#if I could have anything from the silver age brought back it’d be her

[sisaloofafump]

Imagining if Lois lane’s one time cowgirl bodyguard had stuck around the world’s finest a little more

[scullysexual]

You're Never Just Anything To Me (7)

@today-in-fic | ao3 | Prev. Chapter

A look into Mulder and Scully’s relationship starting from Millennium going all the way up to Requiem.

Trigger warning: self harm (it's not graphic but it's there)

VII. Sein und Zeit.

PART ONE.

He receives a phone call a little after 6pm Tuesday night. At first Mulder thinks it’s Scully but when it’s his mother’s voice that sounds through instead, he’s a little taken aback.

“Mom? Hi. Is everything okay?”

It is, fortunately. Though a little strange for her to call him so suddenly, her next request is even stranger.

“Are you free this weekend?”

Weekends are for him and Scully, he thinks.

“Uh…maybe. Why?”

“I’d like you to visit,” his mother says. “If you’re free, of course.”

Mulder thinks it over. He could bear a weekend away from Scully and he’s sure she wouldn’t mind.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll come up.”

“Wonderful,” his mother exclaims. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah, see you…” The phone dial tones and Mulder stares into space wondering what this could be about.

…

He tells Scully about his weekend trip to Connecticut.

“That’s great, Mulder,” she says with a genuine smile. “I have stuff to do this weekend anyway so you should go.”

“Yeah…” he says though his mind is still trying to read between the lines. He accepted ages ago that he wasn’t going to have much of a relationship with his mother- it was too murky, she had kept too much to herself. He was prepared to go at it alone.

“She probably just wants to see you.” He is forced out of his thoughts by Scully who is still looking at him, responding as if she’s just read his mind. “I wouldn’t look too much into it.”

…

When the front door is opened, his mother immediately hugs him.

It’s strange to receive any form of comfort from her and Mulder is taken aback. It takes him a moment to process, to wrap his own arms around her.

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” she says pulling away. His stomach twists as he regards her, the way she doesn’t quite meet his eyes, it’s like she’s holding something back. “I just wanted to see you.”

Mulder calms his worries. Scully is right, she’s probably just trying to make up for lost time. They sit down on the couch and talk. Mulder waits for the moment when she’ll open up, tell him what is on her mind, she never does. Yet as the time moves on Mulder begins to grow more comfortable, he finds himself liking it, enjoying her company. He doesn’t think he’ll ever see her as his mother, not quite, but a close acquaintance, possibly.

They agree to make this in person meet up thing semi-regular, to be planned around his work, his life, Scully (though he’s yet to tell her about that, another time) It is Sunday and Mulder makes the drive back home. It likes this. He could get used to this.

…

On his third visit, he mentions Scully. It only made sense with their plans to try IVF, him becoming a father would make his mother a grandmother. She deserves to know.

“That’s great, Fox,” his mother says sounding genuine. “She sounds like a good one.”

He smiles, thinking about Phoebe and Diana- both of whom his mother met. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, she is.”

“And marriage?” Teena asks. “Surely you’re not just thinking about impregnating the woman and that being that?”

Mulder balks. Not at the idea of marriage to Scully- he could actually think of nothing better- but because he’s never really thought about it before. They’ve never discussed it, Scully’s never once brought it up. But yeah…Yeah, it’d make sense.

“You can do a lot more for her as her husband than you could otherwise.”

He’s in his mother’s room searching for the engagement ring where she said it would be. He finds it safely encased inside a separate jewellery box. Mulder regards it: a silver band, the diamond in the middle. He stares at it, imaging it on Scully’s hand. Scully doesn’t wear rings, she spends too much time in the chest cavity of a corpse to wear rings, she told him once but he can picture this one on her finger, clear as day. Mulder pockets it. When the right time comes- when the IVF has worked and she is pregnant with their baby- he’ll ask her. His stomach twists with excited nerves.

He bids goodbye to his mother for another week, thanks for her the ring, and makes arranges for their next weekend meeting.

It never happens.

…

He is spiralling, out of control. He makes connections that aren’t there, holds the pill bottle and blames their conspirators. What looks staged to Mulder appears as a normal suicide scene to Scully. People commit suicide, Mulder, when they’re in pain. You’re mother was in pain.

He begs her to do the autopsy and Scully blanches. No, she couldn’t do it. With strangers there’s a detachment, they are just a body, evidence on a metal table, it’s so much easier to think that when she doesn’t know them.

“But if you don’t do it, I might never know the truth,” he tells her. There’s pain in his eyes as he says it, a strain in his voice. You’re the one I trust he is telling her.

So she agrees.

…

She almost doesn’t go to his apartment.

She wants to process it all herself, to think things over in her own mind before she tells him. He is ruthless. When his mind is set it’s pretty hard to change it. Scully sighs and removes her glasses. She’ll go over, it wasn’t right to keep this from him, even if he wasn’t going to believe her. She packs her bag, placing the reports carefully inside. She steels her heart and her mind, tells herself to deliver the facts just as she would do with any other family member.

But he is just not any other and that just might break her resolve.

…

Mulder listens to the tape over and over again, searching for clues, listening between the lines. He also does it for comfort, to hear her voice- a voice he’ll never hear again. He shuts his eyes against the onslaught of grief, replays the message, refocuses his mind on what matters. She was holding something back.

Everyone refused to acknowledge the similarities; Scully, Skinner, all believing he was just personalising the case but he knew it was similar and his mother knew it to. He should’ve persuaded her to talk. He’s gone off course, is mind elsewhere thinking about rings and babies and not what was more present: his search, his answers, the truth about Samantha.

There’s a knock against the door and when he opens it Scully stands there. She looks exactly how he feels: exhausted but he is dragging her inside, finally glad she is here because he’s cracked the code, it was about Samantha, it was always about Samantha.

He pulls her towards the answering machine, replays the message, implores her to listen to it properly. Samantha was never abducted by aliens, it was just something he was led to believe and that is what his mother wanted to tell him and they killed her for it, because of what she knew, what she—

“Is killed herself, Mulder.”

Scully’s words are said forcefully, harshly, resolutely.

They land like a blow, a slap in the face, a bomb going off.

No, no…the message on the answering machine, the staged crime scene, it couldn’t…it couldn’t be that simple.

Scully is talking but Mulder can barely hear her. She’s pulling papers from her bag but he doesn’t want to see them. He shakes his head, in shock.

“She didn’t want to live,” Scully says gently, the paper extended out towards him.

He shatters to pieces, the world collapsing all around him. She was lying, she was in on it, she did it. He shakes the desk, it’s contents rattling about repeating She’s lying, she’s lying, she’s lying…

“Mulder—”

Her hand against his shoulder wakes him.

Scully wouldn’t lie.

He looks at her and sees the pain, the sympathy, the empathy, the worry reflecting back at him.

She doesn’t want this to be true either.

But it is.

She killed herself.

His entire body collapses onto her, gripping her tight enough he’s sure it hurts, curling his frame into a ball around her, the sobs ripping painfully from his chest. He shakes and shakes.

Scully curls herself around him and he feels the faintest touch of her lips on his neck, the gentle rocking. She tells him that it’s all going to be okay.

He wants it to all be okay.

…

He cries. He screams. He sobs. He throws up. It’s 3am and when he tries to hurt himself she tries to redirect him to hurt her instead.

That stops him. His eyes are red and his cheeks are tear stained. He looks at her horror struck.

“Scully, I could never hurt you,” he tells her, horrified at even the thought.

She pulls her to him. “I know, I know,” she whispers. It doesn’t matter, she’s distracted him long enough for the urge to go away.

She makes him feel good instead, she makes him forget even just for a time, to bask in the relief of not feeling like that for even a minute was enough sometimes.

The gentle gyrate of her hips, his hands holding onto her like a lifetime, his face leaning against her chest. She feels his body tense, a muffled groan escaping his lips. She feels the rush of his cum filling her and she doesn’t even care that she didn’t get to come.

He kisses the tops of her breasts, twirls his tongue around her cleavage. She feels her nipples tighten, her chest pushing against his face off its own accord.

Mulder looks up at her, asking, begging. Scully rises on her knees, her chest now level with his face. He wastes no time, latching onto one nipple, suckling. Scully gasps, she feels a throb between her legs, his cum slipping out of her.

Her pleasure is his comfort. He pulls away and quickly moves to the other, all the while his hand snakes around her thigh, coming to rest between her legs. His sifts through her wetness and his cum, slowly fucking her with his fingers while his bites, sucks, and tongues at her nipple.

For a moment Scully lets herself forget, too.

…

She wakes after three hours of sleep of broken sleep. Groggy and tired, the sheets stuck to her sweat covered body, Mulder clinging on.

Scully extracts herself from his hold, not an easy task when he has an ironclad grip on her. She was sweaty and sticky, sore and achy. She wanted a shower before she had to face the next round of demons.

She thought that had been the end of it. When she had come and Mulder had fallen asleep against her breasts, she thought they were finally done, to fall asleep and not worry until tomorrow.

