about. I want her to be comfortable and not worry about what I'll think, because she knows I won't judge her." He placed a hand to his heart, gaze dropping to the couch. "That's love to me."

Ladybug absorbed that, but was unable to say anything coherent outside of, "Oh," her heart doing a flip in her chest.

He chuckled. "I know it might sound weird. You don't have to—"

"No," she cut in, voice softer than intended. She swallowed, her tone returning to normal as she assured, "I think it's really sweet. I wish that I—I mean, I wish that more people could hear that sort of thing. It's touching."

He hummed, staring at her with a look of content. "Thank you." Eyes drifting downwards, he held his hand out and asked, "Do you want me to take that?"

"What?" She looked, only now remembering her empty mug. "Oh, yeah, thanks."

She handed it to him, and Luka took both mugs back to the kitchen to put them in the sink. She watched him, feeling all too much and once and not knowing how to process it.

The idea of it being so simple had never occurred to her; that things like rejection or marriage or children suddenly wouldn't matter, and being content just loving and being with a person was where true happiness lied. She was used to being dragged around towards someone, insisting that her love from long ago had to be a certain way, and that any exceptions would make it imperfect.

The force of it caused her nothing but pain and anxiety, and the "love" she felt was all the more fake for it.

What she had for - with - Luka wasn't like that though. She knew it from the start, but didn't know what it meant.

Luka's wasn't forceful; it was the gentle tug she'd felt and needed all along. Suddenly, everything made sense.

"...I should probably go," she admitted, glancing over at the window. "I need to get back to patrol."

The wind in her face would probably do her good. She had a lot to think about.

Luka came back from the kitchen, heading for the sliding glass doors and picking up his guitar on the way. "You probably should. Thanks for coming in for a while though." He was apologetic as he added, "You deserved the break, but I'm sorry if things got a little heavy for you."

"Not at all," she assured, pushing herself up and walking to stand next to him. She smiled at him, acknowledging, "I think it was just heavy enough, actually."

It was Luka, so of course he didn't prod or ask questions; he just returned her smile with his own.

She passed him, partway into the doorframe before something occurred to her. She glanced back at him, his smile turning into a lopsided frown as he didn't seem to know what she was thinking. Placing a hand on the frame of the glass door, close to where his hand still was, she leaned towards him and kissed his cheek.

She grinned as she pulled away, admiring the way his brows rose in surprise. Giggling, she whispered, "For good luck," promptly turning away and hopping onto the fence.

She then leapt away, continuing the patrol that she'd put on hold. Even though she hadn't looked back at him when she left, his face was vivid in her mind as she beamed, the adrenaline from patrol unable to compete with the way her heart had already been pounding.

I want to be with you.

—————

Marinette

Luka?

...Please tell me you didn't change your number. I might die of embarrassment if you did.

Luka

Marinette?

Marinette

Luka!

Thank goodness.

Luka

Did something happen?

Marinette

No!

Yes?

...Look, I know this probably sounds really out of nowhere and it won't make a lot of sense, but I was thinking about you.

I have been for a while.

I know I have a lot of explaining to do, but can I take you out somewhere? Not as an apology, even though I'm really sorry, but because I want to.

You don't have to say "yes."

You don't have to want to talk to me ever again either.

Luka

...What if I want to do all of those?

Marinette

Oh.

Then... I guess it'd be a date?

Luka

Just me and you?

Marinette

Yeah. Just you and me.

Mostly me.

Because I'll be paying and I don't want to hear one word of complaint out of you.

Alright?

Luka

Ha. Alright.

It's a date.

Marinette

Yes!

Luka

I have to warn you though, Marinette.

Marinette

About what?

Luka

I'm going to be smiling a lot when we meet up. I hope that's okay.

Marinette

That's what you're worried about??

Don't.

I will be too.

[galacticlamps]

im sorry im sorry im sorry i know it’s been well over a year but i accidentally thought about Short Trips: Deleted Scenes (again) and it’s killing me (again) so i think im just gonna go ahead and post all these stupid thoughts that have been plaguing me about it since i first heard it & maybe that’ll help clear up some space in my head for like, real life things.

Spoilers I guess? It’s like a year and a half old but also high key the most recent 2nd doctor content i believe we’ve gotten which is like, the only negative thing I can say about it

The TLDR version is this:

I literally cant believe how sweet it is? Painful, but sweet. Like. I don’t honestly know what’s more likely - did they set out to write Jamie a nice little straight love interest and just fail miserably at it by constantly likening her to the Doctor AND paralleling the Doctor’s perspective with her ex’s AND putting Jamie’s relationships with both of them in direct tension with each other while constantly letting his with the Doctor win out?

OR - did they do a very 1960s thing and say hey we’re gonna write what’s essentially a story about how much Jamie and the Doctor love each other and release it on Valentine’s Day thinly disguised as a one-off romance with a french lady?

Now, as a general rule, my attitude toward questions like that is usually “don’t know, don’t care, doesn’t matter” - and while I 100% stand by that, I also have to admit that this particular audio seems to pay enough attention to detail that I’d kind of think I was selling it short if I assumed too many of these things were just meaningless coincidences, you know?

Anyway, that’s the most coherent/overarching thought. And here’s a disorganized list of things I absolutely cannot get over about it (they don’t form any kind of argument, mind, they just all happen to live rent free in my head):

- Celine is first taken in by Jamie being an idiot (specifically him claiming not to speak French, in perfect French); likewise, her entrance in the scene where they actually kiss is marked with a little anecdote about her hat getting stuck on a doornail and her scolding it as she attempts to fix her un-tameable appearance, and the narration says Celine “would often clown for Jamie like this” - all of which, while undeniably adorable, don’t exactly strike me as entirely original traits to have been assigned to Jamie’s love-interest (but also Celine is so cool and her perspective on film/media/time is an excellent addition to the long list of dr who characters)

- When they’re in the present, describing Jamie’s relationship with Celine in 1908, they call him her “companion” and highlight his going nearly everywhere with her, which earns a laugh from the 4th doctor (and me as well, though probably for slightly different reasons - but like, is that really all it takes to have a fling with someone in 60′s era who? bc if so...)

- Celine’s ex-fiance is still in love with her and is jealously watching when she kisses Jamie ... and then the Doctor appears beside him, evidently doing the exact. same. thing. They have the following conversation:

“You know, it’s not prudent to spy on people. But then, people in pain can’t be expected to act prudently.”

“Pain, monsieur? You mistake me.”

“Ah, do I? Good, because I rather thought you’d lost something.”

“What would you know about loss monsieur?”

- I’m sorry doc but who do you think you are, saying stuff like that and smiling sadly at the floor to boot? I 100% had to pause it here the first time I listened, just to not throw my laptop across the room. 

- Then when I recovered continued, the Doctor closes the door so they can’t watch anymore and explains “Possessing things comes so terribly easily to some men that losing them can feel cruel, intolerably cruel. In my experience, only the very best of men cannot be tempted to answer that cruelty with more - I do sincerely hope that you are the best of men.” (guess who gets described as the best of men by the end of the audio?)

- Jamie and the Doctor apparently develop a habit of walking along the river in Paris in silence

- During one such walk, Jamie suggests Celine come with them since she already figured out about the Tardis - and when the Doctor’s worried by this, he says he only allowed Jamie & Celine to grow closer “because of Victoria.” Jamie takes offense at the ‘allowing it’ comment and also refuses to admit he knows what the Doctor means about Victoria, which leads the Doctor to say that he knows how fond Jamie was of her - he was too, of course, but with him, “it was different, wasn’t it?” Jamie only says maybe that’s true and maybe that’s not, but his voice catches until he changes the subject

- Jamie doesn’t see Celine for days both times that she’s recovering from the shock and depression of her work being destroyed. In contrast, when the Doctor’s not well, Jamie’s "afraid” and “guilty” and hardly seems to leave his side at all, if his being there “rushing to embrace him” the second he wakes up - after a period Jamie describes as “at least a week” - is anything to go by, anyway. so either bf writers need to learn how to write a committed straight relationship or admit that’s not what they ever intended in the first place

- Oh yeah, and the Doctor spends that week "asleep” in Jamie’s bedroom - no, there’s no explanation as to if that’s where he was when he first collapsed or if it’s where Jamie decided to take him bc why would they feel the need to explain him being there? why was it even relevant to tell us it was Jamie’s room in the first place?

- The Doctor somehow manages to control the Tardis enough to take Celine on one trip to an alien planet and then return to the correct time & place for her to use the footage she recorded there in her new film - and while the audio doesn’t do very much to explain how that was possible, it does treat this as A Pretty Big Deal, and immediately afterward the Doctor has to spend a week communing with his past self (and/or the Tardis?) debating how likely it is that the Time Lords could use this to trace him. When he decides it’s not worth the risk and they have to stop the film from ever being shown to the public, Jamie asks why he agreed to it in the first place, and all he can say is “Because, Jamie, you asked me to!” earning awkward stares from the crowd.

- Oh, but, lest we forget, that little outburst is also immediately followed by him putting his arm around Jamie’s shoulders, and, shockingly, apparently beginning to actually explain the truth about the danger from the Time Lords - until they’re interrupted, of course idk why exactly but the idea of a 60s dr wanting to come clean with a companion but not being allowed to bc the show demands the war games be something of a reveal hurts me in a very good way

- The mental image of “the Doctor and Jamie, resplendent in borrowed evening wear”

- The audio admitting that Jamie’s not very good at subterfuge, and the Doctor asking if he’s going to be alright with them having to steal the film back from Celine - and Jamie’s little “Aye, Doctor” as he feels a ‘glass arrow piercing his chest’ glad to see bf is reading all my letters about exactly how i feel any time something sad happens to james robert mccrimmon

- The Doctor’s anxious to get out of there for obvious reasons, but he hangs around bc Jamie wants to see Celine again - which doesn’t happen, because of her aforementioned shock & depression, but she does leave Jamie a note that ends “you and that Doctor of yours - look after him Jamie, he loves you dearly, as do I.” yeah, if you didn’t want people to draw a parallel there, you could’ve picked, like, any other wording in the world.

- In case you weren’t fully convinced I’ve been reading too much into this whole audio already, consider this: Celine dies in Long Island in 1968, three days before her birthday - 1968 is when this story would’ve taken place in the show’s history (between Fury & Wheel), and dying three days before/after a birthday in America seems a bit... well I had some deja vu from it, anyway

- Four of all people being the one to bring back the film - I know he does it bc Sarah Jane makes him, but personally, I often feel like despite the length of his run, 4 is the Doctor with which we might’ve gotten the fewest glimpses into his interiority, so the fact that it’s him and not one of the more overtly sentimental Doctors makes it feel like it carries even more weight somehow, to me anyway. I think I wrote a post saying roughly the same thing about 4 & Fate of Krelos/Return to Telos but maybe I only did that inside my own head lol. Still, I’m all for any opportunities for Jamie to be one of the few characters to draw some noticeable emotion out of Four, but in fairness I haven’t touched too much of his EU stuff to really be able to compare the frequency with which this happens with other past companions

- Is Four referring to Two or Jamie when he says he got the film from “an old family friend”? Two did the actual stealing, but he probably means Jamie’s involvement - either way, it’s an interesting way of describing old companions - or selves?

- When Jemima goes to call Jamie a thief, Four is “roused” to defend him: “he really was the very best of men” again, any time four freely shows he cares about someone, im over the moon about it

- Oh ha ha, there’s an audio called “Deleted Scenes” featuring the Doctor who’s most affected by junked episodes. And at the end of it, a character who’s spent her life researching and lecturing about a lost film gets to watch it be ‘rediscovered’ after it’s gone unseen for decades. I feel marginally less stupid for reading into the other details of a story like this when it ends up deciding to be to be clever & slightly meta like that

But yeah

all in all, it’s kind of amazing to me that this genuinely reads like they sat down and said okay boys it’s valentines day, let’s write an audio where jamie kisses a girl, since that hasn’t happened except as a plot device in one story in 1967 - but then when they got down to business they accidentally(?) wrote a story all about how important his bond with the Doctor is and how easily that can be compared to a legitimate love interest (even if the love interest in question is a one off character & the extent of the relationship appears to be like one kiss & then having Jamie spend most of his time around the Doctor instead)

I realize there’s something slightly illogical about writing the words “shipping aside” after a post like this but seriously - no matter how many categories you’re able to see two & jamie’s relationship fitting into, this is 40 minutes of big finish just hitting you over the head with how powerful/special/important that relationship is, and with them being two of my favorite characters, i really haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since

[robininthelabyrinth]

Complications (aka trans!Jiang Cheng with a kid) - ao3 or part 1, part 2, part 3

-

A-Lian was as good a name as any for the brat, Jiang Cheng supposed. 

He’d been spitefully thinking of additional names ever since Nie Huaisang, that busybody, had decided on the name he liked best, but unfortunately Jiang Lian had a better ring to it than any of the others he’d come up with so far and he wasn’t quite petty enough to condemn his son to a disharmonious name just out of spite.

Assuming A-Lian stayed a son, anyway. Jiang Cheng was still curious as to how the Nie sect had managed to get cursed with an entire generation of women – Nie Huaisang had let slip a few hints that it might’ve had to do with a very fat celestial bird that hadn’t appreciated a comment that had, truly, been meant as a compliment, and anyway they would have made for excellent drumsticks, and honestly the more Jiang Cheng heard about this story the more he wondered if marrying Nie Huaisang just to hear the full version might possibly be worth it – and obviously he wasn’t about to let the Lotus Pier continue to ignore the issue of misaligned reincarnations any longer.

Something he’d have to start enforcing once he was back on the war front, he supposed – which was going to be very soon, if he had his way about it; he was sick and tired of the (nearly completed!) post-pregnancy isolation period.

He couldn’t wait for the relative peace and quiet of an active battlefield.

Of course, the second he thought that, A-Lian started making ominous grumbling sounds, because babies were apparently psychic. Why had no one ever mentioned that?

“You can’t be hungry again, brat,” Jiang Cheng told A-Lian firmly. “I literally just fed you.”

He probably just wanted to burp again, so Jiang Cheng picked him up and started patting him with one hand, using the other to fish out Nie Mingjue’s most recent letter. The other sect leader was quite possibly the most relaxing person he’d ever corresponded with: his letters were practical and to the point, with no extraneous fluff that Jiang Cheng would feel obliged to respond to. 

More importantly, it gave him an update on how his sect was doing, which was all for the best – Nie Mingjue had kept recruitment open for him, which he hadn’t needed to do, and that meant that each letter now contained not only battle strategy and requests for final decisions but also lists of the talent (or lack thereof) of new recruits so that he could make a decision on their admittance as tentative nominal disciples. Final admittance would have to wait until he returned, of course…

He hadn’t gotten a letter from Nie Huaisang yet.

That was to be expected, he supposed. Nie Huaisang had insisted on sticking around for nearly two weeks following the birth to make sure Jiang Cheng didn’t mysteriously expire from complications – the doctors had rolled their eyes a little, but Nie Huaisang’s mother had died from an infection that hadn’t been spotted in time and Jiang Cheng understood his paranoia – and he’d only reluctantly agreed to go, which meant he was probably dragging his feet.

Anyway, just because Nie Huaisang had agreed to tell Wei Wuxian about A-Lian didn’t mean that he could necessarily find Wei Wuxian. His shixiong could be anywhere, after all; contributing to the campaign, of course, but not necessarily in the Jiang sect’s camp…

Ah, yes. Just what Jiang Cheng’s day was missing: the stabbing sense of inadequacy and failure, with a nice slice of the sinking suspicion that his leadership was so bad that he couldn’t even convince his own shixiong to follow him and therefore everyone who was following him was simply humoring him.

“At least you seem to like me well enough,” he muttered to A-Lian, who gurgled happily at him now that the unfortunate burping incident was behind them. “You keep that up, you hear me? You may be a brat, and little more than a blob with arms and legs, but you still have to like me best.”

Nie Huaisang insisted that A-Lian was a gorgeous baby, but Jiang Cheng was having some trouble seeing it. Obviously A-Lian was a baby superior to all other babies, undoubtedly through sheer dumb luck (maybe it skipped a generation?), but he kept worrying that he’d done something wrong, either during the pregnancy or the birth or the care he’d been giving him, and that he’d end up damaging A-Lian for life.

It was easier if he thought of A-Lian as a very resistant blob that would always resume its original shape.

…he really wished Nie Huaisang would write to him and tell him what’d happened when he told Wei Wuxian.