He was pacing the room like a caged animal, his footsteps loud and heavy against the floor, repeatedly pinching, pulling, and scratching at the skin of his forearm. She could see the scratches, the way he’d marked his skin, hurt himself. She didn’t want him to do that anymore. She offers herself up for the second time.

Scully touches the back of her head. There’s a bump where her head had collided violently with the wall. She remembers his kiss that was so hard it was borderline painful, the punishing pace of his thrusts. She let him throw her onto the bed, feels the harsh tug of his hand in her hair pulling him back towards her. There’s bruising around her wrists were he’d gripped them too tight, pulled them above her head while he thrusted in and out of her. She let him use her however she wished becoming not a person with her own pleasures and preferences but simply a body. A body designed to take away his pain. His cum spurted all over her; her back, her stomach, her chest. Not her face, though. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her face no matter how hard she tried. He was ashamed, she realised. Ashamed to get off on using her in such a way. It didn’t matter if she was the one who offered. When she tried to help him, to take over, he’d just grabbed her arm held it down and she could do nothing but watch as he jerked himself off.

She’s still covered in his cum, now dry and flakey. They didn’t have much energy to do much other than sleep after that.

She gathers her clothes, picking up the pieces, and the pieces of herself off the floor. She goes into the bathroom, places yesterday’s clothes on the counter, switches on the shower and waits for the water to heat up. She pees, she brushes her teeth with the spare toothbrush that has become hers, pulls open the drawer with her soap and towels in it, Mulder has something similar at her place.

So much of each other exists in the other’s space, she thinks. And soon, not long now, something shared will exist in her.

…

He lets the shower water lull him awake. In blissful ignorance he finds contentment. He rolls over onto the side he knows is empty and snuggles into her pillow, inhaling her scent.

The shower water stops suddenly. He is awake. Reality kicks in.

He hears the door to the bathroom open, the whirl of the extractor fan as she switches it on. The bed dips, he keeps his eyes closed, he doesn’t want to face today.

She smells of lavender and jasmine when she leans over him. Mulder wants to lose himself in it, to forget everything, and exist in this wonderfully scented Scully world. Her lips press a kiss into his hairline, her fingers soothingly combing through his hair.

“I love you, Mulder,” she says. A whisper, a secret and he clenches the sheets in his fist.

I love you, too he so desperately wants to say back.

A knock on the door interrupts him. He stays quiet. He keeps his eyes closed. The mattress springs back up as Scully stands, her bare feet padding along the floor on the way to the front door.

His bedroom door is left open, he can hear Skinner at the door, their conversation. Billie LaPierre wants to talk to him. His heart catches and his eyes open. He’s clambering out of the bed, throwing on his jeans and t-shirt is record time.

“It’s not a—”

“What is it?” Mulder interrupts. He ignores Scully’s worried look. He needs to know what this is.

“The case has heated up,” says Skinner slightly taken off guard by Mulder’s sudden appearance. “I’ve booked two flights for us.”

Mulder nods.

“Well, then you better book three,” says Scully. Her voice makes room for no argument.

Skinner sits in the living room as they collect their stuff. He wants to talk about last night but he can’t seem to think of the right words. He also doesn’t want to have this conversation with Skinner in the room next door.

When Scully leans forward to grab something he spies the bruises starting to form on her wrist. He feels sick. I did that, he thinks with a sickening thought.

“Scully, I’m—”

“Work Stuff remember, Mulder? Let’s focus on the case.”

He nods, biting his tongue. Work Stuff, Us Stuff, Personal Stuff…it was all starting to meld together, to entangle up as one whole thing. How could they keep the Work Stuff and Us Stuff separate when it was all becoming two ends of the same thing.

But he doesn’t say anything. Scully puts her coat on, pulls the sleeves right over her wrists. She hides the darkest part of their night away and leaves the bedroom, Mulder following close behind.

[rubysunnday]

driver’s licence

Dear Gentle Reader, tonight is a grand occasion. It is a rare feat for  Lady Danbury to throw a ball for the ton but it is even rarer for the Duke and Duchess of Hastings to be able to attend, what with their ever-growing brood. 

Tonight, however, Dear Reader, these two things are happening in concession. Not only are our beloved Duke and Duchess of Hastings returning to us, but the eldest Bridgerton daughter, Y/N Bridgerton for those who struggle to remember the numerous children’s names, has been seen promenading with Lord Barclay in Hyde Park. 

Perhaps tonight will be Miss Bridgerton’s lucky night and will fulfil the Dowager Viscountess’s wishes of seeing all of her children married. The Viscount Bridgerton has recently been married to, formerly, Miss Kate Sharma - a marriage that seems to be a perfect love match.

Could the 1814 season see two Bridgerton children married in a matter of weeks?

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 4th June 1814

If she was being entirely honest with herself - something Y/N rarely did because most of the time it meant that her mother had been right and it meant admitting that she’d been right - she wasn’t expecting to be married off anytime soon. 

Unlike Eloise, Y/N wasn’t entirely opposed to marriage. She wasn’t going to marry just for the sake of it, however. Whoever it ended up being had to be perfect and had to be someone she would happily spend the rest of her life with.

Y/N had two excellent examples of marriage to live up to. Daphne and Simon and Anthony and Kate - both love matches and both couples completely and utterly obsessed with their spouses. 

Lord Barclay had been nice to her. He’d danced with her, promenaded with her and had bought her - and her sister’s and mother - flowers. He was relatively knew to his lordship, his father had passed away the previous year and left his estate and title to his first son. 

Lord Barclay - Matthew, he’d told her to call him Matthew - had a younger brother who was nearer Y/N’s age but she hadn’t seen him anywhere in London. If the ton’s rumours were to be taken as gospel, he’d fled to America to get away from his father and his older brother.

But Y/N didn’t care about him. She liked Lord Barclay and after almost two years out in society and no sign of any marriage offers... well, her mother had always wanted to see all of her children married. 

And if he asked her to marry him - which she suspected would be coming soon - she wouldn’t say no.

But there was a niggling voice in the back of her head (one that sounded suspiciously like her mother and her brother, Colin) that kept asking if she was happy or if she was just settling. 

Colin’s displeasure and hatred of Lord Barclay was evident. He wasn’t admitting why he hated the man but every time his name was brought up or he came over to offer Y/N a dance, Colin would step forward protectively and pull Y/N away - unless another member of the family was around.

Colin was part of the reason why Y/N was having doubts about agreeing to marriage. He’d confided in her one night about how he didn’t want her to just settle and wanted her to be happy. 

But Lady Danbury’s ball was going to be the night she finally decided. Y/N could feel that something was going to happen that night. She was excited to see Matthew again and to, maybe, become his fiancee. 

It’d been a wonderful day. Daphne had joined Y/N, Eloise and their brothers for a ride through Hyde Park. They’d had picnic and then returned home to prepare for the ball that night.

Y/N had chosen one of her favourite new dresses to wear - Matthew had suggested the fabric when he’d accompanied her to the modiste to pick up some new dresses. 

She was excited to see him at the ball and talk to him. He’d been a bit distant, lately, but Y/N put it down to stress about his lordship. But there was still something niggling her in the back of her mind. And it wasn’t Colin, who was yelling up the stairs for her to hurry up. 

The dress was a beautiful lilac with silver flowers and pearls. She had her maid curl and pin her hair up with a circlet of flowers around it and wore the earrings Daphne had given her for her birthday a few months ago.

“You look beautiful, dearest,” Violet said, standing behind Y/N. 

Y/N smiled at her mother in the mirror and brought a hand to the necklace around her neck. It’d been a present from Matthew a few days ago. “It does suit the dress.”

Violet paused, looking as if she was contemplating saying something. “Y/N... are you sure about Lord Barclay?”

Y/N looked around at her mother and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Are you happy with him? You’re not just settling?” Y/N paused. She’d been so certain and now, with her mother voicing the doubts she’d been having since... well, since Monday’s Whistledown had come out and since Colin had spoken to her.

Monday’s Whistledown had mentioned Matthew and had said he’d been seen with a mysterious young woman who most certainly was not Y/N. But she’d just put it down to her being his sister. But now she wasn’t so sure. She loved Matthew, she truly did. But... it was nothing like the love Anthony and Kate had for one another or what Daphne and Simon shared.

“I...” Y/N hesitated, looking down at her shoes. “I don’t want to lie to you, Mama,” she whispered, looking up at her mother, “but I don’t know. Monday’s Whistledown has made me doubt some things. I love him, I do but... well, I doubt it would ever be anything like Anthony or Daphne both have.”

Violet sighed softly and walked over to her daughter, embracing her tightly. Y/N  hid her face against her mother’s side, suddenly overcome with emotions and wrapped her arms around her waist, relishing in the comfort and reassuring she was giving.

But as Y/N walked down the stairs of Bridgerton House, her dress trailing out behind her slightly, she felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. Her two brother’s - waiting in the hallway for her - stared in awe at her.

There was something so special about a woman in love. She glowed and sparkled as if she was a star on Earth itself. She held herself in higher regard and felt like a queen. Everything seemed a little bit more okay and a little bit happier. 

Even if the doubt was beginning to seep in about whether she did truly love him.

Y/N took Colin’s arm and let him lead her to the carriage. The night was young and the air was warm. She’d never been so excited for a ball before. Kate was coming too - her first ball as Lady Bridgerton. 

Everything seemed to be going perfectly. 

Y/N tried to ignore the niggling feeling in her stomach. She wasn’t going to let it ruin her night. Even if she hadn’t heard from Matthew since Monday. And even if Colin’s mere presence was making it worse.

She tried not to make it obvious that she was looking for Matthew as they walked in to the room. But he was nowhere to be seen, despite promising he would be there. 

The majority of the night was spent on the edge of the ballroom, watching Anthony whirl Kate around the room in newly wedded bliss. Y/N danced with Simon and Benedict and chatted with Penelope and Eloise - who’d been forced to attend and was making sure everyone in a five mile radius was aware of that fact - and pretended not to be worried. 

But she was worried. Had she been so caught up with being in love that she’d missed the red signs that screamed at her to stop and re-consider. 

Anthony had noticed his sister’s increasing distress and had stopped dancing with his wife, walking over to his sister and standing next to her, shoulders touching.

“He’ll come, Y/N/N,” Anthony said, noting his sister look around the room yet again. 

Y/N nodded, not really paying much attention to him. She’d seen the pitying stares from the mothers of the ton and was beginning to dread what Whistledown was going to say tomorrow. 

Kate finished talking with someone and walked over to them, standing next to her husband. She looked at Y/N and then nudged Anthony’s side. “Do something,” she whispered, glancing at her sister - in - law in concern. 

Anthony sighed. “I don’t know what I can do, Kate.” He glanced back at Y/N. “If he does turn up, however, don’t hold me back.”

“If anything you’ll have to hold me back,” Kate replied.

Five minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

Then another five.

Benedict joined them in what was quickly becoming knowing as ‘Bridgerton corner’. He glanced at Y/N, then at Anthony. Anthony shook his head, warning him not to say anything. Benedict simply sat down next to his sister and causally flung his arm over the chair, pretending to subconsciously drum his fingers on her shoulder when he was actually trying to comfort her.

Colin came over with Eloise and Violet and soon every Bridgerton in attendance at Lady Danbury’s ball was standing in the corner, waiting.

Another ten minutes passed.

Y/N stood up and grabbed a glass of Lemonade from the table. She took a sip of the sour liquid and tried not make a face at the tangy taste in her mouth. 

Not liking the flavour of it she handed it off to Colin - her brother ate and drank almost anything put in front of him. Colin silently took it and shifted closer to Y/N, knowing his gut feeling about Lord Barclay had, unfortunately, been right.

Violet looked over at Y/N and sighed. “This isn’t going well,” she said quietly, leaning closer to Anthony and Kate.

“No, it isn’t,” Anthony replied, glowering at any one who dared approach them in their corner. 

“Oh, he’s here!” Y/N exclaimed, perking up as she spotted Matthew as he walked in the main door. “I’ll be back.”

Y/N began heading over to Matthew, weaving her way through the numerous dancers and chatting guests.

“Matthew!” She called, approaching him by the door to the garden. “Where have you been? Come on, I put you down on my dance card.”

She held out her gloved hand to him to take but frowned when he turned and gave her a frown.

Matthew shifted on his feet, an uncomfortable expression appearing on his face. “Ah, Miss Bridgerton.”

Y/N paused, dropping her hand. “Miss Bridgerton? Matthew, what is going on?”

Matthew sighed, looking as if it physically pained him to have to explain. “I don’t want to see you anymore, Miss Bridgerton. I have found another woman  - one my family approves of -”

“Your family doesn’t approve of me?” Y/N asked slowly, struggling to comprehend what was happening. “What -”

“I apologise for any inconvenience caused this evening,” Matthew said, bowing. “I wish you well, Miss Bridgerton.” 

“Matthew -” 

Y/N reached out to grab his hand but he brushed past her, walking across the room and disappearing off into the corridor, leaving Y/N standing alone in the corner, her brain trying to catch up with what had just happened.

Anthony slowly approached, having watched the entire conversation. He’d heard what Lord Barclay had said and had seen the way he stared at his sister - as if she was nothing more than an inconvenience. 

“Y/N/N?” Anthony asked quietly, putting a hand on her arm. “What happened?”

“He... he’s found someone else,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Someone his family approves of. I - what...”

Y/N trailed off, stunned and in shock. Anthony sighed, clenching his hand in anger. He glanced up at his mother, who was hovering worriedly nearby, and shook his head once.

Y/N couldn’t form the words to speak. She just stood there, Anthony's hand on her arm being the one thing keeping her grounded.

The room was beginning to whisper and point at Y/N, all wondering what had happened. Anthony noticed a few beginning to wonder over and grabbed Y/N’s hand, gently tugging her forward and to the centre of the room.

Whilst a dance was the last thing either of them wanted - it was the only way to get away from the prying eyes and the endless questions and pitying stared of the Ton. 

“Are you alright?” Anthony asked quietly, guiding her hands to the correct position and helping her take one step forward. 

Y/N, not wanting to be seen crying in the ballroom, forced a smile onto her face and lifted her head up high, breathing in deeply despite the lump in her throat and the stinging in her eyes and the urge she felt to curl up into a ball and sob. “Of course.”

Red lights, stop signs I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

Every time Anthony spun her way, Y/N allowed her facade to crack for just a second. It hurt. Her chest felt tight and every breath was constricted.  Everything hurt.

He’d discarded her to the side like she was a piece of rubbish and as if she was nothing. He’d played with her and showered her with gifts and love and compliments and it’d all been a lie. 

Matthew had lied. He’d lied. 

The words rang around her head like a mantra and it was beginning to consume her. Anthony spun her out and back into him but she almost fell to the floor, her knees beginning to weaken as her body and mind caught up. 

Anthony caught her and held her up, looking down at her blank, emotionless face as she tried not to crack.

Y/N focused on each step - the way her feet rose to the tip toes and then back down to her heel as she stepped back and forth, side to side, up and down. She focused on Anthony’s hand in hers, the warmth of his palm, the familiar, comforting scent of his aftershave.

Can't drive past the places we used to go to 'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe

The lights blurred past, the numerous people dancing around her becoming one solid merge of colour. 

She couldn’t breathe. Her stays felt tight and uncomfortable - even though she knew they weren’t. The necklace she was wearing felt like it was choking her - cutting off the air she need.

Her dress was too tight, too long, her gloves too thick and too heavy.

Sidewalks we crossed I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing

Y/N didn’t remember much of the dancing - she wasn’t even sure how she was moving one foot in front of the other. Anthony was watching her with concern in his eyes and was leading her and guiding her every step of the way. 

The music was too loud. The candles were too bright. Everything was an overwhelming blur of orange, red, blue and yellow. Her eyes stung as finally, her mind and body came to the same conclusion.

It was over. He was gone and she was free and her entire future was non-existent and she was alone and unmarried and free.

Over all the noise God, I'm so blue, know we're through But I still fuckin' love you, babe

The song ended and before the last notes had even faded away, Y/N was pushing away from Anthony and past her mother and Colin and out the door, running down the corridor away from everyone.

Her shoes echoed loudly on the tiles and she skidded around the corner into the room that had been set aside for the women. Y/n slammed the door shut behind her and panted and sobbed, clutching the edge of the sink tightly. 

She looked in the mirror, her breaths harsh and ragged, and clawed at the necklace Y/N ran down a corridor and into the room that had been set aside for women who need to freshen up or fix their dresses. 

She slammed the door shut behind her and hurried over to the washroom, clawing at the necklace around her neck desperate for air and desperate for it to be out of sight.

I know we weren't perfect But I've never felt this way for no one

The clasp eventually gave way and Y/N flung the necklace to the side, taking in ragged, harsh breaths as she sobbed and clutched the sink to keep standing. 

Her heart hurt. Her chest hurt. Her head hurt. Everything hurt. She couldn’t breathe, couldn't think, could barely see her reflection in the mirror.

She slowly sank to her knees, leaning against the edge of the sink as she curled up and sobbed and sobbed and hyperventilated and sobbed.

It was over. She was free and he was gone.

And I just can't imagine How you could be so okay now that I'm gone.

The door to the side room opened and Violet burst in. She took one look at her daughter - eyes red, skin blotchy, neck scratched from trying to take off her necklace - and ran over to her daughter, falling to her knees beside her and taking her in her arms. 

Y/N clung to her mother tightly as if she were her lifeline in the stormy dark sea she was drowning in. She buried her face in her shoulder and cried and cried.

Anthony stood in the doorway to the room, Colin next to him, and felt his own heart break as he watched his sister fall apart on the floor.  

Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

[silversatoru]

Can i regurst a gojo x reader smut where y/n is gojo’s ex girlfriend and also a strong jujutsu sorcerer and they get back together asdfghjkl 🥺😂? Tyy 🥺

hehhee yes ma’am here u are!!! i actually loved writing this one (i think i just have a thing for writing gojo lately lmao) anyway! i! hope! you! enjoy!

to heaven and back

gojo satoru x f! sorcerer!reader

synopsis: you and your ex, gojo satoru, beat the hell out of a few special grade curses and then head back to his house to rekindle an old (and kind of kinky) flame

tags/warnings: nsfw (18+), smut, handcuffs, blindfolding, little bit of oral sex, teasing, alcohol consumption, some fluff at the end? just a little

word count: 3.1k

You lifted your elegant glass of random wine that you could care less about knowing the name of, and took a long sip. All of these old rich bastards talked way too much about brand names, aging, and what cheese paired well with each wine. They were missing what was really important — which one would get you drunk the quickest. 

These kinds of formal events weren’t really your scene, and having to listen to a bunch of old, conservative, high-up jujutsu leaders was terribly boring — so why not take this opportunity to get a little tipsy? You deserved it for putting up with all of these assholes. After all, the only reason they invited you to this prestigious event was for protection. If that pesky band of special grade curses caught wind that all of the higher ups from both Kyoto and Tokyo were in the same place, they were sure to launch some kind of attack. The old, wrinkly douchebags couldn’t care less about your opinions of the jujutsu world and how you would change it, they only liked you for incredible cursed technique. 

And so here you were, spitefully wearing your most elegant dress and downing glasses of wine in an attempt to drown out all of the nonsense around you. There was only one thing that could make this event any worse and— 

“Hello everyone! The strongest jujutsu sorcerer has arrived — I know you were all looking forward to my appearance”. 

And there it was. There was that one thing that could make this event any worse. Gojo Satoru.

You dipped your head low, burying yourself in your glass of wine and praying to any god who would listen to not let this man see you. It’s been over two years since the two of you broke up, but he still wasn’t someone you enjoyed running into. 

Gojo was terribly notorious for having a long line of girls at his disposal, and with his incredible strength and annoyingly good-looks, it wasn’t hard to understand why. The two of you had never been in an officially committed relationship, and so technically Gojo was free to do as he pleased — but you were practically dating and your heart ached every time you caught wind of him being with another woman. And so two years ago you cut things off with him for good — you were tired of being the one he always ran back to at the end of the day. 

He’d looked at you with eyes full of pain that night, begging and pleading to stay with him. He showed you a vulnerable side to him that you had never seen before — and he swore to you that if you had asked to make things official, he would have committed himself to you fully. You declined however, because you felt like you shouldn’t have needed to ask for that kind of thing — but maybe that was just your ego getting in the way. 

“Hey, beautiful, I’ve never seen you around before, you must be from the Tokyo campus,” Some random assistant casually leaned against the counter you were sitting at and shook you out of your thoughts.

“If you’ve never seen me before then you must not be very important,” You shot him a distasteful glance, taking another sip of your wine. 

The man’s face lit up with panic — he must not have been expecting such retaliation to his pathetic attempt of flirting. 

“Are you bothering her?” A familiar voice came from behind you — a long, slender hand slapping down onto your shoulder, “Please don’t flirt with my wife”. 

“Ah- Wife? I’m so sorry, sir,” The man stumbled over his words, bowing his head to Gojo and scurrying away. 

Gojo wasted no time sliding into the seat next to you and pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle you’d already been working on. 

“Really? You’re telling people I’m your wife now?” You gave him a deadpanned look. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip from his glass. 

You rolled your eyes hard, “Why are you here, Satoru?” 

“Same reason as you. The old, conservative pussies are afraid those special grades might attack — so why not invite their two prized sorcerers to protect them?” 

“Fair,” You let out a heavy sigh, “Not sure that was their best move though — I don’t think either one of us is very motivated to save these fuckers”. 

“No, but I brought my students with me today. So, if anything does happen, make sure you put on a show for them,” He winked, already topping off his wine glass. 

You looked over to see a few kids sitting a couple tables away from the two of you, chatting amongst themselves and wondering why the fuck they had to be here. 

And so an hour or two went by, and to your surprise, you found yourself laughing hysterically alongside Gojo. The two of you had definitely drank a bit too much, and your personalities complimented each other a little too perfectly. You shared the same terrible sense of humor and he had quite the knack for bringing out this lighthearted side of you. You had missed moments like this these past two years. 

Neither of you were paying any attention to the current debate that was occurring between the higher ups when a loud crash sent broken pieces of glass flying through the grand hall. Sure enough, the curses had made their appearance and came flying into the building through a now broken window.

“It’s our time to shine, huh?” Gojo looked over at you, and you imagined that his icy blue eyes were swirling with excitement under that mask. 

“Yeah, let’s make this quick,” You found a warm ball of excitement churning in your own stomach — it’d been a long time since the two of you had fought together. 

Your technique revolved around the manipulation of cursed energy and converting it into light. You could wrap yourself in a shield of light, send curse-filled bursts of light at your enemies, and move at the speed of light as well — which was almost as efficient as Gojo’s teleportation abilities. You had a series of more advanced moves as well, but those required more energy output and therefore you used them a little less often.

The two of you were both able to move so fast that the curses really didn’t stand a chance. You found yourself laughing as you flipped through the air, hurling balls of light at the curses as Gojo worked closer in hand-to-hand combat. At one point, while the two of you were flying past each other, Gojo stuck out his hand and gave you a high five, both of you smiling like maniacs who enjoyed fighting a little too much. 

Between Gojo’s Limitless and your extreme agility and bursts of light, the curses were quickly forced to flee. Both of you were feeling much too drunk and much too lazy to chase after them, even with all of the higher ups begging you to do so. Gojo simply flipped them off and stuck out his tongue, saying that he did what they paid him to do — keep the curses away — and now that the curses had been scared off, he was no longer needed. 

“You want to come back with me, relieve more of our old memories together? I remember how much you loved sleeping in my king sized bed,” Gojo looked back at you, offering one of his large, slender hands. 

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was your stupid, stupid heart, but you reached out and took his hand, “Fuck it, let’s go”. 

Gojo’s house on the outskirts of the Tokyo campus was just as you remembered — sleek black interior with modern furniture and extravagantly silky sheets on his bed — his same bed that you were currently sprawled out on, laying in nothing but your undergarments. 

Gojo joined you a couple minutes later, his bare skin warm and familiar against yours. He pressed a few sloppy kisses to your lips, both of you still incredibly tipsy and unable to stop the small giggles from leaking out between your lips while you kissed. 

“Take the blind fold off you weirdo,” You pulled at the back of the black fabric. 

“Mmm, okay,” He mumbled, undoing the knot and exposing his piercing blue eyes.

“So pretty,” You murmured under your breath — his eyes really were the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in your life

His fluffy silver hair fell down messily over his face, a drunken smile stretched across his lips. His smile quickly turned into a devilish grin as he slipped the mask over your eyes instead, tying a tight not at the back of your head.

“This isn’t what I meant,” You droned, but you didn’t argue — you certainly weren’t opposed to being blindfolded.

“It looks good on you,” He slurred, his words messy and his lips even messier as he pressed them back against yours. 

The kisses seemed to last forever, and both of you were perfectly okay with that — your hands taking their time exploring each other’s bodies for the first time in far too long. 

Gojo’s hands worked their way up your back, tracing lines along your toned muscles until he finally reached the nape of your neck. His fingers entangled themselves in your hair, soft hums coming from his lips.

“I still have handcuffs, if you’re still into that sort of thing,” he mused, massaging his fingertips into your scalp. 

“Damn, I can’t believe you remember what I like. I thought my preferences would have gotten lost among the sea of other women you were pleasing,” You let the snarky remark roll off your tongue, though there was clearly no real spite in your words — you’re both adults and what happened then was in the past now.

“It wasn’t even that many,” He defended, “And you were the only one who ever mattered”. 

“I’m flattered,” You laughed, “Now, where are those handcuffs?” 

Gojo stifled a deep laugh, his hands leaving your hair as he lifted himself up and stood from the bed. When he returned a few moments later, there was cool metal wrapping around both of your wrists. He had two sets of handcuffs, putting one on each wrist and then hooking the other side to the bed posts. 

You were entirely at his disposal now, your hands secured over your head and your vision blocked off by the black mask. 

“I could tickle you right now and there’s nothing you could do,” Gojo observed aloud, pressing kisses up the side of your torso.

“Satoru, I would kick the living shit out of you,” You threaten, goosebumps growing under your skin. 

“Yeah, but you can’t touch me unless I let you,” He retaliated, his soft hands reaching underneath your bra to feel your breasts.

You groaned in response — his Limitless really did make him impossible.

He cupped each of his hands around your firm lumps, gently massaging them between his fingers. His cool fingertips then made their way down to your lower body, swiftly removing your remaining underwear. You were now completely exposed to him, chills running down your spine as you wondered what he would do next. 

You heard a shaky breath leave his lips, his hungry hands massaging circles into your thighs, “God, you’re so beautiful. I missed you so much, you know that?” 

“I’m sure you did,” You breathed, “I’m a wonderful person to be around”. 