He knew that Wei Wuxian would take it personally, but he wasn’t exactly sure how. Would Wei Wuxian be angry with him? Disappointed, that Jiang Cheng hadn’t just lost his core to the Wens, but his chastity as well? Disdainful that Jiang Cheng had been so desperate for family that he’d decided to carry the child to term, even knowing that its father was their parents’ murderer - that he himself had helped murder the father in turn? Upset, because Wei Wuxian had done so much to rescue him and care for him and even help him get his golden core back, and in return Jiang Cheng did nothing but create another burden that would fall on his shoulders?

Or worse – would Wei Wuxian feel like a failure, too, the way Jiang Cheng always did, and all because he hadn’t been able to save Jiang Cheng from the obvious consequences of his own stupidity?

(It wasn’t that Jiang Cheng hadn’t known when he’d allowed himself to be captured that he’d be tortured and most probably killed, and yet somehow it had never occurred to him that they would do what they did to him – he’d been a man so long that he’d forgotten, just like everyone else in the Lotus Pier, that he’d ever been regarded as anything else. He still didn’t regret the choice he’d made; he’d known that Wei Wuxian would do a better job of avenging his parents than he would and he was right about it, too, wasn’t he?)

Jiang Cheng was so immersed in dark thoughts that he almost – almost – failed to notice when A-Lian started reaching for the ink. Well, flailing around in the general vicinity of the ink, anyway.

“Don’t you even dare think about it, brat. Do you remember bathtime? You don’t like bathtime, and if you get yourself covered in ink, there’s going to be even more bathtime…”

“Jiang-xiong! Jiang-xiong! Are you and A-Lian awake in there?”

It was Nie Huaisang.

He’d returned in person instead of writing a letter; was that a good sign or a bad sign?

“Even if we weren’t, we would be after your yelling,” he shouted back. “What are you, an elephant?”

“A bull!”

“You’re too prissy to be a bull, except for the bullshit you always keep spouting!”

Jiang Cheng waited for Nie Huaisang’s response, which would inevitably be dripping with innuendo, and blinked when there wasn’t anything. That was strange; it wasn’t as if there was anyone here that Nie Huaisang would be embarrassed to –

Oh no.

“Can we come in?” Nie Huaisang asked from outside his door.

Jiang Cheng’s suspicions were confirmed at once when he heard that dreadful ‘we’. Nie Huaisang had returned not with news but with company – company Jiang Cheng still wasn’t sure he was ready to see.

“…fine,” he still said, because there was no point in holding it off any further. He braced himself for Wei Wuxian to sweep into the room like a hurricane.

He was not expecting Jiang Yanli to walk in instead.

“Jiejie!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, and – damn him – felt his eyes start filling up with tears at once. He’d wanted so badly to have her with him during this excruciating process, and she’d even offered, writing him a letter full of concern about the ‘complications’ he was apparently struggling with. But she’d been safe in the Jin sect and he wouldn’t have been able to bear the guilt if something had happened to her on the way to see him.

And that meant he couldn’t say anything, not even in letters that were safe, not even in code, because if he’d so much as breathed a word about what was actually happening, she would have insisted on coming no matter what.

“A-Cheng!” she exclaimed, and rushed over. “Oh, A-Cheng, why didn’t you tell me…”

“I wanted to you to stay safe,” he sniffed. “Travel is so dangerous, and if something happened because of me –”

“Oh, A-Cheng…” She wrapped her arms around him. “I just wish I’d been here for you. You must have been so scared!”

“I have nightmares that say he was mostly just really angry,” Nie Huaisang put in, unhelpful as always; Jiang Cheng didn’t even bother to spare him a glance.

“You were here,” he assured her. “You sent me soup every week; I ate that when I couldn’t keep anything else down –”

A particularly vicious surge of late-onset morning sickness. It’d been a bad ten days.

“You still should’ve told us,” and that was Wei Wuxian, standing in the door next to Nie Huaisang with his shoulders up by his ears defensively, but Jiang Cheng was curled up in his sister’s arms so even if Wei Wuxian was horribly disappointed in him he would be able to handle it.

With Jiang Yanli there, he could handle anything.

“Probably should have,” he agreed, because Wei Wuxian was right. Opting to carry A-Lian at all was a stupid risk to have taken in the first place, given the likelihood of dying in childbirth and leaving the Jiang sect without a leader during their time of need, but – well, that’d been a risk he’d accepted the first time around when he’d given himself up to save Wei Wuxian. It hadn’t seemed so bad the second time, even though he knew he risked wasting all of Wei Wuxian’s hard work in rescuing and getting his core back. “Didn’t, though. You want to hold the brat?”

“Of course I want to hold the brat!” And when Jiang Cheng looked over, Wei Wuxian was smiling. Smiling. “I have to hold him! He’s my shizi!”

“What are you naming him?” Jiang Yanli asked as Wei Wuxian reached over to pick A-Lian up.

“…Jiang Lian,” Jiang Cheng finally admitted, and any embarrassing comments Nie Huaisang might have had to say about it – Jiang Cheng expected whooping in triumph, to be perfectly honest – were drowned out by A-Lian abruptly howling in indignation that this strange person had dared pick him up.

“Jiang Cheng! Jiang Cheng! The baby’s crying!” Wei Wuxian wailed. He sounded like a baby himself.

“Oh for the – give him here!” The second A-Lian returned to Jiang Cheng’s arms, the crying stop and the baby settled back down. He looked a little smug, even.

“It seems A-Lian likes A-Cheng the best,” Jiang Yanli said, covering her mouth with a smile. “Can I try?”

There were still tears, though not quite as many.

“He’ll get used to you eventually,” Jiang Cheng said, as if he wasn’t preening at his son’s excellent taste. “If you stick around, that is.”

“As if you’ll be able to get rid of us,” Wei Wuxian huffed, and that made something warm and happy and glowing appear in Jiang Cheng’s chest. “You know, it’s really unfair, Jiang Cheng! I put in all this work and effort into developing demonic cultivation and inventing all sorts of new things, and in a mere ten months you managed to make something even better.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help the laugh that broke free, his heart singing happily – Wei Wuxian didn’t hate him, wasn’t disappointed in him, was happy for him. “It wasn’t really something I was actively working on.”

“Rude. No need to rub it in.”

And just because Jiang Cheng was Jiang Cheng, he had to affirmatively check: “You’re not upset, are you?”

“Only that you robbed us of the opportunity to spoil you rotten,” Wei Wuxian said. “Oh, and for having Nie Huaisang tell me about it – I only found out because he and his brother were betting on the gender.”

Jiang Cheng twisted around in Jiang Yanli’s arms to glare at Nie Huaisang.

“I lost,” Nie Huaisang said, as if that would make things better, and weirdly enough it sort of did. “Never bet against da-ge.”

Jiang Cheng thought about it and nodded. That seemed like a good rule, no matter the circumstances – and anyway, if that meant that Nie Mingjue was there when Wei Wuxian was told, that was all the better. As far as Jiang Cheng was concerned, there was nothing in the world that Nie Mingjue couldn’t handle.

He wished he could one day be even half of what Nie Mingjue was. Confident and self-assured, an excellent sect leader beloved by all, a war leader and a filial son, righteous and terrifying…

“I hope he won something good off of you,” he told Nie Huaisang, who grimaced at him in a way that suggested Nie Mingjue really had won something good. “You deserve it.”

“You have no sympathy for me,” Nie Huaisang whined.

“Forget sympathy for you, what about sympathy for me?” Wei Wuxian put in. “‘Oh, hi, Wei Wuxian, nice to see you, been a long time, guess what, your shizi’s a boy!’”

Okay, that sounded really funny actually. Jiang Cheng kind of regrets missing it.

He smirked at Wei Wuxian, who saw it and made a rude gesture in return.

“It was traumatizing,” Wei Wuxian said with a sniff. “Really, truly. Shijie, you need to make me some soup to help me get over it.”

“No way,” Jiang Cheng said at once. “If she’s making soup, she’s making it for me.”

“You’ve apparently been getting her soup every week for the past few months; I deserve it more!”

“I’m the one getting my chest gnawed off by a wild animal three times a day –”

“I can make enough for both of you,” Jiang Yanli said patiently. “Nie-gongzi, is there a kitchen..?”

“I’ll show you the way,” Nie Huaisang said with a grin. “I’m eager to see how this famous soup gets made. I had to beg Jiang-xiong for three weeks to get a single spoonful, and it was worth every minute of it.”

“You flatter me…”

They left together, and Jiang Cheng used the opportunity to scrub the tear tracks off his face as best as he could.

“It really was pretty traumatizing,” Wei Wuxian said, pointedly only looking at an increasingly sleepy A-Lian instead of seeing what Jiang Cheng was doing. “Not as traumatizing as the lecture Chifeng-zun gave me afterwards about how badly I’ve been behaving.”

“Badly?” Jiang Cheng said, frowning. “What do you mean, you’ve been fine; the effect your demonic cultivation has been having against the Wens alone –”

“No, I haven’t been,” Wei Wuxian said, and his tone was uncharacteristically serious. “Not because of the demonic cultivation, but because I haven’t been standing by your side the way I promised I would.”

“You’re doing your best,” Jiang Cheng said firmly. “You have demonic cultivation now, and that means you can do a lot more things – it makes sense for your to be at the front line.”

“I’m not saying that I shouldn’t be at the front line. I’m saying that I promised you that you’d be my sect leader, that I’d follow you, and instead I keep treating you like you’re still my shidi. Making decisions on your behalf, insisting on doing things my way because I think I’m right…” Wei Wuxian shook his head. “I got used to doing things that way, all these years. But things are different now. You’re my sect leader. Decisions like how to best deploy me are your decision, not mine – if you want me by your side instead of on the front, I should do that; if you want me to lead the Jiang sect cultivators, I should be doing that. I can try to persuade you that my plan is better, but in the end, if I’m going to be part of the Jiang sect, I need to accept that it’s your word that’s final, because anything else would be disrespectful – and I don’t want to disrespect you, Jiang Cheng. Sect Leader Jiang.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jiang Cheng said, words sharp but only because otherwise he’d have to acknowledge that he was crying again. He hadn’t even known he’d wanted to hear that from Wei Wuxian until he had – he hadn’t realized how important it was that Wei Wuxian finally acknowledged him, that Wei Wuxian thought he was capable of being sect leader; he hadn’t realized how much his feelings had been tangled up by the fact that Wei Wuxian still treated him as if he was just a foolish child that didn’t know better. “Everyone else can call me that, but you call me Jiang Cheng, okay? Always.”

He reached over and grabbed Wei Wuxian around the shoulders, drawing him into a tight one-armed embrace.

“Watch the baby,” Wei Wuxian said, as if he wasn’t hugging back just as hard. “Don’t drop my shizi because you’re not paying attention.”

“I’m not going to drop him,” Jiang Cheng said, grateful for the mostly-a-joke. “Does that – does that mean you’re coming back to the Jiang sect? For real this time?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said. “I am. No more running around outside, I promise.”

Jiang Cheng’s hands were busy, holding his shidi in one and his son in the other, so he had to bury his face into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder to help stop the flow of tears. “Wei Wuxian,” he said. “You really don’t – you’re not angry at me?”

“Why would I be angry at you?” Wei Wuxian said, pulling back and frowning at him and then frowning even more when Jiang Cheng made a flailing sort of gesture with his head towards A-Lian. “For - for that?! Jiang Cheng, it wasn’t your fault you got captured!”

It sort of was, actually, and Jiang Cheng has always been a terrible liar; he shouldn’t have let his insecurities get away from him enough to even ask, because now Wei Wuxian’s eyes were the ones filling up with tears. He’d never been an idiot.

“You didn’t,” he insisted, and his hands were white-knuckled where he grabbed onto Jiang Cheng’s arms. He was probably leaving bruises, and neither of them cared. “Jiang Cheng, tell me you didn’t! Don’t – in the marketplace, when the Wens were about to find me – Jiang Cheng…!”

“Someone needed to avenge our parents, and you were the better choice!” Jiang Cheng blurted out. “And I was right, wasn’t I? You did it! You even invented demonic cultivation –”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. “There wasn’t any other way out of the Burial Mounds, and now I’m stuck, Jiang Cheng – you don’t understand, it’s not just, I don’t – I can’t – it’s demonic cultivation or nothing for me, and when the war ends, when it stops being useful and starts being horrifying, the entire cultivation world is going to turn against me, and I can’t bring you down with me –”

“Why are you talking like it’s the only type of cultivation you can do anymore?” Jiang Cheng demanded. “How can one type of cultivation block you from doing another? That doesn’t make any sense – even if it did block you, you could just stop, it’s not like you don’t have a golden core –”

Wei Wuxian didn’t say anything.

“You have a golden core,” Jiang Cheng said again, more urgently this time. “Wei Wuxian, you have a golden core, right? You didn’t –” He was starting to panic. “It was Wen Chao that threw you into the Burial Mounds, wasn’t it? He said it himself that that was what he did, and where there’s Wen Chao, there’s Wen Zhuliu – did he melt your core? And I took your name when we went to Baosan Sanren’s mountain, I took your birthright away from you –”

“Jiang Cheng, no! That’s not what happened!”

“You told me to tell her I was you!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, because what else could it be? Baosan Sanren was a true immortal, powerful enough to fix a golden core, but everyone knew that her disciples weren’t allowed back onto the mountain once they’d left – the gift she’d given him, reviving his core, that must have been a once-in-a-lifetime offer. “I told her I was you so she’d heal me and now she won’t heal you; I did to you what Mother was always afraid you’d do to me –”

“I lied!” Wei Wuxian cried out, and he sounded as if his heart was being torn out of his chest. “I lied, Jiang Cheng, stop trusting me so much! There’s no Baosan Sanren, no mountain; just me, making stupid decisions on your behalf again, because I’m arrogant, because I think I know better, because I –”

“What did you do?” Jiang Cheng said. His lips felt numb. His whole body felt numb. “Wei Wuxian, what did you do –”

A-Lian burst into tears.

That knocked them both out of their self-absorption, turning at once to see what was wrong with the baby.

“Did we jostle him?” Wei Wuxian asked anxiously once they’d gotten A-Lian a little calmer. “We didn’t hurt him, did we?”

“I think we were just being too loud,” Jiang Cheng said after concluding his inspection. “And anyway, he’s kind of a blob right now – you pinch or pull at him and he goes back the way he used to be. The doctors all say that babies are very flexible.”

“A little bun,” Wei Wuxiand agreed. “With just a little dusting of sesame on top.”

Jiang Cheng looked at the very few scraps of black hair A-Lian had managed to grow. “…he does kind of look like that, doesn’t he? Come on, A-Lian, calm down, it’s okay, we’ll stop yelling, we promise –”

“Really?” Wei Wuxian said. He sounded skeptical. “You’re going to stop yelling?”

“Shut up, you sound like Nie Huaisang. Don’t think you’re getting away without telling me what you did…you gave me yours, didn’t you?”

No wonder his core had felt different, stronger, when he’d woken up – he’d assumed it was Baosan Sanren giving him a gift, but in reality it was only that Wei Wuxian was a better cultivator than he was, that he’d strengthened himself more.

No wonder, too, that his core had felt familiar – he’d pressed his ear against Wei Wuxian’s belly a thousand times, feeling the warmth of it, and he’d mistaken that familiarity for it being his.

Wei Wuxian nodded, and Jiang Cheng scowled. “Can it be reversed?”

“Absolutely not,” Wei Wuxian said at once. “For one thing, I wouldn’t agree; for another, it was only a fifty-fifty chance of it working successfully the first time, I’m not taking that risk again. Anyway, I have demonic cultivation now, and if we traded back, you’d need to be the demonic cultivator, and what would that do to the Jiang sect’s reputation?”

Jiang Cheng hated it when Wei Wuxian had a point.

“Especially now that we have an heir,” Wei Wuxian added, reaching out to rub A-Lian’s head. “You’ve got to make sure the Jiang sect is thriving so that you’ll have something good to hand down to him.”

Jiang Cheng really hated it when Wei Wuxian had a point.

“I can’t believe you did that for me,” he said.

“I can’t believe you got captured for me,” Wei Wuxian rebutted. But that wasn’t the same at all, it was –

Okay, maybe there were a few superficial similarities.

“At least that explains why you’ve been so distant,” he said, shaking his head and smoothing A-Lian’s minimal hair down as the baby started to fall asleep again. “I thought you just didn’t trust me to be a good sect leader…”

“What? No! Jiang Cheng, you’re a great sect leader. I just didn’t want to risk dragging you down.”

“How can you drag us down? I’m literally using your golden core to lead the sect!”

“It’s yours now,” Wei Wuxian said. “I built it up, but I can’t decide on how you use it – everything you’ve done since then, that’s still yours. You know that, right? It’s all still you. Your achievements, not mine. Saying it’s mine would be like saying that every person that Chifeng-zun has ever defeated was actually the triumph of whoever forged Baxia for him.”