Gojo let out a hearty laugh, and you heard what you assumed to be the sound of his own underwear getting thrown to the floor. A few seconds later he was straddling your torso, his warm thighs wrapped around your body. You couldn’t see it, but you knew his massive member had to be right in front of your face now. 

“Remind me what that pretty mouth can do,” He cooed, pressing the tip of his length gently to your lips. 

You graciously granted him access, parting your lips and taking the head of his cock into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the sensitive tip, earning a few twitches from Gojo’s body. You began to bob your head back and forth as much as the handcuffs allowed, a few quiet moans leaving his throat in response. 

He began to move his hips against you, gingerly pushing his member deeper and deeper into your mouth until you were taking the full length down your throat. He groaned and let a few curse words slide from between his teeth — your mouth was wrapped so perfectly around him. Tears pricked at your eyes and a couple rough gags ripped through your throat, Gojo finally pulling away and allowing you to catch your breath. 

After that, you felt a single one of his long, slim fingers slide into your mouth, and you wasted no time wrapping it in your tongue and sucking hard. 

“Good girl,” He murmured, plucking his finger back out of your mouth and moving it down to your aching entrance. 

Between the saliva on his finger and the slick juices around your opening — his finger slid in effortlessly. He started moving in quick movements, curling his finger up into your g-spot each time. A few light moans left your lips, your fists clenching in the cuffs as your yearned for more. His finger felt good, but you wanted the real thing — you needed it.

“Satoru, please,” You practically whined his name, a tiny bit ashamed for how desperate you were for him right now. 

“Patience, love,” He clicked his tongue and your heart did somersaults at the endearing name. 

He removed his singular finger and intertwined it with a second one before sliding them back into your cavern. He picked up a steady pace again, your breath hitching in your throat. Two fingers was certainly better than one, but the continuous teasing was just making you even more desperate to feel his member inside of you. You mumbled his name over and over, small pleads and shameless whispers leaving your mouth as you bucked your hips against his hands.

“No ones fucked you as good as I used to, have they? You’re horribly desperate right now” He clicked his tongue again, removing his fingers and moving them up to your clit. He rubbed the smallest, softest circles against the small nub, your core growing warmer with desire. 

“I won’t make you wait any longer then,” He whispered, sitting back and positioning the head of his length against your throbbing cunt. 

“Please,” You mumbled fervently, any ego or pride that you once had was completely down the drain now. 

Your pleads were finally rewarded, Gojo pressing himself deep into your tight walls. The immediate feeling was complete bliss, your head rolling back in pleasure as you heard a throaty moan creep it’s way out of Gojo’s mouth. His moans were so pretty — god, you’d missed the sound of them.  

He moved in and out at a tantalizingly slow pace at first, your hips bucking and wiggling as you made fervent attempts to make him go faster.

“So eager…” He shook his head, continuing to move at a pace that was absolutely agonizing — you thought you might die if he didn’t rail the hell out of you soon. 

“Please, fuck,” You gasped, “Stop moving so goddamn slowly”. 

“Your whines are so pretty, baby. Say my name and maybe I’ll give you what you want,” He murmured, his voice low and husky. 

“Fucking hell,” You gritted your teeth, “Please Satoru, please fuck me already”. 

“Shit,” He mumbled under his breath, your words sending electricity coursing through his body. 

After hearing you say that, he was quick to give you what you wanted, picking up his pace and wrapping his hands firmly around your hips. Strangled combinations of moans, whimpers, and cries filled the air as they flew from your mouth. You didn’t care how loud or desperate you sounded, you wanted him to know how good he was making you feel. 

The two of you were an entangled mess of sweaty skin and throaty moans, Gojo filling your ears with praises and compliments the entire time. His lengthy member railed into you over and over, hitting that perfect pleasure point with each stroke and sending warm surges of ecstasy through your veins. 

Your bodies moved together in sync, your breaths aligning and your climaxes threatening to arrive simultaneously. After a few more firm strokes, you felt yourself drowning in pleasure — euphoria crashing through your body like waves. Gojo reached his end point just a few moments later, his loud cuss words and strangled moans filling your ears. 

The two of you rode out your orgasms together, and almost immediately afterwards Gojo collapsed next to you. He lazily reached up and uncuffed each of your hands, leaving the cuffs dangling from his bed posts just in case there was a round two in his future. He rolled the sticky condom off his member and tossed into a nearby trash bin, a relaxed sigh slipping between his parted lips. You peeled the black mask off of your eyes, finally able to meet his again. 

He was staring at you with eyes filled with all kinds of emotions — the emotions that he’d been too afraid to admit to the first time the two of you were together. But he wasn’t afraid of commitment anymore, he was absolutely certain about what he wanted, and it was you. 

“Stay with me,” He asked, his eyes pleading with you, “I’m ready this time, I promise. I’m all yours, if you’ll have me”. 

You found a small smile tugging at the edges of your lips as you looked deeper into his eyes, “Of course I’ll stay, as long as you still feel this way when you wake up sober tomorrow”. 

“I’ll feel this way forever,” He pressed his head into you and mumbled into your chest, “And I’ll remind you as many times as you need to hear it”. 

You wrapped your arms around him in response, the two of you fitting impeccably together. He placed a few gentle kisses to your skin before his breathes began to slow. You found your own breathing to be evening out, your cloudy thoughts pushing you closer and closer to sleep. The two of you slowly drifted off together, your heavy breaths falling perfectly in sync.

[mrsmaybank]

My Little Sun - Reid x Reader

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.” “So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

CONTENT WARNINGS: AGE GAP, VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, STALKING, LANGUAGE probably the misuse of a Russian word  IF THERES MORE LMK 

A/N: Okay, let me be honest rq this idea lowk scared me but the words really just fell out of my brain really easily so, yk fuck it whatever.  ANYWAY, if you like, please let me know! 

pt 2, pt 3 “I love you Spencer.” The words immediately melted me. 

“I know so many things.” She gave me an unapproving look. 

“I don’t mean to sound cocky, but I do! Now for once in your life, listen to me.” She nodded her head in concession.

“I’ve just read more, I’ve written more, I’ve discovered and studied more than the average person. I could tell you a little bit about anything with one hundred percent certainty. I could--and want--to tell you the names of all the stars, I could recite verbatim the entirety of Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus or Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, which you know, speaking of I will ‘cause I still can’t believe you haven’t read it,” Her smile flattened into a straight line, and I laughed. “Orrr, I could also tell you something simple, like why we get the hiccups.” I shook my head. 

“Regardless, I know so many things and I’m rarely taken by surprise because of it. Everything in life is a pattern of change, and as a human, we will always adjust and adapt to whatever situation we are in. For better or worse, we don’t feel the same thing for very long. This is why an addict takes a couple more every time, a sadist hits his second victim harder than the first, they’re searching for the high of the first time, and it will never come.”

She nodded in understanding, 

 “I know this is true, it’s factual, and yet every time I look at you it feels like the first. You’ve broken the laws of human psychology.” 

“First time you saw me was at a gas station Spencer.” 

“No. The first time I looked at you after I knew I loved you.” 

“Where were we?” 

“My car. You were dancing. You looked ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculously sexy? You mean?” She smiled. 

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.” 

“So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

“It did indeed. You’ve become my solnyshko moyo.”

“Tell me that’s Russian dirty talk.” She said with a grin. 

“It’s better. It’s a term of endearment you’ve become the epitome of.” 

“And what’s that Dr. Reid?” she giggled. 

“My little sun. You’ve become my little sun. Following me around and bringing light and warmth.” She snuggled herself impossibly closer into my chest, wrapping one of her legs over mine. 

“Except for your feet!” I shrieked at her freezing toes meeting mine. 

“They’re not that cold you big baby!” she shouted. 

I laughed and kissed her sweetly, “I am not the baby here.” I said.  

“Please,” she started until I interrupted her with a kiss, “If you’re not the baby,” I kissed her again, “That implies I’M the baby,” Kiss, “And I’m not a” Kiss. 

“Shush baby.” I told her, but like always, she didn’t listen, instead sitting up to straddle me. My appreciation for her beauty was like how a prisoner appreciates freedom, and yet it was miniscule into what I found in her character. It blew my mind that a girl so perfect existed. 

“Rarely do great virtue and beauty dwell together. Francesco Petrarch.” I started, my hands making their way onto her hips, “That makes you a rarity.” 

“You’re spoiling me with nice words today Spencer.” “You’ve spoiled me. My frontal lobe is spoiled milk.” She laughed, wondering how I was going to manage to make this one romantic. 

“That’s the part of the brain responsible for sensibility and logical thinking, and you, little girl, have positively ruined it. You make me stupid.”

“I ruined the genius Dr. Reid with the 187 IQ? Makes sense. I’m like, way smarter.” 

“You are. So, so much smarter.” 

“I want that in writing.” she poked my chest. 

I pulled her down and kissed her forehead to whisper in her ear. “Not a chance.”

She pushed herself away and rolled her eyes at me like a bratty child does her nanny, and I continued, “ You’re smarter, but I’m more educated. I have more doctorates than you have years in university.” 

“Whatever…”

I brushed the hair away from her perfect face, “You tired baby?” 

She sighed and laid down, splaying herself on my chest, laying on me like I was the duvet. “Very.” 

I held her impossibly close, breathing in her scent and counting every time her heart thumped, her bpm said she was relaxed. Oh god, I wanted her like this forever. Relaxed in my arms, where nothing could touch us but each other. 

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“Must you work?” I sent the message to Spencer as I rolled over to his side of the bed in anticipation. I breathed in heavy, liking the way the pillow smelled like his laundry.

“Unfortunately.”  he responded. “Think you’ll be home this weekend?” 

“It’s not looking like it, little one. I’m sorry.” 

I didn’t reply. I was too sad to reply. I knew it’d make him feel guilty, which I didn’t want to do, cause like, his job and saving people and shit is important. But, it still wasn’t fair! At all. There was something very important I had to tell him. 

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Total darkness, and then way too much light. My head hurt and I couldn’t move. I was handcuffed to a wooden chair. There were chains around my torso and ankles. The room was a medical sort of bright. It smelled like bleach and rotting fruit. The walls were dilapidated, seeming to be made of tiles that were once white, but have turned yellow. 

What the FUCK? 

“Hello!” I shouted. My voice was so coarse it hurt. Shit. My head pulsed so badly it practically hurt to think, but I still racked my brain. 

Where am I? 

How’d I get here? 

Why am I here? 

I woke up again. Fuck, why can’t I think? Why can’t I do anything? 

“Hey, y/n.” A woman’s voice. A very stoic, cold, sounding female voice.

I’m not alone. Thank god, oh my god, I’m not alone. 

With the little strength I had, I lifted my head to see her. She wasn’t what I thought. She was alright, she wasn’t tied. She did this to me? 

She took a sip from her silver flask, “Do you know who I am?” 

I shook my head. “No.” 

“Typical.” She stood up and grabbed me by the hair, “You fucking disgust me.” Like, she said, she threw my hair away like it disgusted her. 

She sat back down on the bench in front of the chair I was chained to, “My name is Brook Austen. I was a professor at Georgetown last year. Taught a couple seminars at your school, that little university you go to, the students there were nothing like mine. Not nearly as intelligent, but as expected, Georgetown is much more prestigious, obviously.”

I was confused, and she knew, but did not care. 

“You’re not the brightest, y/n. Only slightly above average high school grades, strikingly mediocre academic performance now.”

Where the hell is she going with this? 

“And you know it doesn’t surprise me, per say, because every man on this goddamn planet is a piece of fucking shit! But I thought that, maybe, just maybe, Spencer was different.” 

She grimaced, “I thought he’d want more than just a pretty face! ‘Cause you might be prettier y/n, but I’m smarter.” Her words were laced with utter hatred. 

Her demeanor changed, and it almost started to seem like she was talking to herself. “I'm older. I’m more successful. I’m fucking better.” 

She approached me again, grabbing my face so I was looking her in those scarily light green eyes, and she wrapped her hands around my throat.  “I’m fucking better then you! Better, better, better!” Every time she said better she shook my neck and gripped tighter so I couldn’t breathe. 

“Stop! Please! Please stop!” I shouted, “I’m-I’m pregnant!” 

She began to break down, “You’re pregnant?” A maniacal chuckle left her throat, “You’re pregnant?”  

“Is it Spencer’s?” she asked. 

I nodded. 

“Wow.” She laughed once more, “Fucking wow.” 

“How could Spencer choose this!? You’re nothing like him. You are a pathetic fucking college student. A fucking daddy issue ridden slut! I’m a celebrated academic, just like him!” Tears began to slip from her eyes, “How could he not choose me?”

This woman is NOT well in the head. 

“You--you like Spencer?” I asked. 

“You don’t get to ask the fuckin’ questions here.” She pulled a knife out of her pocket and held it to the tip of my chin, “I do. So you’re gonna answer them.” Or, she started manically laughing, “I’ll kill you.” She swallowed, “And your baby.” 

I screamed at those words, “No,” I sobbed, “NO!” 

I turned my head away so I didn’t have to look at the woman in front of me, there was a timed red dot blinking. A camera. 

“Is that-- is that a camera?” 

She nodded, “I want Spencer to see you and his child die.” 

“He….No! No, please, No!” I choked on a sob and she smiled. 

“He doesn’t know.” She paced, “He doesn’t even fucking know!” 

She waltzed over to the camera and brought it closer to us, “Hey Spencer.” She began waving, “Hey Penelope. Aaron. Derek. Jennifer. Emily.” 

Her demeanor changed once more, into that of a cheerleader of all things, “So, quick recap.” Brook pursed her lips, “Spencer your twenty three year old fucktoy is pregnant. Congrats!” 

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Y/N was two things I didn’t know she was this morning: In serious danger, and the mother of my expected child. I felt frozen in trepidation. 

We all watched in horror as Brook greeted us. All by first name. She knew exactly what she was doing and it freaked me out even more. 

“Reid, you need to step out.” Hotch grabbed my shoulder, “Now.” 

I was sick with fear and ill with rage. I sat down because I could feel my knees go weak. Hotch started again, “We know who she is. We will find her. Y/N will be alright.” He paused, “So will the baby.” 

I replayed the events of the live footage in my head, her screams of pain and terror, her trembles and confusion. I’d failed her. I’d failed her and now I knew I’d also failed our child. 

JJ sat down next to me, “Spencer, when did you meet Brook?” 

“I uh,” I wiped my face, “A year and four months ago. I did uh, I taught uh, I taught a string of seminars at Georgetown. It was biweekly. Her office was next to mine. We spoke for the first time when she offered me a coffee.” 

“What did you say?” 

“What do you think I said?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yeah, I said yeah, I fucking like coffee.” I felt instantaneously guilty for cursing, and especially at JJ but I was too frazzled for it to last long enough to apologize. 

“I know Spence, I’m sorry. Just keep going.” 

“Then, the next week, we got lunch together.” 

“Was it, you know, friendly?” 

“What are you implying Jennifer?” I snapped. 

“No Spence, we just need to know. You know that.” 

“It was-- it was just lunch. A very normal colleague to colleague lunch. We talked about the school’s history. And uh, where we grew up. It was small talk.” 

“Ok, was this the last time you spoke to her?” 

“No. There was one more time. Y/N was there.” 

“Tell me about it Spence.” She grabbed my hand, 

I breathed out, “It was the next week I taught after lunch. About two hours before my class. I was lesson planning, and Y/N was doing homework on my desk. She came in. She asked if I wanted to go get lunch. She saw y/n and--Fuck.” 

“What Spence? What?” 

“She asked me who she was, but it was like, she didn’t want y/n to know she was asking. She thought she was…”

“She thought she was what?” 

“A student.” 

“And what did you tell her?”  

“The truth. That she was my girlfriend.” 

“Did you see her anywhere else after that?”

“No. She never came by my office again. When I would see her by chance, she would scurry away. It was strange.” 

“Think really hard Spence. Did you ever see her again after you stopped teaching at Georgetown.”

I racked my brain, “Yeah. I did. It was two months ago. Three days after I proposed to y/n. She was getting a coffee at this coffee shop by y/n’s school.. I was bringing her some lunch” 

“Spencer she's been stalking you. Your proposal was the stressor.” 

“But--I’m a profiler. I would’ve noticed.” I stood up with a realization.            “What Spence?” JJ asked, standing up as well to look at me. 

“She’s been stalking her, not me. She knew I was a part of the BAU, she knew I would’ve noticed.” 

“I’ll tell the team.” 

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A/N2:  If this doesn’t totally flop, I’ll write PT 2, that elaborates on the reader’s and Spencer’s relationship. I think through flashbacks from both Y/N and Spencer would be a cool way to explore their relationship and of course the whole reader being kidnapped thing plot could develop. Again, if you enjoyed this pls let me know!!

[maybe-theres-hope]

Tarlos Fic - Dinner Date

3.2k | T | Warnings: Blood, Injuries (mostly minor) | Contains: Judd/Carlos friendship, Tarlos being perfect, blue Camaro (rip)

Read on AO3

“So, what are your plans for the night?” Nancy asked as they exited the ambulance, their shift nearly over as long as the bell didn’t go off in the next ten minutes. 

TK smiled to himself for a moment before he spoke. “Well, Carlos is taking me to Jeffrey’s, so…”

“Holy mother,” Nancy breathed, looking at him with obvious envy. “Do you guys have a ten year anniversary or something coming up? Did he get some kind of commendation at work? Because I know your last one was like a month ago, so.”

“No, no anniversary, that’s in a couple of months. And its three years, Nance.” He chose to ignore her muttering about their mushiness ‘aging me ten years’. “And nothing from work that I know of. Maybe he just loves me?” TK couldn’t stop grinning while they stocked the bus and readied for the handover. 

“He loves you crap ton! Their wagyu strip steak is a hundred and twenty-five dollars!” Nancy had her phone out, obviously googling the menu. 

“Well at least we’ll save money on wine,” TK said with a chuckle.

“I’ve heard of the place by reputation but like, dude, who ever gets the chance to actually go there?”