Jiang Cheng would murder anyone who dared to say something like that, except he’d never get the chance to because Nie Huaisang would have ruined their life before he’d even gotten started.

“Fine,” he said. “But you’re still not dragging us down. We’ll just have to be careful, that’s all – we can even use it to our advantage: whenever we need something to happen that we can’t really admit to, we have you do it, excuse it as being because of the influence of your demonic cultivation, and tell everyone we’ll get right on fixing it right away. Just the way Father used to do with Mother’s temper tantrums.”

“…wait, those were staged?”

“Well, some of them were, anyway,” Jiang Cheng said. He was mostly sure. “But you have to run anything really crazy by me first, okay?”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding. “Uh – does that count past actions?”

Jiang Cheng wasn’t even surprised. “What’d you do?”

“Promised a safe harbor to one of the branch families of the Wen sect?”

Jiang Cheng might be gullible where his shixiong was concerned, but he wasn’t dumb. “Wen Qing and Wen Ning? They’re the ones that helped you do – what you did.”

Wei Wuxian nodded guiltily.

“Well, in that case, I can hardly turn them down, can I?” Jiang Cheng said, pretending to grumble. “That’d make me ungrateful. Fine; I retroactively authorize your offer, they can come be guest disciples at the Jiang sect –”

Wei Wuxian hugged him again.

“If you wake the baby up again I will kill you,” Jiang Cheng said, but he hugged him back.

“I think they’re done,” Nie Huaisang’s voice drifted in from the door, and they both turned to look.

Jiang Yanli’s eyes were red, suggesting that she’d been listening – and Jiang Cheng hated that, hated that he’d ever caused her pain or sadness; his jiejie deserved the best things in life, always, not more pain and disappointment and everything he brought with him. But true to form she didn’t say anything, only smiled and said, “I knew A-Xian and A-Cheng would talk it out eventually.”

“Bet you didn’t predict the baby,” Nie Huaisang chirped, and then cowered when all three of them glared at him. “Sorry, sorry. Please ignore me.”

“In the future, there will be no such secrets, understood?” Jiang Yanli said to them, with more steel than usual in her soft voice. “A-Xian will tell us before he does something crazy, and A-Cheng won’t not tell us when something important happens –”

“Well, it’s hardly likely to happen a second time,” Jiang Cheng protested, but not very strongly.

“Hey, don’t be so hasty,” Nie Huaisang said. “We could want more kids after we get married.”

“Wait,” Wei Wuxian said. “When did –”

“We are not getting married!” Jiang Cheng bellowed. It was a good thing that A-Lian apparently found Jiang Cheng’s yelling soothing, or else he would’ve woken up again. “Nie Huaisang, stop telling people we’re getting married!”

“I don’t tell people we’re getting married, I only tell you!”

“That’s not better!”

“Wow,” Wei Wuxian said to Jiang Yanli, voice deliberately pitched obnoxiously loud. “It’s almost like they’re married already –”

“Wei Wuxian! I will throw something at your head, just watch me!”

“Just don’t throw the baby!”

[felidaefighter]

Our Metaphorical Get-Along Sweater

In which Wilbur thinks of Ranboo as an arch-nemesis while Ranboo is just There Vibing and also, Phil has adopted Ranboo, making for two very different siblings and a very interesting relationship 

[Fluff, comedy, fix-it fic, some light angst that is immediately softened, work in progress; every chapter will swap POV]

Chapter Two: A Second Chance From The Second Son

     For Ranboo, coming home empty-handed was always the worst part about his trips, second only to not seeing Michael for a while. So, before even stopping at home to unload, the moment he got back to familiar lands he headed to Snowchester, spending the entire afternoon with his son and only heading back to his own house as the sun was beginning to set. In truth, he had been grateful for the accidental timing regarding his trip. It allowed him time to think. Although he and Phil had discussed Wilbur before, he hadn’t been alive during that, and Ranboo honestly felt a prick of guilt at how he knew that might’ve changed things-- he highly doubted Phil would’ve adopted him had Wilbur still been alive, after all.

     It definitely didn’t help, either, the way Tommy had spoken about Wilbur-- though Ranboo had known Ghostbur, and knew that in some ways they were likely similar, they weren’t the same-- it made him wary of Wilbur; not just for himself, but for Tommy and Tubbo’s sake as well. Still, he believed in second chances, and a second chance at life was something pretty rare. He wanted to be optimistic. And although Phil was going to be biased, because Wilbur was his son-- his son that he had raised from birth, especially-- Ranboo trusted Phil’s judgement on people more than nearly anyone else save for his husband. He wanted to get to know the man. Not the man he used to be, not the man he was, but the man he is now.

     After putting away the small amount of trinkets and excess materials Ranboo had picked up on his adventure, he checked his memory book to see if it had anything to offer in terms of what his next step was. Oh, right! He’d wanted to give Wilbur a proper tour of what had changed; Tommy had succeeded in showing him around, after all, but if Ranboo knew Tommy (and he did, very well), there was no way Tommy had actually given a good explanation of the events behind the changes to the man. Now he just had to offer. He just… had to do it. Yeah. Noting that the sun had only just set, it was reasonable to assume that Wilbur and Phil were still awake. Very very awkwardly for someone who had every right to be there given his adoption, Ranboo knocked on the door to Phil’s house.

     Phil let him in with an easy smile. “Ranboo, mate, you don’t have to knock y’know.” It kind of felt strange not to though? Considering the recent change in situation. “Yeah, but with Wilbur here, I don’t wanna interrupt anything, y’know?” He asked Phil with an awkward laugh. “You’re just as much part of the family as he is,” Phil assured, and Ranboo felt himself untense a little. “Welcome back from your adventure, by the way! Were you successful?” Phil asked, realizing he hadn’t yet. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” Ranboo moaned miserably, and Phil laughed. “Not well then! Got it.” Ranboo shook his head. “Everything else I can find no problem! Like, come on, man, this one isn’t even for me.” The two stood in a pleasant moment together.

     Right. The reason he was here. He had to get it over with one way or the other. “Hey Phil, I was wondering actually, is Wilbur around…?” He asked before he could convince himself not to. Phil looked at him quizzically. “Yeah, he’s upstairs. Wil!” Phil called, and Wilbur immediately stuck his torso out the ladder hole, looking like he very much would rather be elsewheres. “Ranboo wanted to speak to you,” Phil explained, and Wilbur disappeared for a moment before climbing down the ladder properly. “Okay, I’m here, I see you. What’s up?” Wilbur asked, and although he looked like he’d been interrupted genuine curiosity colored his words. Admittedly, it was a little intimidating to have Wilbur’s attention. Ranboo had just… heard so much about him.

     “Oh, well uh… you got a tour of what had changed from Tommy, right?” He started. Wilbur tilted his head. “Yeah, you could call it that.” Ranboo nodded; he’d expected something like that. “Well, I was wondering-- if you’re free tomorrow, would you like a proper tour? I know Tommy is horrible at being straightforward and explaining things like that, so it might be nice to have an actual explanation right?” Ranboo asked. There it was, the big, awkward sibling bonding question. Huoagh. Ranboo turned to Phil. “No offense, Phil, but you and Techno don’t really…” Ranboo trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence. Phil shook his head. “None taken, you’re right. Aw that sounds nice eh Wil? It’d be good to get you all caught up.” Wilbur looked a bit taken aback, but not unpleasantly so. That was good! That seemed like a good thing.

     “You know what? Sure, Ranboo. I’m down to try that.” Ranboo grinned in excitement. “Awesome! Okay, tomorrow, I’ll give you the grand tour.” Wilbur nodded, continuing. “I’ll admit Tommy left some holes in his stories-- almost as big as the one I apparently left in L’Manberg,” Wilbur added with dark chuckle. Ooohhh okay that didn’t seem like the greatest sign but dark humor wasn’t necessarily indicative of anything bad-- though it did, admittedly, make Ranboo feel a little wary. Caution would probably be best when handling everything. But that was okay! Ranboo was a cautious guy. He felt confident in his ability to, well, be cautious. “Yeahhh that’ll happen with Tommy,” Phil said to Wilbur in agreement, and Ranboo nodded in turn. The three chatted idly for a short bit, and then Ranboo left for the night, ready to sleep in his own bed after a week of travel, with the plans for tomorrow secured.

------

     Ranboo woke up and did his morning routine, bracing himself for the plans he’d made for the day. In truth, he wasn’t really sure what to make of Wilbur still. He’d had an entire week to think about it, but it just seemed so complicated. He’d heard good things from Phil and terrible things from Tommy, about the man who had created a nation and also was now his older brother. It would be good to get to know him, though, Ranboo reasoned-- so the tour was a good idea. Ranboo found Wilbur tinkering with some things in Phil’s house, having very clearly been awake for quite some time. “You’ve been up a while,” Ranboo said, and Wilbur looked about to scowl at the intrusion before settling himself into a more neutral expression and nodding. “The sunrise; It’s beautiful,” he explained-- and suddenly Ranboo felt as if Wilbur might be okay after all. They headed off in relative silence aside from a passing remark from Wilbur about the magma cubes that consistently jumped to their deaths; the only thing of note about the nether was the vaguely safer renovation of the community portal.

     “The community house looks different,” Wilbur commented, and Ranboo grimaced. “Oohhh yeah. It got blown up. Dream--” At least, as far as anyone knew it was Dream-- “Blew it up and framed Tommy for it while he was in exile. He used it as an excuse to blow up L’Manberg. With uh, Phil and Techno’s help actually, but y’know.” An unreadable expression crossed over Wilbur’s face, and he nodded. “Dream’s a tricky bastard, that doesn’t surprise me. I do remember Tommy’s exile, now, by the way, it--” Rage flashed across Wilbur’s face, almost too quickly for Ranboo to take note, but not quite quick enough-- before he took a breath and looked calm again. “It was rough,” He surmised instead. Ranboo nodded. That had been a horrible time. He’d tried writing letters, but, well. Ranboo decided to focus on the tour before the queasy feeling in his gut grew too big.

     “Over therrrre is Kinoko Kingdom or whatever it’s called-- Sapnap and Karl live there I think? Also George maybe but that guy is always asleep so honestly who knows,” Ranboo said, gesturing to their right/the East. Wilbur looked like he was calculating something. “So there are new nations here after all?” Ranboo shrugged. “I mean I wouldn’t really call it a nation-- I don’t think there’s a government so much as a lot of buildings that nobody even lives in honestly.” Wilbur just frowned at that, despite it being true. Ranboo was beginning to think that maybe it’d be a lot harder to get on his good side than he’d initially hoped.

     Ranboo walked out the other side of the community house and Wilbur trailed behind idly, long-legged stride making up for his casual pace. His dark eyes flitted about, searching for things the passage of time had and hadn’t touched. “The prime path is pretty much the same,” Ranboo said, desperately hoping the shift away from nation-talk would lighten Wilbur’s mood. “Oh! On the right there is Captain Puffy’s therapy office. I’ve heard about it from--” Actually, that was none of Wilbur’s business, no offense to him. “--From somewhere. That’s why it says ‘therapuffy’ on the sign.” Personally, Ranboo was very pleased with that pun. Puffy had done a good job with it. And Wilbur-- Wilbur actually quirked an eyebrow. “She’s started a therapy office, has she?” He mused, and Ranboo hummed in affirmation. “I s’ppose that’s useful. I’m sure a lot of people around here need it.”

     “Apparently there’s a discreet box you can drop a note into to make an appointment,” Ranboo said, which was about as close as he was going to get to saying his real thoughts which were more along the lines of oh my god PLEASE get therapy you of all people need it especially considering you made your dad help you kill yourself and have been dead and gone for years in what you essentially described as hell. “That’s cool,” Wilbur said, and Ranboo nearly wilted a little, but he did take a small victory in the lingering glance that he noticed Wilbur left it towards it. Ranboo allowed himself to hope just a teensy bit that maybe Wilbur would visit again after the tour with nobody else around.

     “On the left here is Niki and Puffy’s flowershop and bakery, and Fundy and I’s icecream shop we made to compete with them. Ours is just a little bit taller,” Ranboo added smugly. “They’re both kind of abandoned though, because--” Oh, that was not a good look on Wilbur’s face. It passed almost immediately, which was almost even more concerning. “Go on, Ranboo, what were you saying?” Wilbur prompted softly, and Ranboo hesitated but it was clear he wasn’t going to get anything out of that look. It was also, frankly, not something he was willing to unpack with the older man. “They’re both kind of abandoned, because I haven’t seen Fundy in a long while and I think Niki and Puffy kind of drifted apart? They were dating at one point I think,” He rambled, and relaxed a bit as Wilbur smirked, easily caught up in gossip and drama.

     They passed by Church Prime-- Wilbur declining to go in for personal reasons-- Punz’s house, the karaoke stage, and the weird, pale-checked building, which had all been there since long before Ranboo’s time and thus didn’t earn anything more than a passing, melodramatic comment from Wilbur about familiarity and stagnation and how sometimes even the land couldn’t change. Ranboo didn’t really think that was a fair assessment, though. Basalt columns supported chunks of Punz’s house that bore visible fire damage. Nearly every time he’d passed by the checked building the inside had been renovated. He was pretty sure even the karaoke stage had been patched up a few times. But to be honest, being around Wilbur was awkward. Even the idea that he knew things that Wilbur didn’t didn’t seem quite right, since Wilbur had been there first-- with both L’Manberg and being Phil’s son-- even if he’d missed some time. So for now, Ranboo would just stick to the facts.

     “That’s a Christmas building,” Wilbur said, aghast, pulling Ranboo out of his thoughts. “Hm? Oh! Yeah, that’s-- I think somebody lives there but I’m not sure actually. It’s definitely--” Ranboo made a noise, and Wilbur nodded his head at the noise. “Yeah. See, that’s something you and I can agree upon, Ranboo.” Wilbur then swivelled his head around and did a double-take. “Is that gay Target? ...Didn’t that used to be a walmart?” They passed the Targay, beginning the steep climb up the mountain, and Ranboo nodded, bemused. “It’s Targay, I think. Puffy renovated the walmart. It’s kinda been ‘opening soon’ since before I even got here though so I think it’s effectively abandoned. Tommy and I were talking about that the other day, actually.”

     Speaking of, they reached the top of the mountain and Tommy’s plot of land-- “Tommy’s shit-fucking-shack is the same,” Wilbur said dryly, fake disgust in his voice betrayed by the fondness on his face. And there it was-- proof. Not for anybody other than Ranboo himself, of course, but it was there. Wilbur did care about something. Or someone, at least. Someone that Ranboo cared about, too. That was enough to get Ranboo’s confidence in his plan back up a bit. Good, actually. He liked being optimistic. Preferred it without a doubt to anxiety spirals and the idea that everything was doomed. “Pretty much,” Ranboo admitted, “But there’s a bunch of flowers and stuff around that were planted when-- when he was gone for a bit. He took down everything else. I guess he likes it looking like a hole in the hill.” Wilbur rolled his eyes.

     “Do you want to see the hotel and the prison and Snowchester next, or would you like to visit L’Manberg?” Ranboo asked, hoping Wilbur wouldn’t realize the near-slip-up had been alluding to Tommy’s death. The mischievous, conniving look in Wilbur’s eyes clouded, and the man looked thoughtful. Ranboo waited anxiously, fiddling with his hands. “Let’s go visit L’Manberg,” He said, taking the lead, and Ranboo followed behind. The man’s strides were purposeful, and though Ranboo did think that Wilbur could change, something about the way he was moving hinted at… lingering ideologies about the former nation. Also, Ranboo was internally pouting a bit about Wilbur taking charge now. It was meant to be his tour.

     “I haven’t seen L’Manberg since I blew it all to kingdom come,” Wilbur remarked, Ranboo trailing nervously behind him. Confusion temporarily overrode his nerves, and Ranoo tilted his head. “Are you su-- really? I thought you said you remembered stuff that happened when you were-- Ghostbur?” Wilbur downright scowled at the mention of Ghostbur, and waved off the mention like he was shooing away a pesky fly. “I don’t see what Ghostbur has to do with that,” Wilbur huffed, and Ranboo was silent for a moment. Maybe-- hm, that would be interesting wouldn’t it? Because Ghostbur couldn’t remember the bad things, and the only example Wilbur had given of remembering Ghostbur’s memories was how awful exile had been for Tommy.

     Ranboo was so focused on theorizing and figuring out how he might propose said theory to Wilbur that he nearly careened right into the man, who had stopped dead right at the end of the prime path. Luckily, he saved himself the dignity and Wilbur his dramatic moment right at the last second. If Wilbur noticed, he didn’t comment on it. He was staring out over the massive crater. “Wow,” Wilbur breathed mournfully, “I really did do a number on this place, huh.” He stepped off the prime path, minding the pockets where fire and explosives had scarred the earth. Ranboo watched him walk across the glass-- eerily, like a ghost taking long-forgotten trails, the transparent glass helping the illusion. Except, no, Wilbur was alive, and more importantly--

     “You didn’t, actually,” Ranboo said bluntly, and Wilbur snapped out of whatever daze he had been in, the illusion shattered as the contradictory statement made him virulent and very much alive. “What?” Ranboo admittedly reeled a little at the tone, but come on. He didn’t. “You didn’t,” Ranboo reiterated; “Techno, Phil, and Dream were the ones to blow it to bedrock. Your explosion didn’t get anywhere close. And the reason I know that is because it flooded afterwards, but it didn’t even flood that deep. It’s why L’Manberg-- the one I knew at least-- was rebuilt on stilts,” Ranboo explained, carefully watching the expression on Wilbur’s face. The disdain on Wilbur’s face was slowly blotted out by confusion.

     “What do you mean rebuilt on stilts?” Wilbur asked, and it was definitely visible on Ranboo’s face when it clicked for him that his theory had been correct. Wilbur didn’t actually remember Ghostbur’s memories-- not all of them, at least. He only thought he did because he, well, couldn’t remember the rest. Ranboo knew the feeling. “And what does that look mean?” Wilbur scoffed. “Well, you--” Ranboo felt his face get hot, the center of attention and eyes being on him never really the best for his enderman instincts. Ranboo opted instead to glance down at the bedrock, visible through the glass. “After-- after you died. L’Manberg was rebuilt. Tubbo said the land was still good, so when it started flooding they built it up on stilts and platforms. It was mainly Ghostbur that did the rebuilding, actually!” With the last fact, Ranboo glanced back up at Wilbur, who was just staring, trying to process what he’d just heard.

     “So, you’re saying… I didn’t have a big impact on this place.” Wilbur prompted. Ranboo just sighed. “Well, you did. It just wasn’t all one thing, y’know? I know Tubbo-- I know Tubbo liked having L’Manberg around and so did Tommy. They were devastated when, well--” Ranboo gestured to the visible bedrock deep, deep below them-- “That happened. And Ghostbur rebuilt it, he made it beautiful, with the lanterns.” Ranboo paused. “Phil told me a bit about the lanterns, actually.” Something indiscernible crossed over Wilbur’s face. Then he looked almost bitter-- then-- Wilbur sighed. “See, Ranboo, I appreciate your trying to ‘tell me I’m not a bad guy’ or whatever,” Wilbur said, emphasizing the quotations with a false, mocking tone, and gesturing dramatically, “But it doesn’t really matter. This is my legacy! This crater. Everyone knows I’m a bad person. That’s just fact.”

     “...I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Ranboo said quietly, wincing at how unconvincing that must sound even as genuine as he meant it. Wilbur scowled. “Why? Because Phil said?” Ranboo immediately countered, offended that Wilbur thought he couldn’t have his own opinions. “...No, not because Phil said. Because I don’t know you at all. We haven’t gotten a chance to meet. And I think that maybe you were a bad person, if you blew up L’Manberg, but I also think that you were going through some things that affected you and I think that people can change. Even if it’s only been a few years for us, it’s been thirteen years for you. You aren’t going to be the same person as before. And you deserve a second chance. Everyone does.”

     Wilbur was the one to turn away this time, and Ranboo politely pretended not to notice the way his eyes had become more reflective and puffy. He seemed like he had something he wanted to say, and Ranboo would’ve let him, really-- but instead he looked out over the glass at the bedrock and rubble and dead vines that hadn’t yet been reclaimed by nature. Wilbur took a deep breath, and Ranboo waited in nervous anticipation. “What do you mean it’s ‘only been a few years for you’, Ranboo?” Wilbur asked. Oh. That had not been-- but he did have a good point. That was probably some important information that Tommy had apparently also left out.

     “Tommy… didn’t tell you that either. Figures,” Ranboo muttered. “Okay so, when Tommy came back and said he’d been gone for months, it had only been two days, so…” Ranboo began, and Wilbur held up a hand, signalling him to pause for a moment. “Thank you for the tour, Ranboo,” Wilbur said, “But this has been a lot. Let’s walk and talk on this one, eh?” He sniffed, not in a cry-y way, in his usual talking way, (even if one would think it’d be in a cry-y way-- Ranboo tried to not let his thoughts wander too far, though), and said softly, “I’d like to go home.” It did catch Ranboo a little off-guard. There was still more to the tour! But… well, it did make sense, L’Manberg being what it was. Yeah. That seemed reasonable. “Alright, yeah,” Ranboo said, and the two found their way back to the prime path. “So since Tommy had been gone for two days but lived-- or unlived I guess?-- for months-- we figured time moves differently in the afterlife or whatever it is, right?” Ranboo explained the time differential to Wilbur as they walked, and the man was surprisingly free of snarky commentary the rest of the way home.

-----

     They had trudged through the snow in complete silence, leaving Ranboo to his swirling thoughts about how he felt about Wilbur being his brother. He was trying hard to not think about it actually. The mix of the family thoughts and the snow on the ground did remind him that they never went to Snowchester for the tour. Honestly? Ranboo was okay with that. He hated to admit it, but he did not trust Wilbur around Michael. Okay, in all fairness, he didn’t really trust anyone other than Tubbo around Michael. Call it paranoia, or maybe “an awareness of what the rest of the people in the realm were like”. It was hard enough dealing with having a sibling when he’d only just gained a parent-- Ranboo really didn’t need to deal with whatever thoughts might come with Wilbur technically being Michael’s uncle. He shuddered to himself, and Wilbur glanced over questioningly, but Ranboo muttered about the cold and the man seemed to buy it.

     Phil was waiting for them when they got home, and opened the door warmly to both of them. He shot Ranboo a questioning look when he didn’t immediately come inside, but Ranboo subtly shook his head-- Phil giving an almost unnoticeable tilt upwards of his head in acknowledgement. Talk later. “Sooo how’d it go?” Phil asked conversationally from the doorway, and Wilbur was startled out of his own thoughts. Luckily he didn’t catch the exchange they’d had. “Huh? Oh.” Wilbur turned to Ranboo thoughtfully. “The tour was lovely, thank you. You definitely did a better job than Tommy, at least. And cleared some things up for me.” Something about Wilbur, Ranboo had noticed, was always guarded. He guessed that’d be the paranoia. Or maybe old habits from being sneaky-- Phil had told some stories of when Wilbur was younger.

     “I’m glad,” Ranboo said sheepishly though, “I’m glad I could do that and, clear some things up for you, yeah. And it was nice getting to hear your stories about the things that had been there for a while, too,” Ranboo offered, an open invitation for reconciliation, even if he still wasn’t sure what he’d done that made him and Wilbur get off on such a strange foot. Wherever Wilbur’s thoughts had been drifting to, they quickly snapped back at Ranboo’s softer tone. “Yes,” Wilbur said curtly, “Thank you for the tour, see you around.” And he promptly slipped past Phil, who was muttering baffled protests, into his room upstairs.

     “What?” Phil squawked out as the door shut, and then turned to Ranboo. “I don’t-- what-- I’m sorry Ranboo I genuinely don’t know what that was about.” And Ranboo laughed, relieved to have someone else sharing in his confusion, feeling at home with Phil for the first time in a while since it was just the two of them. “I don’t either!” He admitted, sharing in Phil’s trait for giggling in confusion. “But I think I said something that maybe he thought was nice and he doesn’t like the fact that he thought it was nice…?” Phil sighed, and then laughed. “Yeah, yep, that’d do it. Wil’s-- He’ll come around. He’ll come around. He just needs some time to adjust to the situation properly.” Phil narrowed his eyes at Ranboo. Uh-Oh. It was his dad mode.

     “And so do you. You can’t let him bully you around just ‘cuz he’s older or you think he gets more rights as my son due to seniority.” Ranboo flushed, feeling very caught-in-the-act. “Okay well hey wait a minute you didn’t have to call me out that hard,” he fake-complained nervously, and the two of them laughed. “I did though! It’s true!” Phil protested. “You’re as much family as he is,” Phil continued softly, and Ranboo desperately tried to not let his eyes water.

     Phil, either due to his allergies for prolonged contact with softer emotions, or sensing the need for a mood change out of worry for Ranboo’s allergies to water, decided to change the subject back to Wilbur’s style of siblinghood. “--And Wilbur will bully you around ‘cuz he’s older. And you can’t let him get away with it or he’s gonna get away with it forever,” Phil scolded, “Ranboo, you have to grow a backbone.” Well that just hurt. “I have one, that’s not fair!” Phil, however, put his hands on his hips and looked sternly at Ranboo, who was thoroughly pouting. Then he sighed and laughed softly. “Fair enough, fair enough. That’s a start.”

     They stood on the porch together for a moment, enjoying one another’s company. Phil sighed again. “How did the tour actually go? How was Wil?” He asked finally. Right! Now this was something Ranboo was prepared for. He straightened up, much to Phil’s dismay (because Phil was much shorter than Ranboo as it was). Ranboo laughed a little internally at that, but he was rather proud of his observation skills in this matter, so he was all business on the outside (not that this was business). “He was kinda melodramatic, honestly,” Ranboo explained, and Phil nodded; it did make sense that that wasn’t out of the ordinary. “I did point out to him where therapy was,” He added, Phil bursting out laughing in response to that with a sort of ‘bwahahaha’ sound. “Good,” Phil said, before letting Ranboo continue.

     “He did… he did get a bit weird when it came to L’Manberg,” Ranboo admitted, and Phil sobered some at that. “He took over the tour and started talking about how it was his fault. Phil, I don’t--” Ranboo leaned down in a conspiratorial whisper, Phil drawing him closer to the door and away from any windows or line of sight. “--I don’t think he actually remembers Ghostbur’s memories. He just thinks he does. He only remembers the bad things from Ghostbur’s memories.” Phil paused. “Ghostbur had bad memories?” His eyes widened. “Oh.”

     Ranboo nodded. “Yeah. I did clear up some stuff-- like how the bedrock leveling was you and Techno and Dream and not him, and he’d only been gone for a few years as opposed to thirteen like on his end.” Phil nodded some more, thoughtfully. “Ah, yeah. Thank you for clearing that up, Ranboo, I honestly-- time for me is, well, y’know.” He made a so-so gesture with his hand and Ranboo understood. “I do feel kinda bad about that, but uh-- I still stand by it. It had to be done. That government was corrupt.” Ranboo nodded. He had complicated feelings about that-- he supposed most of his feelings were complicated, actually-- but ultimately he respected Phil’s decision, and liked where he’d ended up because of it.

     “And I take it you didn’t show him Snowchester.” Ranboo grimaced. “Yeahhh I didn’t really want to have that conversation. Plus it was in the opposite direction of L’Manberg, so…” Phil nodded once again. “Good thinking. We can chat some more later, yeah? When you’re comfortable doing so in a place that isn’t the freezing cold.” Ranboo nodded, grateful that Phil understood his hesitations even if he didn’t agree with them. Phil patted Ranboo’s arm softly as Ranboo headed off and he went back inside, and Ranboo was grateful for the time alone to think. Because a lot had happened, but he did want to think through that particular scenario, since it was important. Even if the family aspect was strange. Even with Ranboo being particularly protective. And especially with his relationship to Tubbo being what it was. So the question was this: How did Ranboo want to go about introducing Wilbur to his nephew, Michael?

-

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[Until I publish this to AO3, anyone is welcome to ask to be tagged when the fic updates!] @enternalempires

[wellimaginethat]

Runaway Love

Pairing: Jay Halstead x (female) Voight!Reader

Word Count: 3340

Author’s Note: Um...I’m not entirely sure what this is, but I know it’s not the best and the storyline is weird as hell. This is also definitely AU because I haven’t seen all of Chicago PD and I’m just going with what I know, so I might’ve messed up on some of it (sorry). Also, could I pick a more cliche title? Lol

Trigger Warning(s): Mention of sexual assault (but it doesn’t go into detail), stalking, running away, underage drinking, alcohol, mention of drugs, mention of prostitution (literally just the mention of it because of a case)

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: Reader ran away when she was seventeen. On her eighteenth birthday, she met Jay Halstead, who was just getting ready to leave for the Army. After a whirlwind romance before he deployed out, and after constantly sending letter back and forth, and him visiting her when he could, he asked her to move to Chicago with him after he was discharged. Only for her to turn him down, leaving him heartbroken and confused.

Y/N = Your Name

Y/EC = Your Eye Color

Y/HC = Your Hair Color

It seemed like it was a fairly average case. They were trying to track down an all around bad guy, he was involved in a drug ring, a prostitution ring, and had killed at least three people.

They caught him and were taking him in when Voight’s eyes landed on a bunch of photos scattered on the coffee table, narrowing in on one in particular. He walked over and picked it up, frowning at it before turning and storming out to the guy and grabbing him by the arm, pulling him away from the officers that were leading him out to the car.

“Why do you have this?” Voight asked as he held up the photo.

The man barely even spared a glance at the photo, scoffing.

“Why do you have this?” Voight asked more insistently, this time grabbing the man and shaking him roughly, shoving the photo into his face.

The man didn’t seem to be bothered much. “I don’t know, she was just another girl that my boss wanted us to snatch.”

This affected Voight, leaving him visibly distraught.

The officers led the man away.

Jay stepped over to Voight, frowning some as he took a look at the picture, which caused a noticeable reaction.

Voight looked at him and frowned. “What?”

“I know her.” Jay breathed out with a frown.

Voight matched his expression. “How?”

“I met her in Florida, before I deployed out, at a bar near the base.” Jay explained, looking at Voight then.

“When?”

“Right before I deployed out, a few years ago.” Jay frowned deeper.

“This girl has been missing for nearly eight years, and she’s my daughter.” Voight told him.

The rest was sort of a blur for the both of them, and when Jay got back to his apartment, he dug out the last letter he received from her, informing him that she couldn’t leave her life in Florida to join him in Chicago, and started to wonder if maybe the reason she couldn’t was because she was running from something. Then he started digging through the other letters that she had written to him that he still had after all this time. He pulled out one that had a phone number, it was when she had changed her number and sent it to him so that he could call her whenever he could while he was away, which wasn’t very often but still.

He then pulled out his phone, not even considering for a second that it might be a bad idea to reach out to you, and dialed the number.

Three rings.

“Hello?” You answered the phone, a confusion in your voice like you couldn’t understand why anyone was calling you.

Jay was shocked that you answered, and hearing your voice after all this time knocked the breath out of him.

“Hell-o?” You tried again, dragging it out this time.

“Y/N?” Jay breathed out, struggling to remember how to breathe.

There was silence on your end and he was terrified that you’d hung up. “Jay?” You sounded shocked, but pleasantly shocked. “What’s going on?” You asked softly, trying to figure out why he was calling you.

“I…” He didn’t know what to say. “I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Is everything okay?” You asked, the worry evident in your voice.

“Yes and no.” Jay admitted, leaving you worried.

“What do you mean?”

“I just...I miss you.” Jay told you honestly.

Silence on your end again, but he heard your breath hitch. “I miss you too.” You whispered into the phone.

He was left not knowing what to say again. “I still love you.” He figured you’d hang up at that.

“I still love you too.” You admitted honestly, quietly. “That’s not why I ended things.”

“Then why did you?” He honestly wanted an answer, to hear it from you.

“It’s just...complicated.”

“Is it because you ran away?” He asked abruptly.

You faltered. “Wh-what?” Your mind started reeling, you knew he was in Chicago but that was the last thing you heard. Did he somehow find out about you from a missing person’s poster or something?

“I’m a cop now, Y/N.” Jay told her, like that explained everything.

“I’m confused.” You told him, which wasn’t a lie.

“Don’t play games with me.”

“I’m not.” You answered him with a frown.

“Why did you leave town?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time.” Jay answered quickly.

“Well I don’t.” You hung up on him then, starting to think about what you were going to do. If Jay knew who you really were, and where you were living, then he could get a hold of your dad and tell him, and you knew how that would end.

That didn’t stop you from flinging yourself onto your bed and thinking it through as you laid there. If you did go back to Chicago, you’d be with your family again. Maybe you could finally have a normal life. Maybe even fix things with Jay, he did say he still loved you.

~Flashback ~ You left home two months after you turned seventeen because of reasons you’d rather not discuss. You couldn’t believe you had actually gotten away with it, you were certain that your dad would at least be able to tell what you had planned, he was a cop after all. Or maybe that your mom would have noticed that you hugged her a little longer than normal. Or that maybe Justin would’ve asked why you called him that night and talked for what seemed like forever, like you would never talk to him again. Or even Erin, you stopped by her house before you left Chicago and gave her like three hugs before you left.