“TK it seems,” Tommy cut in. “Why don’t you go on? We got it here and you’re gonna need at least an hour to pick out an outfit.”

“And gel your hair. You and your dad are way more alike than you want to admit,” Nancy added with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You sure, Cap? I can stay and help?”

“I’m sure, kiddo. Go get dolled up for your man. Eat a few bites for us, yeah?” Tommy yelled at his retreating figure. She and Nancy looked at each other with grins as they caught the little skip in his step. 

“So, what do you think the occasion is?”

Tommy looked back at Nancy with a gleam in her eye. “I can wager a guess, but I don’t want to jinx it.” Nancy just gave her a look and went back to restocking.

--

Around 8 p.m., Owen was sitting in his office toying with his phone in his hand, smiling at his last text exchange. 

we’re just leaving the house now, wish me luck!

you’re not gonna need it, kid :)

“Not if I know my son anyway,” Owen said aloud to the empty room. He wondered if it’d happened yet. No incoherent string of emoji’s from TK yet, so he doubted it. 

He was shoving the phone back into his pocket with the bell went off. 

--

“Alright guys,” Owen said into the mic from the Captain’s chair. “Dispatch says three vehicles involved, two still on the road and one went over the side into the ravine. Police are on their way but we’ll probably beat ‘em there. Strickland, Marwani, soon as we get there I want you to harness up and get down in that ravine. Judd, you too. You’ll be in command down there and I’ll stay up top with the other two vehicles. Everybody else you’re with me, got it?”

A chorus of “Copy that, Cap,” and suddenly they were on the scene. 

--

“Marjan, Paul, we’re goin’ down!” Judd called to them as the rest of the crew went over to the silver Prius and black Mazda that were crumpled in the middle of the two-lane highway. Judd wasn’t a prayin’ man, but he sent up a little something to the man upstairs that this went their way. It looked bad. 

Paul arrived at his side first, strapped into his gear. “Marjan’s grabbing the bag from the truck, she’s coming.” 

“Alright. We’ll go down this way,” Judd said, pointing to a safe-ish stretch of hillside. “Can’t see the other car from here but dispatch said bystanders saw it go over. Probably just hidden in the trees.”

“Okay guys, let’s do this!” Marjan called, harnessed and carrying the medical bag and a backboard. “TK’s gonna be sad he missed this. Medical doesn’t get to harness up a lot and I know he loved it. He coulda helped.”

“Nah, he’s got better things tonight. Carlos was takin’ him to Jeffrey’s,” Paul said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Ohh, fancy,” Marjan said with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

They’d reached the bottom and were starting to look through the brush and low-hanging trees for a vehicle. 

“Don’t know,” Paul answered. “But I think Cap’s in on it somehow.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Judd cut in as he whacked a few branches out of his way. “Carlos came by the station a few weeks ago, and they sat up in Cap’s office for an hour before he left grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater.” 

“I have no idea what that means,” Paul said with a laugh. 

“Hey guys, look!” Marjan called from a few yards to the left. The other two went to her position and saw what she’d found. A track in the underbrush where it had been torn at and flattened. “Think this is the place.”

“Let’s go,” said Judd. They followed the path through the brush for a couple of yards before they caught sight of it: taillights. “Alright, Marjan you go on the passenger side, I got the driver. Paul you see if you can clear some of that brush off the back in case the doors are jammed and we gotta get ‘em out that’a way.”

Visibility was still low despite the lights of the car and their flashlights, but as they approached they saw the car wrapped around the trunk of a tree on the passenger side. “I don’t know if I can get in there, Judd, but I’ll try,” Marjan said as she broke out into a jog.

“Wait!” Paul cried. Judd looked over at him, and he would have said such a thing couldn’t happen to a calm and collected person like Paul, but his face had gone ashen. “That’s Carlos’s car,” he said on a breath. 

“What?” In the dark, now that he was really looking, he could see they were coming up on—what used to be—a blue Camaro. 

“I’m sure of it. TK bullied him into putting that sticker on the back because he said it was too pristine and it needed personality.” He shone his flashlight at the rear bumper and sure enough, there was a SXSW sticker half ripped off from the path the car had taken to get there. 

“Come on,” Judd said, heart rate kicking up.

“Should we call Cap?” Paul asked.

“No, we stay down here and do our jobs, and he stays up there and does his. We’ll get ‘em.” His voice sounded numb even to his own ears, but he was determined. 

“They were on their way to dinner,” Paul said lowly.

“Yeah, probably takin’ the backroads to avoid traffic,” Judd said, shaking his head. Fate was hell sometimes.

When they reached the car, Marjan was yelling. “TK! TK can you hear me?” She turned to Judd. “I can’t get in there. The tree trunk is halfway into the car, probably pinning him to the console. He’s unresponsive.” Her face was also pale, but determined. 

Judd went to the driver’s side and saw Carlos, head hanging to the side facing the broken window. He tried the door as he called out. “Carlos? Hey Carlos, come on buddy. Can you hear me?” The door wouldn’t budge; Judd figured the car had rolled a couple of times coming down the hill, crumpling it like a tin can. Then he heard a soft groan.

He looked up, and one of Carlos’s eyes was trying to open. The other was swollen shut, where he’d probably hit his head on the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. Half his face had burn marks from it. 

“Hey, hey Carlos, look at me, that’s it.” That one eye tracked around before it landed on Judd, drawn to the light of the flashlight on his helmet. “Hey man. We’re gonna get you out okay? Now, can you move your fingers and toes for me?” Judd stuck his head into the window to see down in the floor boards. “Alright, likely no spinal damage. How’s your head?”

“Hurts. Shoulder, too.” His voice was barely audible. 

“Okay, it looks like you dislocated it,” Judd said as he prodded his left shoulder. “I don’t see anything broken but we’ll have to get you out to determine that.”

“TK—“ a wheeze, “TK…first. Been out…a while.”

Judd peered over to the passenger side, where TK was shoved almost fully into the center console, head laid back on the headrest and his face covered in blood. Marjan and Paul were still hard at work outside trying to clear a path into the car. 

“We can’t get to his side just yet, but we can get you out first and then we’ll be able to pull him out this way, okay? We wanna focus on you right now.”

“Alive.”

“Yeah, you’re alive, Carlos. You’re not gonna leave us yet,” he said as he assessed the door panels where they could cut through with the saws they brought. 

“No. TK. Weak, but…alive,” Carlos breathed out, coughing through the end.

“We’ll make sure he’s alive, okay?” Judd said, trying not to lose his professionalism at this whole messed up situation.

“He is.” Judd stopped looking around and looked back at Carlos. The man raised his right hand just as much as he was able, showing where he had two fingers on TK’s radial pulse. 

“Good, that’s good Carlos,” Judd assured him. That meant Carlos had had some minutes of consciousness after the accident before they showed up. “Was he talking at all? After you hit the tree?”

“Little. Minutes, maybe.”

“That’s good, that’ll help. Alright Carlos, we’re gonna get this door off so I’m gonna cover you with this while we do okay?” Judd waited for a small nod before he covered Carlos’s face and torso with his own turnout coat. 

After an agonizing four minutes, the door popped off in a shower of metal and broken glass. Judd removed the coat and went back in to assess. “Carlos? How you doin’?”

“Tired. But won’t…sleep. Promise. That’s bad.”

“You learn a few things from your Paramedic boyfriend?” Judd said with a watery smile.

“Mmm.”

“Judd, I got the back cleared. Maybe we can get in there to at least check TK’s vitals,” Paul informed them. 

“Get on it, I’ma try to get Carlos here out onto this backboard. Marjan, radio for another backboard and have two RA’s ready to go topside!”

“Copy that!” Judd had to admire those two. They never let their professionalism slip too far, though he could see they were worried sick. He could relate. He wouldn’t relax until both of the boys were back up the hill and on the way to the hospital.

From the looks of things, maybe not even then. But he had hope.

“Alright, Carlos, I’m gonna grab your legs and behind your shoulders here and pull you out, okay? It’s gonna hurt like hell, but it’ll be quick.”

“Wait.”

Judd stopped cold.

“Left…pocket. Please.”

“You want me to get at your left pocket?” A nod. “Alright, hang on.”

Judd carefully shifted Carlos’s leg so he could reach into his slacks, which had probably been part of a very nice suit at the beginning of the night. His fingers searched until they hit a small bump, an object no bigger than a baseball, soft velvet over a hard shell. He sucked his lips between his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he pulled it free in his hand. 

“Keep it…safe…for me?”

Judd looked down at the little black box for a moment, then clutched it tight in his hand before transferring it one of the innermost pockets of his turnout. 

“Of course, man. I will guard this with my life.” He looked up and saw Marjan coming back with another backboard. “Alright, buddy. It’s go time.”

Carlos gave a weak nod and winced when Judd started to pull. 

--

“Welcome back, man. You had us worried there for a bit.”

Carlos opened his good eye to see Judd sitting at his bedside, smiling softly. It took a moment to remember where he was. Hospital. Accident. Tree.