It didn’t seem right. Maybe it was because you were always the good girl, maybe that’s why they didn’t notice, because they didn’t expect it.

The more you thought about it, the more your heart broke. You didn’t want to leave your family behind. 

They should have noticed something was up. They should have noticed something wasn’t right with you. They should have noticed.

You had to pull over after driving for an hour because you were crying way too hard. You weren’t even out of Illinois yet, barely even out of Chicago, if you looked in the rearview you probably could’ve still seen the outline of the city.

You didn’t know what you were going to do with your life at this point, but you knew you had to get the hell out of Chicago.

You slept in the backseat of your car at rest stops for about two weeks before you eventually stopped in Florida. Within three months you were able to get a job as an exotic dancer and get yourself an apartment. You avoided getting caught because the owner of the club you worked at was kind of a shady guy, who didn’t care if you were under eighteen or needed to be paid under the table. You liked him because he didn’t ask questions, you didn’t trust him however because, again, he was a shady guy.

By the time you were eighteen, you were doing pretty well for yourself. You made good money, but you still stayed in a cheaper apartment because you didn’t want to risk getting caught and the landlord at your current building didn’t really care about background checks or making sure the name on the lease was your real name.

You celebrated your eighteenth birthday in a dive bar. It wasn’t a horrible place, but it wasn’t the kind of place your parents would want to find you in. And that’s when he walked in with a few other guys. They were Army, you could tell that, but they were newbies. They had to be, they were too fresh faced to have seen combat.

The three of them took a seat at the bar, about six stools away from you and that was when he noticed you watching him and made eye contact with you. You offered him a smirk before turning back to your drink and next thing you knew, he was beside you.

“This seat taken?” He asked

You looked at him, smiled, and shook your head. “Nope.” You replied, popping the ‘p’ for effect.

He slid onto the stool and leaned on the bar before turning to face you. “Jay Halstead.” He offered out his hand, which you shook.

“Y/N Samuels.” You told him, using the name on the fake ID you had that said you were 21.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” Jay commented with a smile. “So what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

You laughed out loud. “Oh my god, is that what you’re really going with?” You asked, unable to contain the smile on your face. “Does that ever actually work as a line?”

He shrugged a bit before dazzling you with a wide smile. “I don’t know, did it work this time?”

You laughed softly this time and shook your head.

“You’re not charmed?” He asked you, teasingly.

“Not even a little bit.” You laughed.

He shrugged a bit, but his smile didn’t fade. “I am serious though, you don’t seem like the kind of girl who belongs in a bar like this.”

You gave him a half hearted shrug. “And what kind of girl do I seem like to you?” You raised a brow and smirked.

“A nice girl.” He replied honestly, the smile dropping some, being replaced with a seriousness.

You laughed but it was obviously fake. “Well you suck at reading people.”

“Do I?” He asked you, raising a brow himself.

Whatever quip you had died on your tongue and you shrugged, turning back to your drink and remaining silent.

He nudged your arm a bit. “I didn’t mean that as a bad thing.”

You shrugged again, stirring your drink with your straw. “So Army huh?”

“Is it that obvious?” He asked you, smirking, thankful the playfulness seemed to be coming back to the conversation.

You side eyed him, looking at what he was wearing. “Just a little bit.” You laughed softly.

He chuckled and ordered a beer when the bartender came over. “You want another drink?” He asked you.

You shook your head. “Nah, I’m a bit of a lightweight so I think I’m gonna stick to one tonight.”

He nodded. “So you came to a bar just to have one drink?” He asked curiously.

You smiled at him. “Well, you see, it’s my birthday and I don’t have anyone to celebrate with, and this place isn’t too far from my apartment.”

“It’s your birthday? Then we gotta celebrate.” He told you with a grin.

You watched him for a moment, slowly shaking your head. “I don’t know...I have to work tomorrow.”

“What time do you work?” He asked you.

“I have to be there at four.”

“In the morning?”

“No, afternoon.”

“Then you’ve got plenty of time to get rest.” He replied with a smile. “Come on, party with us until midnight and then you can be like Cinderella.”

You laughed. “I don’t know…”

“Okay, then how about you take it one drink at a time and leave when you want? I just think you should have a little fun on your birthday.”

You had to admit that it would be nice to have some fun, you had been kinda down before, missing your family and everything. So you nodded. “Okay, fine. Midnight and not a second later.”

Well midnight came and went and you were still partying with Jay, his buddies left sometime during this but you and Jay shut down the bar.

The next morning you woke with a pounding in your head, but it wasn’t as bad as what you’d thought a hangover would be like. You sat up and the world felt like it was spinning, and that was when you noticed that Jay was laying shirtless beside you.

“Son of a bitch.” You groaned out under your breath. Not only did you party with a complete stranger, but you brought him home and slept with him. What the hell happened.

Your movement caused him to stir and he opened his eyes, looking up at you, squinting because of the light coming in your bedroom window. “Good morning beautiful.” He murmured sleepily.

You huffed a bit. “Yeah, morning.” You grumbled as you looked away from him, you sincerely hoped that in your drunkenness you remembered to use protection.

He cleared his throat as he sat up, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Something wrong?”

You huffed again and rolled your eyes. “Is something wrong? Yes something’s wrong, I got drunk and slept with a total stranger.”

He pulled his hand off your shoulder at your tone and held both up, eyebrows raised. “Woah, we didn’t have sex.” He was quick to tell you. “Yeah I slept here last night but that’s as far as it went.”

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Really?”

“Well we did make out, but we didn’t have sex.” He added, nodding.

You sighed in relief. “Thank god.” You breathed out, then shook your head some. “Not that you’re not attractive and all, I just really don’t wanna have a one night stand with a stranger, is all.”

He nodded. “I can understand that.” He nudged you a bit. “You said you work at four, right?”

“Yeah, why?” You asked, raising a brow.

“Well it’s almost noon now, meaning you got time before you have to go to work, what do I gotta say to convince you to spend it with me?” Jay asked you with an adorable smile.

You laughed softly. “Why do you wanna spend time with me?”

“Well you’re pretty and you seem like a nice girl, pretty sure I said that last night.”

You pondered it over for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

���Great, I got a change of clothes in the car, after I change we’ll go get lunch.” He got up and headed out of your room.

You got up too and went over to your closet to dig something out to wear, wondering if he was actually coming back or if that was just an excuse to get out of there without it being awkward.

A moment later there was a knock on your door, so you walked out of your bedroom to answer it.

“Didn’t wanna just walk in.” Jay told you, standing there holding what appeared to be a pair or jeans and a t-shirt.

You stepped out of the way to let him in.

“Bathroom?”

You pointed to the bathroom door and watched as he headed in that direction, you then headed to the kitchen to get something to drink.

You ended up spending the day with him up until right before you had to go to work, almost being late to work in fact. You got lunch together, then ice cream, and just hung out all day. It ended with him dropping you off at your apartment so you could get ready for work, and him asking for your number. You gave him your number, but you didn’t actually think you’d hear from him.

But you did, the next day. He called asking you to have lunch with him again.

And it went like that for a few days, the two of you hitting it off.

Eventually you slept together, and you figured that would drive him away. But it didn’t, again.

It was a whirlwind romance and in the span of two weeks he had told you he loved you, which you returned.

Everything was great, until one day something changed. It was almost three weeks after that fateful night in the bar, and a week after he let it slip that he loved you. It started out as a normal day for you, until he knocked on your door around eleven. You opened it and let him in, but he just stayed standing there, to which you raised a brow.

“I’m being deployed.” He finally told you once he looked at you, he stepped inside then, shutting the door behind him while sighing heavily.

You nodded slowly, knowing this was coming, he was at base training and whatnot and getting ready to be deployed, you didn’t know how long you’d have before he actually got deployed. You swallowed hard, knowing what was coming. He was going to end things. Or so you assumed.

The two of you stood quietly, a mere four feet apart, just inside the door of your apartment. You were staring at him, he was looking at his hands.

Finally you cleared your throat, which got his attention. “So what does that mean?” You asked quietly, not adding ‘for us’ although you knew it was implied.

His eyes met yours and he was quiet for a moment, still as a statue besides his breathing. “I don’t know.” He admitted quietly, still watching you.

You nodded slowly again, trying to keep the tears at bay but you could feel your resolve slipping.

He must’ve noticed because in a second his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug. “This doesn’t have to be the end of us.” He whispered to you, placing a kiss to the side of your head.

You clung to him like a lifeline, your hands gripping his shirt, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You really think you’re gonna wanna come back to a girl you’ve only known for three weeks?” You asked sadly, choking on your tears.

He hushed you, stroking the back of your head as he kept you locked in his arms. “And why wouldn’t I?” He asked softly. “I already told you that I love you.”

You forced yourself to pull away from him just enough so you could look him in the eyes. “You really mean it?” You asked quietly.

He nodded silently, a seriousness about him. “Of course I do.” He said quietly, bringing his hand up to wipe your tears.

You still had your doubts, but you nodded and sniffled. “When do you have to go?” You asked quietly.

“Next week.” He said solemnly.

You touched his cheek gently and nodded some. “Well then we’ll have to make the most of the time we’ve got left.” You said quietly.

And that’s what you did. You spent as much time as possible together, you even going so far as to take some time off from work.

And when he left, you were devastated. You kept in touch as much as you could through letters and the occasional phone call. Your love for him grew and his for you.

And then you didn’t hear from him, and you were heartbroken. Six months passed and you heard nothing, you were afraid that he had died and you hadn’t been notified because you were just his girlfriend. You even considered finding his parents in Chicago and calling them to see if they had heard anything, but you avoided doing that because you wanted to believe that he was still alive. And then you got the letter from him saying that something had happened and that he was given an honorable discharge from the Army. You immediately worried about what that could mean. And then you finally got a letter from him, assuring you that he was okay, telling you that he got out of the Army and how he hoped you would join him in Chicago.

You wanted nothing more than to go and live a life with him, but you couldn’t go back to Chicago.

~ Flashback Over ~

After fifteen minutes, you sat up in bed, your decision made. It didn’t take long to pack your bags, you could come back and get the rest of your stuff if you decided to stay in Chicago. You got into your car and began driving in the direction of Chicago, getting ready for the sixteen hour drive.

Chapter Two Coming Soon....

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 20

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Simon and Martin have a chat.

Martin accepts some advice.

When Martin passed the front gate the world behind him disappeared, replaced by cold, grey mist and stone.

Staring back the way he came only made it harder to remember what had been before, and his head felt the pressure of distance with no point of reference. Something deep inside him knew the perils of walking anywhere but the path leading him to the Fairchild house; to step anywhere else would see him tumbling out and away from the only landmark he had left.

Waiting for him at the front door was the woman who’d taken the sketchbook from him, this time without the veneer of professional courtesy. The hooded jumper, worn jeans, and disinterested wave announced to the world an interrupted day off. If his damp, miserable self was an affront to her sensibilities, she wasn’t showing it, so the wet jacket stayed on.

In his nerves he hadn’t really registered her appearance during their first meeting, too focused on getting rid of the evidence of his crime. She was older, maybe in her 60s, with long grey hair tied back into a low ponytail. He hadn’t seen her about town before, had he?

They walked inside without any chitchat, so Martin glanced about in silence. The interior felt right if his memory served, the same skinny halls and windows stretching from floor to ceiling. The most striking aspect still was the mural at the top of the central staircase. The rest of the house was dwarfed by it, as if the grand building was no greater than his hometown’s silhouette tucked into the corner of the canvas. 

Approaching it, the colors were more. More intense, more bold, all the brightness stolen from the world outside siphoned into an impossible sky. Maybe anything would look that much more  when contrasted with where he’d been. He was at the top of the stairs standing at its center wondering if there was any distance that could give him a proper view of the whole. 

From behind him the woman cleared her throat, though she didn’t seem irritated. He pulled himself away from the spot where he’d stopped to stare, leaving slippery footprints in his wake.

Glancing up at the mural, she only said, “Some things demand attention.”

She led him to the same room from his first visit with its outward wall of glass. Across the room sat Simon, his back facing those large, unbelievably clear windows that now overlooked the fog-covered landscape. Martin heard the woman’s retreating footsteps and the click of the door.

Martin breathed out, keeping a few feet between himself and the old man. He waved stiffly at the windows. “It’s a bit late. I was expecting this to happen last week.”

With that pleasant smile unmoving, Simon motioned for Martin to sit in the chair across from him. “Don’t be ridiculous. That event will be much more exciting. I wanted to put this meeting together, and needed a good mix of quick and fun.”

“Starting to question my understanding of ‘fun’,” Martin mumbled. He took the seat offered to him and crossed his arms over his chest, the rainwater he carried in seeping into the plush fabric. “It seems like I’m always on the losing side of someone else’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Simon hummed, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “So you’d prefer something more exciting in your invitations, so you’re not left out? Did my little errand turn you into a thrill-seeker already?”

“No.” A shiver ran through him, not of fear but of an awful, biting cold. The wet of his hair sapped the heat right out of him and pulled his ponytail down heavy onto his neck. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a bit moody today, aren’t we?” The smile was still sitting idly on Simon’s face. “Peter’s been around more often, I can tell. He does that to people, sucks all patience and goodwill out until they’re… well.” He flicked his eyes over Martin with something like pity.

Martin pressed his arms tighter into himself. “So what, you push people into the sky, and he does that?”

Simon laughed without a hint of shame. “Goodness, no. Peter is just like that, no strangeness needed. I’ve often left his company feeling completely drained and irritable, though I’ve found ways to ensure the feeling is mutual.”

“Good friends, then.”

“As much as he can have them.” Simon leaned forward, no hint of bitterness in his voice or expression. “A very close-to-the-chest type, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

With a sharp exhale, Martin said, “Look, if you’re going to ask me for a favor I’m not-”

“Now, now, I’m not one to drag on a favor forever, and you’ve paid in full. Besides, Peter is much too jumpy right now for anything to be done.” Simon turned his gaze toward the window. “I’m afraid all any of us can do now is wait.” 

A jolt of disappointment shocked Martin to silence. All of this dramatic nonsense just to be told to wait and see? He hadn’t had any specific expectations, but deep down he’d believed Simon to be plotting something soon. That even if it was a horrible outcome Martin wouldn’t be left in suspense from every angle of his life. 

Whatever shoe was meant to drop, it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t for some unspecified amount of time.

Simon regained his easy tone and continued, “And I greatly dislike this weather, all of these things clouding my view. Soon I’ll be going weeks without a clear day, and it can feel so… so claustrophobic. So little to work with on a day like this.”

He wasn’t the one who needed to walk in it. “You’re not going to explain anything, are you?”

“No, I’m not. You know how these things are. Business.” Reaching into his pocket, Simon pulled out a small envelope. “Speaking of, like a pouting child Peter has been avoiding me, and as far as I can tell you’re the only person who actually sees him.”

With a deep sigh Martin leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. Not only was he getting nothing out of Simon, but- “This is all so I can be a messenger boy?”

“Just the one time, if Peter can be reasonable.”

“I don’t- Wait. Why not trap him like you did me? Just force him to your door.”

With a sudden laugh that made Martin jump, Simon replied, “Not everyone is as easy to find as you. And anyway, it’s not wise to do that to friends, is it?” 

It wasn’t a way to keep friends, no, and he took the message from Simon without further comment. On the other side of the room, the door opened to reveal that woman. Not needing prompting he stood, looking back one more time at the other man.

Simon remained seated and swung one more friendly smile in Martin’s direction. “You’ll be seen out, then. I must thank you for your previous help, Martin. The personal significance alone can’t be overstated. It’s not my only sketchbook, of course, but several of my best works had their beginnings in it.” Was that glint in his eye one of creative pride, or was there some joke Martin was missing?

The tiniest desire to stay and hear more itched at the back of his mind, but the dismissal was clear and he let the woman lead him back through the house. Once outside he saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse into a complete downpour. The high wind would certainly blow his hood down, making for a wretched walk ahead of him.

“Ah.” He’d been taken to the Fairchild house on an impossible route, but the way home was entirely real. “I have a long way to walk.”

“Inconveniences all around,” the woman said, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was alone he ripped the phone from his pocket and and bent over it to delete his dramatic messages before they could be seen, replacing it with:

Martin: talked with simon (didnt really have a choice), dont think anything will happen with him for a while

Martin: said all we can do is wait? really cryptic

Then he pocketed it once more and walked out the front gate into the reinstated town.

The greatest relief was finding other unlucky pedestrians doing their best to stay dry along with him. Even without the ability to stop and talk he felt the silent commiseration. It wasn’t joy in the suffering of others but rather the knowledge that other people were there at all to share in the cruddy weather. He could see where a person ahead of him was avoiding puddles, and found residual warmth in the lights of nearby shop fronts. It was the kind of melancholy atmosphere that could make rain a little more bearable.

The walk down the cliff however was designed to kill him, the slope slick with mud and abandoned by an early setting sun. No waterproof phone, glasses blurred and splattered with droplets, Martin made his slow way home in the cold, in the dark. More than once he stopped to make sure he hadn’t gotten turned around by forces supernatural or otherwise, but then the ground flattened and he could finally hear the sea over the rain beating against the ground.

He was late of course, but besides some comments about tracking water into the house and forgetting his umbrella his mother had left him well alone, and even took his word when he described the weather as unsuitable for her health. He was grateful. After the last few days anything worse might’ve sent them into a screaming match to surpass any bouts they’d had in years. Maybe the day had taken as much out of her as it had from him.

Instead, after a necessary change of clothes on his part, they ate dinner and watched television, her in her chair and him on the couch. It was some old game show he vaguely remembered, not something that aired in his childhood but that he’d experienced first as reruns, the saturated colors and fuzzy image granting it a multilayered nostalgia. Someone on the screen had just answered a question and was hoping their spouse would come up with the same response.

In his pyjama pants and old t-shirt he felt little, his feet tucked under him because he hadn’t wanted to waste another pair of socks. It was as if he’d just come out of the bath with his wet hair and drooping eyes and was waiting to be told he was up too late. As if he wasn’t responsible for watching the clock himself.

His phone vibrated in the middle of the program, but if his mother noticed she chose to ignore it. Tapping the phone awake, Martin saw a notification from the group message.

Tim: ok check-in time what the hell 

Tim: just saw this 

So they hadn’t seen his initial messages. He breathed out in relief and typed out a reply.

Martin: some weird stuff, but everythings fine. simon made it so i had to go talk to him

Martin: whatever simon mentioned before its not coming yet. seems like he isnt in control of when whatever it is happens? also peter is avoiding him so i need to give him this letter

Tim: weird but

Tim: good? more time for us

Sasha: one less thing to worry about. glad it went okay.

Tim: ^^

He’d successfully avoided any panic or weirdness that his original messages most definitely would’ve caused and patted himself on the back for a job well done. No one needed that as a distraction.

Martin: oh right weird topic change but jon mentioned it, do you really all use a cot at work

Tim: oh yeah lol love that thing

Tim: jon is on it right now actually will pass on simon info when hes awake

Martin: youre all still there??

Tim: oh martin dont you know weve Never Left

Tim: we should get going soon tho now that you mention, will drag jon out of the archives while passing on simon info

Martin: good idea

Tim: and keep those eyes down!

Martin bit his cheek and looked past his phone at the television screen. No doubt it was karma for his rash behavior at the lighthouse, having “just wait!” shouted at him from all corners. The universe was making itself very clear. Simon could’ve just been telling him to let something terrible happen, but even if that was true Martin wasn’t in a place to stop anything.

But it was a great quality of Tim’s, rounding them all up and trying to save them from regrettable decisions. The least Martin could do was make that job easier and stay out of trouble. It was also the most he could do, as much as it irked him.

Martin: dont need to tell me twice! 

And with that Martin pocketed his phone, accepting his fate of inaction.

When he finally put his mother to bed the goodnight between them was not warm, but it was closer to normal. If he’d been told that one of the most pleasant parts of his day would’ve been watching the telly after dinner with his mum, he would’ve… well, it wasn’t that strange. Really it emphasized how bad the rest of his day had been.

Meanwhile the most pleasant event felt fake, even when he checked his call logs to confirm it. What a strange start to a day, he thought as he laid in bed. At least it made up for Jon not being around that evening, that and knowing Jon was getting some sleep. The man clearly needed some prompting during an intense work period to take care of himself, and Martin silently thanked Tim for doing something about it when he couldn’t bring himself to initiate a phone conversation. He knew it was ridiculous for him to be so nervous about the idea, but…

But.

Hopefully Jon didn’t think he was rude. It was one thing to chat in person, but calling without a specific topic to discuss while the others were hard at work? Because he was bored? Best to let Jon reach out when he felt it necessary, even if it meant being woken up at odd hours on a work day and otherwise sitting on his hands. Eventually this would all be behind them and he could stop being racked with guilt over the thought of making a social call. 

Martin’s stomach twisted. Yes, things would be dealt with, and he would move on from this strange period in his life.

He moved to place the phone down for the night when it buzzed in his hand, with a message in another, private chat.

Sasha: we should talk more later about what simon told you specifically. if something big is coming having someone on the inside of things might not be the worst. not saying you should seek him out, he seems perfectly of capable of contacting you, but if it happens again it could be an opportunity

Martin: you think he could be on our side?

Sasha: i think letting people say their piece can lead to understanding, even if the other person is the worst. something is going on between him and peter lukas and the more we know the better

Martin: right…

Sasha: again not saying to run into anything. wait for us etc etc but trust your gut

Martin: so your opinion on staying put?

Sasha: sometimes you cant, thats all im saying

Martin: okay, i think i get it

Sasha: good. now get some sleep, weird things tend to drain you

Martin: goodnight

Sasha: night

Well, she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t believe that Simon was a good person, not with how he’d treated Martin thus far, but that didn’t make him evil, either. And his advice was the same as what everyone else had already been saying: stay out of trouble as best he could and wait for the right moment. Even Sasha still conceded to it being the best option for the present. If Peter told him to wait as well, then Martin would be truly lost on what to do, but until then he would follow the advice of all the people who knew more than he did.

And if Simon called him to his home again, he would try to be less… difficult. And he would buy a better jacket, just in case. 

--

The next morning, he listened to a voice message left shortly after he’d fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Jon’s groggy voice drifted from the mobile. “Hi, sorry I missed things. Wasn’t expecting Fairchild to be so forward, and my sleep schedule has never been- anyway, Tim convinced me to go back to my flat, but since I slept at the institute earlier I’m currently following a few threads to see if they lead anywhere helpful. I think I’ve reached something, but time will tell.”

He continued after a brief pause. “Seems you’re already asleep, as you should be, so I’ll let you go. Let me know if you have any questions about our other… shared interest. Good night. I hope things stay quiet.” 

[orange-waterfalls]

Cell Block Tango, Ft. One Wilford Warfstache

ty @executiveespressodepresso​ for the request

A/N: I KNOW, I know. It took a long time. A really long time. 2 weeks is actually not that long but I GET IT. I’m done though! I am finished, I have completed one(1) fic, and I can rest easy now. I’ve had a bit of trouble with these types of fics before, mainly I just didn’t know how to write them. But I figured it out! Maybe. Sorta. I dunno, I kinda like it... ANYWAYS uh song bumps the rating up to a T, but there’s not really much else. You perform a song for Wilford after a long day! That’s it. Also Talking about Feelings at the end because I was feeling Angsty and wanted some Plot. It’s a long one dhwukcgfeywf anyways enjoy!

Word Count: 3.0k

Performing the Cell Block Tango for Wilford

You plopped down onto the living room couch and sighed. What a day! What a great, awful, stressful day. You loved Wilford, absolutely, but the man could be a handful.

You weren’t sure how it was possible for someone to have so many bullets in one gun.

In any case, you had to stop him from KILLING PEOPLE for a while before getting to come home. 

You didn’t have the emotional capacity to be mad at this point. You really needed to wind down.

First, you should make dinner. Last time Wilford stepped foot in the kitchen the whole house went up in flames. You grabbed your phone and called to order take out. 

You rubbed your eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. You shook your head, knowing if you fell asleep Wilford might kill the delivery person. You went to the bathroom.

You turned the sink faucet on and splashed your face a few times. You looked in the mirror at your soaking-wet face. God Wilford was so difficult to deal with. Well… he’d gotten better… but he still had a long way to go before you could even consider taking him anywhere. If he wouldn’t pull a gun on all the therapists you took him to maybe he’d have gotten a little better in the time that you knew him.

Now that Wilford was back on your mind, you thought of a way you could maybe relax.

You walked back to the living room and looked down at the phone that you’d thrown on the chair beside the couch. You looked up, not seeing Wilford anywhere. You took a deep breath, and decided you deserved a little performing. As a treat.

You pressed play on the song when you found it, and you stood up. You stood with your back to the music, facing the wall.

"Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz," you said quietly. "And now, the six merry murderesses of the Crook County Jail, and their rendition of the Cell Block Tango…"

You began moving your arms in rhythm to the song. A smile twitched at your lips. This might’ve seemed a bit silly to anyone else, but luckily, you were alone. Right?

Yes, Wilford went to go see Dark. You were absolutely, 100% alone.

In fact, you were so sure that you were alone that you didn’t hear Wilford walk into the room. He saw you… dancing? Were you dancing? He didn’t think you danced. You didn’t seem like the type to dance. He tilted his head to the side a little, about to ask what was happening, before hearing the music play from the phone and closing his mouth. He decided to stay quiet and just… watch. 

The music began speeding up and you started to get really into it, moving around a lot. As the chorus got close, you turned around, only to find Wilford staring at you. He was standing in front of the couch, near your phone. You stared back at him, the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks. You prepared to shamefully walk away, to avoid him by taking a shower or saying you had to run to the store, to make sure he said nothing about this to you or anyone else.

But, Wilford seemed to have other things in mind.

Seeing you watch him like a deer in headlights, he thought there was something he should do in this situation, something to make you more comfortable.

With that in mind, he plopped down onto the couch, respectfully folding his hands in his lap, and looked at you expectantly.

Was that the right decision? Too late to take it back now. Hopefully it was.

You blinked for a moment before you got the memo and started moving again. You felt your skin burn in the still-present embarrassment as you continued your… well, it wasn’t quite dancing. Something along those lines, maybe. You expected Wilford to talk, laugh, comment, make any noise at all. But he just sat, watching you. You looked at him, nervous. He smiled brightly at you and you remembered that this was Wilford, dammit! The man loved you and would never wish any harm on you, physically or emotionally. And that’s when you decided to put a little trust in your boyfriend, and started to sing right as the chorus started up.

“He had it comin', he had it comin', he only had himself to blame… If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I betcha you would have done the same! Pop! Six! Squish! Uh-uh! Cicero! Lipschitz! Pop! Six! Squish! Uh-uh! Cicero! Lipschitz!”

Wilford nearly got whiplash when you started to sing. Since when? Could you do this? You had never? You were also quite good, so… why didn’t he know? 

You started getting more exaggerated and “angry” with your movements, which made Wilford smile. You looked like you were having fun(which you were) and he was happy about that. He also appreciated the few lyrics he processed over the look of joy on your face taking full control of his mind. He could relate to it, at least a little. He wondered if that’s why you liked the song…

He then realized that it probably wasn’t, but he liked the thought nonetheless.

“You know how people have these little habits that get you down? Like Bernie. Bernie liked to chew gum. No, not chew: pop! So I came home this one day, and I am really irritated and I'm looking for a little bit of sympathy. And there's Bernie, laying on the couch drinking a beer and chewing. No, not chewing: popping!” You were waving your arms around while telling the story, and got this angry look on your face at certain points. While making the face, you pointed at Wilford accusingly. He frowned at first, before remembering you were acting. And, damn, you were good at it! "So, I said to him, I said, "You pop that gum one more time..." And he did. So I took the shotgun off the wall and I fired two warning shots... into his head.” You made a fake gun with your hands and fake-shot at Wilford. He leaned back on the couch, put on a surprised look, and laid a hand over his chest, playing along. You smiled at him joyfully before going back to singing.

He bit his lip to not laugh, as you might’ve taken it the wrong way. He was just very… happy. And entertained with what was happening.

“I met Ezekiel Young, from Salt Lake City, about two years ago, and he told me he was single, and we hit it off right away. So, we started living together. He'd go to work, he'd come home, I'd fix him a drink, we'd have dinner. And then I found out. "Single," he told me? Single, my ass. Not only was he married, oh, no, he had six wives. One of those mormons, you know? So that night, when he came home from work, I fixed him his drink, as usual.” Wilford got a bit distracted at this point, just by you. Everything you were doing. The dancing, the acting, the singing, the smiles… you looked so happy. He wondered why you didn’t look like this more often. He wondered how he could get you to look like this more often.

He’d heard someone talk about karaoke at the store one day.

Could he do that? Could he buy a karaoke machine? Would you want a karaoke machine?

“You know... some guys just can't hold their arsenic.” He was snapped back to reality,(ope, there goes gravity) when you ruffled his hair harshly at the last line. He looked up at you again and found you were still smiling. He automatically smiled back.

“Now, I'm standing in the kitchen, carving up the chicken for dinner, minding my own business. In storms my husband, Wilford, in jealous rage.” You accidentally said “Wilford” instead of “Wilbur”. Who could blame you, honestly. To save it, you started acting like you were talking directly to Wilford instead of just a make-believe audience. Wilford, on the other hand, panicked a little when you said his name. It wasn’t the same name as the song said, so… what? He then came to the conclusion that you just wanted to get him to pay more attention. 

"You been screwing the milkman," he says. He was crazy and he kept on screaming "You been screwing the milkman." And then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times.” You leaned towards him, got up in his face, and grabbed and shook his shoulders. Wilford just kind of… sat there and took it, since he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He nodded a few times as well, seemingly a bit intimidated by you. It took much of your willpower to not break and start laughing at him.

His cheeks dusted a light pink because of how close you were getting to his face. He nearly leaned forward and kissed you, but caught himself. You were performing and he had no right to interrupt.

Still, your lips looked awfully kissable… 

“If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I betcha you would have done the same!” 

You had to mentally prepare yourself for the Hungarian part. You took a breath to lower your heart rate and told yourself that even if you messed it up, it was fine. It was just Wilford.

“Mit keresek én itt? Azt mondják, a híres lakóm lefogta a férjem, én meg lecsaptam a fejét. De nem igaz. Én ártatlan vagyok. Nem tudom, miért mondja Uncle Sam, hogy én voltam. Próbáltam a rendõrségen megmagyarázni, de nem értették meg.” You had to suck in a breath and miss a few lines to get your brain back on track. “Uh-uh! Not guilty!” 

Wilford was thrown completely off guard at the Hungarian and he stared at the phone. Where the hell did that come from? More confusingly, when he looked back at you, you seemed to be keeping up with the words, for the most part. Did you know Hungarian? Did you just know this part? You slipped up a few times but, hot damn, it was impressive.

You had this sad, innocent look on your face the whole time. One that made him wanna get up and hug you. But he didn’t because he knew that you were fine and you were acting and he was gonna let you finish this wonderful performance of yours even if it fucking killed him, goddammit!

Okay, he was being a little dramatic. Even so.

“My sister Veronica and I had this double act, and my husband Charlie traveled around with us. Now, for the last number in our act we did these twenty acrobatic tricks in a row. One, two, three, four, five, splits, spread eagles, back flips, flip flops, one right after the other. So this one night before the show, we're down at the hotel Cicero, the three of us boozing, having a few laughs. And we ran out of ice so I went out to get some. I come back, open the door, and there's Veronica and Charlie, doing number seventeen: the spread eagle! Well, I was in such a state of shock I completely blacked out, I can't remember a thing. It wasn't until later, when I was washing the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead.” You decided you kick your leg up a little both times you mentioned spread eagles. Wilford shook his head, a little dumbfounded. He understood the implications in the song, and his face flushed darker. He wondered if you did too, because it just seemed like you did it for fun. In any case, he coughed into his hand quietly, as to not make you worry. 

You look at Wilford, a bit confused, but he just gave you a thumbs up for you to continue. You smiled and kept doing what you were doing, not noticing how flushed he was.

“They had it coming, they had it coming, they had it coming all along! I didn't do it, but if I'd done it, how could you tell me that I was wrong?”

Wilford watched in utter fascination at how you were moving. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you choreographed this.

Well… he didn’t know what you did when he wasn’t home.

But you moved fairly fluidly through dances and you seemed to be on-tempo, even if the dances seemed random.

Random does not mean unplanned, he reminded himself. 

He was also a little distracted from your dancing by the song, because it was making him feel emotions he wasn’t sure existed. He was determined to memorize your every move, however, so that would just have to wait until another day.

“I loved Al Lipschitz more than I can possibly say. He was a real artistic guy, sensitive, a painter. But he was always trying to find himself. He'd go out every night looking for himself, and on the way he found Ruth, Gladys, Rosemary and Irving. I guess you can say we broke up because of artistic differences. He saw himself as alive... and I saw him dead…” You stood pretty still for this part, since the song was almost over and you were feeling pretty tired. 7 minutes didn’t seem like a long time, but it’s different when you’re working out.

You did pace a little bit, while keeping your arm movement to a minimum. You felt your heart beating due to the exercise and also the anxiety of your boyfriend watching you. 

You did make a last-second decision to boop his nose when you got to the last word. This made Wilford blink harshly and look up at you with a pout. Before you went back to your original spot in the room, you gave him a little kiss on the nose. That made him grin from ear to ear and dig his fingers into his legs. You bit back a chuckle and started up again.

“They had it coming, they had it coming, they had it coming all along! 'Cause if they used us, and they abused us, how could you tell us that we were wrong? He had it coming, he had it coming, he only had himself to blame! If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I betcha you would have done the same!” You kept dancing the same as you did before, even though your legs were starting to burn, and you were having trouble keeping the same fluid movements. Some of them became a little more jerky and forced than you wanted them to.

Wilford noticed this and brought his arms up a bit, leaning forward in case you needed help. He figured you wouldn’t, but he didn’t want you cracking your skull open or anything.

He’d be very upset if you did that… 

“You pop that gum one more time! Single my ass. Ten times! Miert csukott Uncle Sam bortonbe! Number seventeen: the spread eagle. Artistic differences…” You did all your previous movements for each woman’s line. Which included: The shotgun, throwing both hands above your head, getting in Wilford’s face, wiping a fake tear, kicking your leg, and shrugging, in that order. You were very out of breath and a bit disoriented, but that was okay because there was only a little bit left!

“Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz…” You ended the song by walking directly in front of Wilford and falling to your knees in front of him once you were sure the song had ended. You breathed heavily, feeling the tiredness from the day and the dancing catching up to you. You were about to ask Wilford “So, how bad was it?” before he slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around you. You froze, not knowing what was happening.

“You were fantastic,” He whispered. Which you thought was very strange because Wilford couldn’t speak lower than a yell, in your experience. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Wil, what’s happening?” You asked, still out of breath. He squeezed you a little tighter.

“I just… wanted to show love to my partner?” He said hesitantly. You scoffed and hugged him back.

“Do you feel guilty because you embarrassed me?”

“Yes…”

“Wil, you’re fine, I promise.” You chuckled. He sighed and sat back. You looked at him and frowned.

“I…” He ran a hand through his hair and avoided looking at your face. “I… know I’m not the easiest to deal with and… I… I wanna… make you feel comfortable…”

“You do make me feel comfortable!” You took his hands in yours.

“But every time I’ve looked at you today you were always scared or angry!” He argued. You closed your mouth, not really having any argument.

“Mm…” You hummed.

“I… wanna… get better. I wanna be better. For you.” He grumbled. You smiled and twisted yourself around so you were sitting between his legs with your head resting on his chest. He laid his chin on top of your head. 

“I think you’re perfectly fine.” You sighed.

“I don’t wanna be perfectly fine, I wanna be perfect!” He whined.

“Well, that’s an impossible goal.” 

“Then… I wanna be perfect… for you.”

“That’s a better one.” You looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back, feeling a warmth spreading through his chest. You were listening. You understood. 

And you loved him.

“Am I a good boyfriend?” He asked.

“Of course you are.” You snuggled into his chest.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly as he could. You squinted at him as he gave you his very best puppy eyes. You gave in, and gave him a peck. You could feel his arms waving around as he tried to decide what to do with them. Eventually, he placed them on the sides of your neck. You pulled back after a little and he stared at you adoringly.

“Don’t you look at me like that…” You warned.

“I love you…” He sighed and wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. You squirmed, trying to get out, but he didn’t move.

“Wilford…” You whined. “Lemme go! I ordered food!”

“Ok, I’ll let you go when the food shows up!” You huffed and let your body go limp as you succumbed to the hug.

You should’ve just cooked something.

[brandyllyn]

In our own image... (25)

Chapter 25

(Poe Dameron x OFC)

Other chapters... My Masterlist

Word count: 2100. Read it on AO3.

Rating: Teen & Up (PG).

"Stop that."

Finn froze, hand in the air. "Stop what?"

"Poking me."

"But you said it doesn’t hurt."

Poe turned his head, glaring at the man. "No, but it is annoying. Stop it."

Finn did it one more time. Of course he did. Pressing his fingers just under Poe’s ribs while staring at his face. "You’re telling me it doesn’t hurt at all?"

Poe leaned his head back, dropping the data pad he had been looking at with a clatter. "Do you want to see it?"

"No," Rey’s voice came from across the room.

"Yes," Finn’s eyes were wide when he nodded.

Sighing, Poe lifted the side of his shirt up to show Finn the smooth skin, not a mark on him. "Rey does good work, I highly recommend it." Finn touched the area lightly and Poe shivered, jerking away.

"You ticklish now?" Finn asked with a grin.

"He’s always been ticklish," the words floated from next to Rey and Poe glanced over at the woman who had said them. Kina’s eyes met his for a moment before she bit her lip and turned away.

Poe had woken from what felt like a dream with his head in Kina’s lap. Rey was next to them, looking exhausted. Both were lit by BB-8 who had all his new lights out and was whistling worriedly about him and something about getting shot. He hadn’t felt like he’d been shot. He’d felt pretty great actually. But he had no idea how he’d ended up on the floor of the Millennium Falcon and the looks of concerns on everyone’s faces had told him that something serious had happened.

Everything after that seemed to happen quickly. They had landed the Falcon on Garos - apparently now the closest planet - and dropped what he had been told were pirates off with the authorities, giving statements about what had happened. The local Marshall had looked like she might’ve had some questions about the state of the prisoners, so did Poe for that matter. But one look at Chewie’s face and she had just nodded, pointing out that the prisoners were wanted and thanking the group for the service of bringing them in.

Poe had insisted on going with them for that. Despite loud objections from basically everyone - including Beebs who was currently pressed to his calf and hadn’t moved in an hour. It was only when Poe had threatened to throw down with every one of them that the group had seemed to accept that he was okay.

There had been other things to do after that, of course. The pirates had messed around with some of the systems and those needed to be fixed before they could enter hyperspace. Poe had wanted to help with that too but at Rey’s insistence had taken a nap instead, crashing into the bunk with one hand resting on BB-8.

He glanced down at the droid, still by his side. He wasn’t entirely certain what had happened. The last week, it was like a drunken memory, periods of blackout and long stretches of having no clue what was going on. He’d asked, but every person gave him a slightly different answer. Rey said it was a form of mind control. Finn claimed it was seduction. Chewie said he’d been enchanted by evil sorceresses.

He hadn’t asked Kina.

Odd that. The last thing he really remembered was going to see the three Chasinian woman. As such, Kina was the most likely person to have answers but he was hesitant to talk to her. Not just because of their past - although that played a not inconsiderable part - but also because there was something about her that made his head spin, a memory right on the edge of his consciousness. And she kept giving him long, considering glances when she thought he wasn’t looking.

"Our course is laid in, everything looks good. Should be about two days back to base," Chewie announced as he walked into the commons. Poe nodded at him and the Wookie came over to put a hand on his shoulder. "It is good to have you back."

"Yeah about that," everyone in the room seemed to freeze except for Poe. "Is anyone going to tell me what happened?"

As one, everyone but him turned and looked at Kina, who still had her back to them. Rey nudged her with her elbow and Poe heard her sigh before she turned around. For just a moment it was like he was seeing two of her, but a quick shake of his head and the vision vanished.

"I’m not sure that’s a good idea," she whistled, the voice coming from the new cuff on her arm. Handy, that. He wondered if their relationship might not have imploded if she’d had it then. If it had been easier for them to talk.

"Why not?" he asked.

"It’s just," she looked at Rey as if for help but the other woman shrugged. Kina sighed. "I don’t now of anyone who has been through what you went through and… this is uncharted territory for me. I’m worried that there is a chance you might slip back."

"Back to what," Poe knew he was snappish but he was tired of them treating him like he was made of glass. "One minute I’m talking to three Chasinians, the next I’m on the Falcon and  you say I’ve been shot. The clocks say it’s been nine days. Someone tell me what happened."

Kina looked at Rey one more time. "If he calls me mistress again I’m blaming you." The whistle was low, but translated at the same volume as everything else she said.

"If I what?" Poe looked at her incredulously.

Kina walked over, sliding into the booth across from him. She touched his hand for just a moment when she sat, then jerked it back and stared at her fingers like they had offended her. She sighed, something he noted she was doing a lot today. Then she started talking and Poe felt his eyebrows climbing higher and higher into his hairline as he listened to her. The others tossed in comments every once in a while - Finn mostly - and by the end of it his eyes were wide and he felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff.

"Let me see if I have this," he glanced around the room. "I was under the thrall of these three Chasinians, until you guys came to rescue me. Then I transferred all of my… devotion to Kina. We stopped for a bit and I was taken prisoner by pirates and got shot and now I’m okay."

He saw several people exchange looks before Kina replied, "That’s the gist of it, yes."

"I mean, if we’re gonna leave out all the super awkward touching and-" Finn started but Rey smacked him across the chest.

"We are."

"Huh," Poe grunted. "Maybe it’s for the best I don’t remember anything. Did I do anything embarrassing?"

"Yes."

"No."

"So much."

"It wasn’t that bad."

Poe looked between Chewie, Rey, Finn and Kina in turn before he sighed back into his seat. "You know what? I don’t actually want to know."

"That’s probably for the best," Rey smiled at him and he smiled back. Suddenly a thought occurred.

"So wait, what broke the thrall?" he asked, eyes darting around the room.

"You saved Kina," Finn said, nodding at the woman. "True love and all of that."

Poe felt his lips part and he turned but she was shaking her head. "No, not me." Her little half-smile was wry and she looked away from him, down by his legs. "BB-8."

The droid twirled at the sound of his name, lights flashing. "Thank you for saving me Friend Poe. But you should not do that."

Poe rubbed a hand along the droid. "Nah, I always got your back buddy. Besides, who else will keep the dark away?" He looked up and met Kina’s eyes and saw she was blinking back tears.

"Wait, your true love was Beebs?" Finn’s voice broke through the moment.

Kina rolled her eyes. "It has nothing to do with 'true love'. Just… love. In that moment, Poe chose someone he loved over what the Song was telling him to do."

"Yeah, but Beebs? He’s great and all but he’s just a droid." Finn still sounded dumbfounded.

Poe answered before Kina could. "He’s not just a droid. He’s my best friend."

BB-8 spun happily, light flashing rapidly. "You are my best friend as well Friend Poe."

He thought he heard Rey muffle a small 'aw' but he wasn’t certain. He did see Kina push herself away from the table and leave, several pairs of eyes following her.

"You gonna go after her?" Finn asked after a beat.

"Should I?" Three heads nodded at him. Poe’s brow furrowed. "What haven’t you told me?"

"Go to her," Rey said instead, laying a hand on his wrist.

He found her in the cargo bay, sitting on top of a crate with her face in her hands. K-0 was near her feet, spinning in worried circles.

"Poe help," the droid said as soon as it saw him. "Poe help Kina."

"Oh am I Poe now?" He replied good naturally, focusing on the droid while Kina wiped at her eyes. He let her have the moment, crouching down and holding a hand out to K-0 who regarded it dubiously.

"What want?"

"I was just gonna give you a pat hello, if that was okay," Poe responded, hand still outstretched.

Cautiously, K-0 moved towards him until just Poe’s fingertips touched the droid. When he ran a gentle stroke over the sensor array the droid leaned into it for a moment before jolting upright and backing away. "No more."

"No more," he agreed, holding his hands up and standing. His elbow was around the top of the crate which made it easy for him to lean on it while he looked at Kina. "So, I think maybe you and I might need to talk."

"About what?" The whistle was shaky, said around a sniffle and she wiped the back of her hand across her nose.

Poe turned his back to the crate, leaning on both elbows and staring off in the same direction she was. "I don’t know. But I get the impression that having all of my devotion wasn’t the bang up experience everyone expects it to be."

Kina snorted and he smiled. "It was… an experience," she said after a moment. "But it wasn’t you."

"What do you mean?"

"It was your face and your body and your voice," Kina explained. "But it wasn’t you. I could see bits of you in there but…" She reached over and laid a hand on his forearm. "All the things I like about you weren’t there."

Like. Not liked. Poe took a deep breath and covered her hand with his, still not looking at her. "I owe you a thank you. For-"

She cut him off, squeezing his arm. "You don’t. You really don’t. I would have…" He waited while she found her words. "I would have done a lot more."

"I also think I might owe you an apology."

He felt the stir in the air when she turned and he lifted his head to look up at her. Maker she was beautiful, possibly even more so than the last time he’d seen her. "For what?"

"That day, when you tried to explain to me… about droids. I wasn’t really listening to you." Her eyebrows raised and he gave her a half smile. "I thought you wanted me to, I don’t know, set all the droids free or something."

"Maybe someday," she said with a smile. "But all I wanted right then was for you to see."

"Yeah," he nodded. "I get that now. And I do. See, that is."

Kina’s smile widened and she looked across the room where K-0 and BB-8 were in vehement conversation with each other, although their beeps and whistles were low enough that they couldn’t be heard. "I know. You were willing to die for BB-8. That’s… that’s more than I could ever have expected of you."

Poe shrugged, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck. "Well, like I said, he’s my best friend."

Kina nodded and they stayed there for a bit in silence before he felt her move, her boots hitting the ground next to him.

"I think it’s approaching dinner, we should go back."

"Hey," he caught her arm and when she turned she was close. Close enough that he could feel the heat of her body. Close enough that it would only take the smallest movement to lean in and kiss her.

He shook his head of the thought. "I’m sorry I couldn’t see in time. For us."

She bit her lip and he watched as she raised a hand to his cheek. "Me too."

Chpt 26

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Limitless- Chapter 4

F/M Main Pairing: Y/N x Johnny Seo (Side Pairing: Y/N x Jaehyun)

Genre: Fantasy AU; Harry Potter AU

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: explicit language, unsolicited love potion drinking, and some Johnny angst at the end (is that a warning?)

Summary: It might sound cruel, but Y/N was willing to do anything if it meant getting Johnny Seo off her back...

Tag List: @do-you-like-riddles @ki-aechan @the-usernames-i-like-are-taken @rissaxworld @dru-shadow @completenctrash @haechans-sunflower @neocultech-baby @jaectizen @yutamist @lunavbm @seriousballoon @nekojohndo @n0teanoshade @lerissa @kickin--it​

A/N: Some stuff goes down in this part, so prepare accordingly...

Chapter Four

“It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love...” (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince)

It was morning when I found Mark, Jisung, and Chenle sitting together in the library while they worked on a class project. I smiled in their direction as I approached them, returning Jisung’s greeting when I paused next to their table. “Mark,” I said, startling the younger boy who wasn’t expecting to be addressed. “Do you have a moment?”

Mark glanced at Jisung, and my step-brother merely shrugged in response. “Okay,” Mark said, and I wordlessly led him to a quieter corner of the library.

“Don’t say anything to your brother,” I started, and Mark was immediately suspicious.

“What’s this about, Y/N?”

“I was talking to Jaemin the other night in the Hufflepuff common room,” I said. “He told me that you were really good at making potions.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed sheepishly. “It’s my best subject.”

“He told me the same thing,” I said, leaning in closer. “I have something to ask you, but you can’t tell your brother.”

“Why?”

“Because Taeyong might actually kick my ass if he found out,” I said, and perhaps it would’ve been humorous under any other circumstances to see the expression of shock petrifying Mark’s features. 

“Really?” Mark questioned with wide eyes.

I grinned at his innocent expression. “What do you know about love potions?”

“Love potions?”

I nodded, leaning back against one of the bookshelves. “Well?”

“Uh...I know that Amortentia is the most powerful love potion...or that’s what my textbook says.”

“What about something with less of an impact?”

“Oh! Like a prank or something?”

“Exactly!” I beamed, reaching over to squeeze Mark’s shoulder reassuringly. “Do you think you can make something like that for me?”

“What for?”

I shrugged. “It’s nothing that’ll get you in trouble.”

But Mark still hesitated, searching the area around us as if expecting a Professor to jump out of nowhere and deduct house points from Ravenclaw. “I don’t know, Y/N. You seem pretty cool, but the whole thing sounds risky...”

“I’ll owe you a huge favor,” I pleaded with him. “Anything that you want.”

“Anything?” Mark gasped with eyes full of possibilities that I dare not surmise.

“Within reason,” I added, unsure of how to process the unfamiliar gleam in his his golden-colored eyes.

“Okay,” Mark finally agreed. “But it won’t be very strong.”

“That’s fine,” I reassured him, and I watched Mark carefully as he started to return to his table.

“Oh, and Mark, I have one more thing to ask you...”

He turned back around, hesitantly interlocking his hands in front of him. “Yeah?”

I smirked at his timid nature. “Let’s keep this a secret from Johnny.”

One Week Later

It wasn’t very long thereafter that I learned of Mark’s inability to maintain any semblance of discretion concerning our plan. But I was still annoyed when Jisung brought up the subject while we were busy attending to our individual homework assignments. “I heard about what you’re planning with Mark.”

I rolled my eyes, turning my head to the side to look at Jisung. “He told you?”

Chenle snorted from next to us, relaxing on the wide couch nestled in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. “Mark is the worst person you could ask to keep a secret.”

I groaned at the revelation. “Just as long as Johnny doesn’t find out-”

“Why?” Jisung interrupted. 

“We’re not exactly on good terms,” I lied, hoping to assuage Jisung’s natural curiosity. But it was true, though, and that much had become apparent ever since the stunt Johnny had pulled with the Gryffindors during their tryout session. 

“Johnny’s really not so bad, Y/N,” Jisung said. “He always helps me and Haechan with our projects.”

“Maybe he’s more tolerable when it comes to first-years,” I grumbled.

“So, what are you doing with a love potion?” Chenle asked, leaning across Jisung to look at me. “Does it have something to do with Johnny?”

“Maybe it’s a surprise,” I said in response.

Chenle pouted when he realized that I wouldn’t tell him anything else, returning his gaze to the empty sheet of parchment in front of him. In the meantime, I tried to focus on my project, but I couldn’t help but wonder who else might’ve found out about my plans with Mark. It was true that he agreed to keep the secret from Johnny, but if ran his mouth to the wrong person, then Johnny could find out irregardless. And I shivered at the thought of Ten or Yuta discovering the truth.

“Jaehyun!” Chenle interrupted my concerning thoughts, and I sighed in relief at the mention of the name that had managed to provide me with good memories of Hogwarts thus far.

Jaehyun greeted his cousin warmly before turning his attention to me. “Y/N, I hope you’re not planning to skip out on dinner again.”

I grinned at his tone. “Is this an invitation?”

Jaehyun laughed, holding out a hand for me which I graciously accepted. He helped me into a standing position, wrapping a friendly arm around my shoulders as he led me closer to the door. “I missed you last night,” he said, and my heart fluttered inside my chest at his profound declaration.

I glanced back at Chenle and Jisung, watching them rush to put their things away before they could join us. “I hope it wasn’t too boring without me,” I commented, easily sliding into a comfortable conversation with Jaehyun as we walked to the Great Hall.

It was never anything special, but I liked the idea of spending time with my younger brother and his friends in the Great Hall. Yeah, the food was fine, but it sometimes made me feel a little nostalgic for Durmstrang when I encountered familiar meals. Nevertheless, I always tried to make the most of these nightly occurrences, and I guess the other Gryffindor students had grown used to me sitting with them instead of my Hufflepuff house mates.

Sometimes, we were joined by Taeyong, Jungwoo, and Jaehyun’s other friends who were aligned with different houses. For the most part, they were pleasant to be around, and they didn’t seem to care about my past or the stigma attached to my last name. In fact, more often than not, they made a great effort to include me in their conversations, even if that meant trying to seem knowledgeable about Quidditch.

But tonight was different, and I couldn’t quite figure out why I felt like something monumental was about to happen. It didn’t help that I continued to meet Johnny’s curious gaze from across the room, and he was looking in the direction of our table more often than not. I narrowed my eyes when I caught him staring again, glancing away when Haechan decided to sit down next to my brother.

“Guess what!” he whispered, looking around at the others with a familiar dark smirk.

“Another one of your pranks?” Chenle asked, laughing when Haechan shot him a glare.

“No,” he huffed, reaching into his robes to retrieve a dark bottle. “Look what I have.”

Jisung’s eyes flew open in recognition. “How did you get that?”

I spotted the dark bottle from over Jisung’s shoulder, recognizing it as a familiar wine brand that my father enjoyed. “That’s classified information,” Haechan said.

However, even I knew better than to let the younger boys mess around with alcohol. “Give me that,” I groaned, trying to snatch the bottle away from his hands.

“If you wanted some, you should’ve just asked!” Haechan grinned, popping the cork before filling a goblet with the remainder of the contents. “I’m not really in the mood for pumpkin juice again.”

“Yeah? But you don’t have to break the rules,” I grumbled.

“You should try this, Y/N,” Haechan said, sliding a goblet closer to me from across the table.

“Where did you get it?” I asked, holding the glass to sniff at the rim.

“I had someone sneak it in from Hogsmeade,” Haechan explained with a proud smile.

“You can’t do that.” Winwin suddenly intervened after catching wind of our conversation, and he appeared like he was ready to initiate another one of his infamous lectures.

I smiled at his evident disbelief before trying a sip of the drink. The smell was strangely alluring, and the taste reminded me of something sweet. “Woah,” I remarked, quickly downing the remainder of the beverage. 

“Hey!” Jisung protested, frowning when I returned the goblet to the table. “I wanted to try it!”

“You're too young!” I said, but I still felt my face warm when I realized how thoughtless I had been to consume the entirety of the goblet, especially when there was alcohol involved. But there was no rational explanation for the sudden, and all-consuming desire that had overtaken me when my tongue first tasted the liquid. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t even realize...”

I broke off when I detected something warm prickling at the back of my neck. I lifted my head to survey the room, and I found my eyes drawn to the Slytherin table where a familiar pair of dark eyes met mine like a magnet. I held my breath, feeling the unfamiliar coils of desire lick hot inside the pit of my stomach. 

Johnny smirked, and the arrogance would normally incite the most volatile parts of my anger, but I felt strangely attracted to the way he was looking at me. And I continued watching him as he rose from his table, making his way out of the Great Hall without giving me another glance. “Y/N?” Jisung questioned, but I couldn’t look away from the spot where Johnny had disappeared. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, waving him off as I collected myself. “I’ll be right back.”

Jisung was still concerned, but he didn’t voice his oppositions, and I was already overtaken by a peculiar insistence as I quietly followed Johnny’s footsteps into the empty hallways.

It wasn’t difficult to find Johnny - almost like he was expecting to see me around the corner, and I discovered him sitting on one of the benches against the walls. His smile was bright as he nodded towards the empty spot next to him. “Were you looking for me, Y/N?”

I paused for a second as the room swam into focus, but I couldn’t resist the pull directing me towards him, stumbling over my feet as I sat next to Johnny on the bench. “Why did you leave?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he explained, pulling me closer with a chuckle. “This is nice, don’t you think? We can act civil around one another, Y/N.”

“I'm always civil,” I told him, and it felt like my words no longer belonged to my consciousness, but to an outside force that has suddenly infiltrated my thoughts and taken command.

“I was wondering how Mark’s love potion would work,” Johnny continued, sighing when I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Word of advice: you shouldn’t ask Mark to keep secrets. But it was actually Haechan who suggested that we turn this around against you.”

“I don’t care,” I whined, fighting to get even closer to him. Because it felt like the space between us, however minimal, was still eclipsing. And Johnny hardly opposed my advances, stretching out one of his arms to wrap around my shoulders in a rather weak attempt to discourage my advances.

“This is how you should always treat me, Y/N,” Johnny remarked, and he was more than receptive to my touches. He didn’t seem to mind that I had practically wrapped myself around him like an octopus, inhaling the heavy scent of his cologne.

“Of course I should,” I replied, giggling when Johnny reached out to curl his fingers around my waist before dragging me into his lap. “This is nice,” I remarked, securing my arms around his neck.

“Oh?” Johnny questioned. “Do you like being close to me?”

I nodded, tracing my fingertips delicately against the well-defined line of his mandible. “You smell good.”

Johnny laughed, and I didn’t quite understand why the compliment was funny, but it was also nice to hear him sound so happy. “I guess the potion was stronger than what Mark told my cousin.” Johnny smirked, leaning in closer. “Do you want to know what the best part is? You won’t remember any of this.”

I frowned, wondering why he was talking like this when I was being so forthcoming with my feelings. “I really like you, Johnny,” I tried again.

“I wish you did,” Johnny said, and there was strange sadness to his tone that I didn’t appreciate. But maybe it was because he was still talking, and I could think of a million better things that we could do with our time. Which is why, when he attempted to open his mouth again, I didn’t allow Johnny to say anything else before I was kissing him, bunching the front of his robes between my hands as I held him closer to me like an anchor. 

It was like time had come to a stand-still, and, at first, Johnny was frozen in place, like he was too shocked to return my feverish kisses. “Johnny,” I whispered again, trying to slide my tongue between the tight purse of his lips.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Johnny gasped, pulling back just enough to look at me. “What the hell was that?”

“I’m trying to show you,” I said, lunging for him again. “You won’t believe what I’m saying, so I have to prove it to you.”

Johnny shook his head, but he was much less opposed the second time I tried to kiss him. And even though he made an effort to force me away from him, his hesitant pushes against my shoulders eventually exchanged themselves for an impossible hold, wrapping one arm around my waist to pull me tight to his front. 

“Fuck, this is good,” Johnny groaned, and we exchanged heavy breaths as he returned my affection with aggressive touches that managed to steal every last reserve of oxygen that remained inside my lungs.

“Let’s go back to your dorm,” I suggested, deciding that Johnny was finally right where I wanted him.

However, I was completely unprepared for him to abruptly jerk his head back, shoving me off his lap until I was sprawled out across the bench on my back. “That was too far,” Johnny said, drawing a trembling hand through his hair while I pouted back at him. 

“Don’t you want this?” I asked, reaching for him again, but Johnny sternly returned my hand before rising from the bench.

“Yeah, but I can’t do this to you,” he said, and there was something defeatist about his expression. “This was a stupid idea.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, desperate to regain his attention.

“Come on,” Johnny said. “I’ll take you back to your room.”

“Johnny!” I protested, but he rolled his eyes and grabbed my hand, pulling me along behind him as we started for the moving staircases. 

“I’m a total idiot for this,” Johnny said, and he appeared nothing short of conflicted. “You were the one who tried to give me the potion!”

“I would never do that!” I gasped, and Johnny shook his head.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Johnny remarked. “You’re not in control of your actions, and as much as I’d love to get back at you for this whole thing, I’m actually a much bigger gentleman than you give me credit for.”

“I know that, silly,” I said, holding tighter to Johnny’s hand as I swung our arms together. “That’s part of the reason why I like you.”

“You don’t really mean that, Y/N,” Johnny said bitterly, and there was a long silence between us until I realized that we were close to the Hufflepuff dorm. 

“Johnny?” I eventually questioned when we paused outside of the entrance.

“I know you don’t like me,” he repeated with a much firmer tone, like he was trying to convince himself, and he quickly pressed one finger to my lips before I could try to counter him. “When Haechan told me about your plan to give me the potion, I wanted to embarrass you. Because I know that’s what you planned to do to me! But I guess there was another part of me that maybe wanted to take advantage of the situation...”

Johnny trailed off, clearing his throat anxiously as he knocked on door, summoning the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff who scrutinzed the two of us with narrowed eyes. “Password?” the painting requested, and Johnny looked back at me.

“Winter Blizzard,” I replied, and Johnny wordlessly led us both inside, walking up the stairs leading to the girl’s portion of the dormitory.

“This isn’t what I had planned,” Johnny said. “Which room is yours?”

I pointed to the door, and Johnny cautiously opened it just enough to look inside before letting out a sigh of relief. “My roommates are probably still at dinner,” I said.

Johnny nodded, swinging the door open even wider, drawing me closer inside. “I’d say that you owe me, but you won’t remember this, and I’m pretty sure that you’d kick my ass if you were in your right mind.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, squealing when I jumped on top of my bed, looking back at Johnny with a bright grin. “Tonight was really fun.”

Johnny scoffed at my comment, but there was a strange glimmer of affection in his dark gaze. “As long as someone enjoyed it.”

“You didn’t?” I asked, giving him my best pout while reaching out for his hand which Johnny reluctantly allowed.

He was quiet for a moment, studying the way I gently ran my thumbs across the smooth skin of his palm. “Yeah,” he conceded. “I liked it.”

“Good,” I said, falling back against my pillows after releasing his hand. “Are we going to meet again like this? When should we tell the others?”

Johnny smiled, shaking his head as he looked down at the floor before addressing my questions. "You’re lucky that I like you, Y/N,” Johnny said. “But let’s keep this a secret between us, okay?”

I nodded obediently, and Johnny chuckled before leaving me alone in the solitude of the dormitory.

The next morning, I woke-up early with one of the worst headaches that I had experienced in a long time. It was practically splitting my skull, and I groaned as my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Everything was hurting, and I carefully made my way to the bathroom before any of my roommates noticed my unexpected dilemma. 

What happened last night? I wondered, looking at my pale reflection in the mirror, cupping my hands below the water and splashing it against my face.

“Hey, Y/N,” Lisa said, joining me next to the sink. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head and sending tiny droplets of water onto the counter-top. 

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but I also had very few intentions of telling my roommate that I couldn’t remember anything that had happened to me the night before. And I studied her from the corner of my eye, watching as she messed with her hair while wearing a look of complete concentration. I resisted the urge to groan, and I left the bathroom in a rush to finish getting ready in time for breakfast.

Of course, despite my repeated reassurances that the headache would eventually pass, it haunted me for most of the morning, following me all the way to the Great Hall. Graciously, the sight of Jisung managed to bring some solace to the chaos, and I sat down next to my step-brother with my best attempt at a smile. “Guess what?” he asked, leaning in closer so that I could hear him over everyone else.

“Hmmm?” I asked, sighing in relief after taking a drink of the pumpkin juice that I usually barely tolerated.

“Jaehyun said that he was gonna let Chenle and I help with the Quidditch team this year!”

“Oh?” I grimaced because Jisung’s high-pitched squeal did no favors for my suffering head.

“I guess we’re, like, assistants or something,” Jisung continued, taking a bite of food before widening his eyes as if remembering something. “Where were you last night?” Jisung asked.

It was a simple question, but he didn’t need to know how frustrated I felt because I couldn’t remember anything past dinner. “I don’t know,” I told him truthfully. “I can’t remember anything after I left the Great Hall.”

Jisung frowned. “Maybe you drank too much of the wine.”

“What?”

“Haechan let you drink that stuff he stole from Hogsmeade,” Jisung elaborated. “Maybe it was too strong.”

I turned my head to the side to locate Haechan at the Slytherin table, laughing next to Johnny and his friends without a single care in the world. It would be easy to accept Jisung’s explanation - to write off my condition as nothing more than a careless hangover. “But I didn’t even drink that much,” I murmured.

It was all I could think about, and I tracked Haechan’s movements once he left the Great Hall. Because I was determined to get to the bottom of things, and it would start with the second-year student who seemed all too pleased with himself after sitting next to his cousin. But first, I had to deal with my classes while struggling with my pounding headache.

Unfortunately, no matter what I did, the condition persisted through the day, and I dreaded having to endure Johnny Seo during potions even more than usual. “You seem different,” Jungwoo said, politely walking with me to my potions class. 

“Really?” I asked, surprised hat Jungwoo had mentioned anything. “I’ve just had a headache all morning.”

“You know,” Jungwoo said, pausing outside of my classroom. “I don’t think anyone would fault you for missing classes.”

“They’re too important,” I said. “And I don’t feel that bad.”

Jungwoo nodded, even though I could tell that he didn’t believe me. “If you’re sure...”

“I’ll be okay,” I said, offering him a smile. “But thank you, Jungwoo.”

“Well, Jaehyun would be pissed if I didn’t ask,” Jungwoo said, laughing like it wasn’t completely unexpected.

But he was gone before I could question him, and I decided that I didn’t have the mental capacity to think about the implications of his statement. Instead, I hesitantly walked into the potions classroom, groaning when I realized that Johnny was already waiting for me at our usual table. His smile was especially wide, patting the chair next to him. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” Johnny said, and there was an upbeat signature to his tone that made me feel immediately on edge.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” I grunted, crossing my arms over my chest as I glared at him.

“No reason,” Johnny chirped, looking at me with curious eyes. “You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered. 

“Seriously,” Johnny said, and his smile was gone as he studied me. “Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick,” I said, reaching for my notebook. “I just have a headache.”

“Really?” Johnny asked, and I found myself hesitating when his gaze lingered on my lips.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said, forcing my attention back to the front of the room. “Why are you so interested? It’s not like you care.”

Professor Zhang entered the room at that moment with a sharp command for everyone to prepare their cauldrons. I sighed as I reached for mine, dragging it closer while I noticed that Johnny had yet to react to the simple directive. In fact, Johnny was wearing a fierce scowl, and I’m sure that the rest of our classmates were just as shocked to see Johnny stand up in the middle of class before walking out the door without another word.