“TK—“

“Is fine. Banged up and will need crutches for a few weeks, not to mention a killer headache with no meds, but he’s fine. All things considered.”

“Where is he?”

“On his way, so you just stay put, okay? You’re pretty banged up, too, ya’know.”

Carlos shifted a bit and winced. His left arm was in a sling, his head bandaged over his left eye, and his right side hurt like hell.

“Broken rib when the tree went into TK’s door, door went into TK, TK went into the console, then the console went into you. He’s got a femoral fracture in his right leg but like I said, all things considered, you’re both pretty well off for how far you fell and probably rolled.” 

“Yeah, he said his leg had gone numb but he could still move his toes. He made sense for about five minutes, then started talking all jumbled, then went quiet. I uh…freaked out a bit after that. I thought he had…” Carlos trailed off, looking haunted. 

“Yeah, and you kept your fingers on his pulse that whole time. What you were able to tell us at the scene helped us treat him. You did good, Carlos.”

“Not good enough to swerve in time,” he said.

“Not your fault. And don’t you dare go thinkin’ it is. I don’t wanna hear it, Carlos,” Judd said in what TK called his Dad Voice. Stern and no room for argument. Carlos just nodded. 

“And uh, hey. I been waitin’ to give this back to you.” Judd stood and walked over to the bed, holding out a tiny black box. Carlos took it and cradled it against his chest. “It better be a nice one, cuz I about had a heart attack while I was showerin’ thinkin’ someone was gonna come get my pile a’clothes and take ‘em to the laundry while I was gone.”

“You didn’t open it?”

“Nah, I figure the big reveal? TK deserves that all to himself.” 

“Owen’s seen it,” Carlos countered, smirking.

“Uh huh. He approve?”

Carlos laughed. “He whistled and said I spent too much.”

“To impress the Cap it must be a lot,” Judd said with a small whistle of his own.

“Well, what was it Michael Scott said? Three years’ salary?”

Judd’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and Carlos laughed harder before wincing again at his broken rib. “I’m kidding, Judd. But I can tell you, no matter the cost, TK deserves the best and that’s what I hope I got.”

“You gonna make another reservation? Soon as y’all get back into fightin’ shape?”

Carlos looked down at the box again for a moment, contemplating. “I…don’t think so.”

Judd had a confused expression on his face but at that moment, a nurse was wheeling TK into the room, followed by most of the 126. Carlos’s face lit up like starlight at the sight of him.

“Hey, babe,” TK said with a smile. His leg was in a full cast, so the nurse was careful in maneuvering him around to Carlos’s bedside. 

“Hey, I feel like you should be the one in bed! Why are you out and about?”

“Because you were still asleep and he’s an absolute menace. We made multiple apologies to the staff on his behalf for the last hour,” Owen said as he walked into the room behind his crew. “He’s a stubborn little shit. Always has been, always will be. You sure you’re up for that?” He asked knowingly. TK was still looking at Carlos, blushing at his dad’s ribbing. Carlos met his eyes and said, “Yes.” He blushed more. 

“In fact,” Carlos continued. “I’m ready to get started. I’ve waited too long anyway. I mean, how many times do you and I have to beat death before I get the nerve to do this?” He said, looking into TK’s beautiful eyes which were looking confused. 

“What are you talking about, babe?”

“Look, I’m sorry this didn’t go how I planned. And I’m sorry I can’t get down on one knee right now, but. I hope you love me enough not to mind.” He lifted his good arm, his hand holding out the box. “A little help, Judd?”

“It’d be an honor,” the man said before leaning in and opening the box, since Carlos only had one good arm. 

At the sight of the contents of the box, TK’s eyes went as big as saucers. Surprise was written clearly over every inch of his features, which were all still beautiful even scarred and stitched up as they were at the moment. God, Carlos loved this man so much. 

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, you are the love of my life. I tried so many different scenarios in my head of how this speech would go, before I just said screw it, I’ll speak from the heart. You’re kind, funny, sexy, sweet, and everything in between. You can’t boil water and you absolutely can’t properly separate laundry. I have a dozen pink shirts as proof of that.” At this, the gathered group chuckled and TK went bright red. “Ah, but you also know just how to ease the tension from a long day just by hugging me on the doorstep. And I can always count on you to be there for me when the world gets too much, when what we see out there creeps in too far. And I want you to know, that I want to be that for you too, for the rest of our lives. So, TK. Will you marry me?”

The room was silent, apart from the hum and beeps of the machines. Everyone on the edge of their proverbial seats, but no one having any doubt to the outcome. 

“Oh, my God! Of course I’ll marry you! Yes, yes! Yes!” The last was said through TK’s fingers covering his red face, hiding the few tears that had started to fall. He held out his left hand to Carlos, who Judd had kindly helped by removing the ring from its box and handing it back to him. He slid it over TK’s finger, smiling like an idiot the whole time, barely registering the whoops and hollers of the 126 throughout the room. 

He only had eyes for TK. 

“I love you,” TK breathed through his happy tears.

“I love you too, baby. Always.”

“Oh, my God, dude, were you seriously surprised?” Nancy asked incredulously once the commotion had died down.

“Well…yeah? I didn’t expect this at all,” TK said, looking sheepish. 

“TK…my dude…he was taking you to Jeffrey’s! How could you not know?”

Once again, the room erupted in laughter and TK ducked his head again. Carlos reached out and touched his chin, catching his eyes again.

There was nothing but love there. 

CLEARLY every Tarlos fic I write has to have a proposal in it *shrug emoji* 

Also I wrote this in like an hour after I had a dream so please excuse any typos I didn’t catch!

Please reblog if you liked it! I would really really appreciate it :) Thank you for reading!

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 5, Part 1

Note: This is a long chapter too!

Gregson squared his shoulders as he walked.

“I don’t really want to team up with you; but anyway, we have no choice but to solve this quickly. Now it’s time for me to show my stuff after fighting crime day after day in this capital.”

“I’ve thought about it every time we’ve met — but where do you get that confidence from?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he followed behind him. Then, Gregson turned around.

“Oi, that big attitude of yours is probably because the inspector called you in; but I’m the one who messed up here, so I have to take responsibility myself. Don’t butt in unless you’re needed.”

“I know, I know.”

More than anything, the personality of this assistant inspector he’d come to know all too well brought Sherlock a sense of relief. In addition, his words and actions revealed his pride as a police officer, and Sherlock quite liked that.

“Come to think of it, did you really not find out anything during the interrogation?”

Gregson replied without slowing his pace.

“Well, I can’t say that we didn’t learn anything. He told us how he’d come to hide in that building, but refused to say a word on where his accomplice was.”

“So how did he arrive at the inn?”

“From what we heard, after they escaped, the two of them had been moving from place to place in the slums. They first laid low somewhere, but quickly got wind that the Yard was searching the area; hence, they ran off searching for a new place to hide — and ended up at that inn.”

“So does it mean that at the time, the Yard had been able to track them down to some extent?”

Gregson snorted in displeasure.

“Not a whit. It’s disgraceful, but so far, we haven’t been able to trace their whereabouts one bit. Right now, our only lead is that tip-off; in other words, the two of them were just misled by rumours that the police were coming.”

“…………”

Gregson seemed to be pitying the fugitives for the days they’d spent in fear, but Sherlock’s mind was elsewhere.

The criminals had been flushed from their hideout using false information, and ended up at a particular location. At the same time, information had conveniently come the Yard’s way, as if someone had meant for them to arrive at the same place. His intuition told him the situation could not be written off as a mere coincidence.

——Could the Lord of Crime be involved in this case? But if he was, then for what reason?

Sherlock began to think over that question; but before he could reach a satisfactory answer, the two of them had arrived before a different inn, located a short distance from the site of the fire.

“Now, the suspects have been gathered here on the ground floor — please be quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Temporarily switching his focus, Sherlock replied half-heartedly. Then, with his sullen expression still intact, Gregson stepped into the inn.

Inside, there were several police officers, three men with bandaged faces, and a tall middle-aged woman, who stood firm with crossed arms.

Looking over everyone in the room, Gregson cleared his throat, and spoke in a loud voice.

“Well then, I’ll cut to the chase. ——The culprit is among us.”

“…………”

However, not one person reacted. He was simply stating a fact, but perhaps his entrance had been too sudden, and that pronouncement a tad abrupt.

Looking a little embarrassed after his brave proclamation, Gregson cleared his throat once more, and started again.

“……That’s what we’ve concluded after careful discussion. To begin with, let’s start from these three men gathered here.”

“——Hold on, Inspector! Before that, don’t you have something to say to me?”

“Hm?”

The middle-aged woman took a step forward as she raised her voice, and Gregson turned to face her.

“You are… the owner of that inn.”

“The very one that got burned down, yes! My name is Hillary Weaver — you’d best remember it, since it’s the name of the victim who'll eventually charge you people for expensive repairs.” [1]

Her high-pitched voice was almost akin to that of a witch casting spells. Gregson flinched, taking a step back.

“W-……Why do we have to pay for damages?!”

“Of course you do: the moment all of you came along, my inn disappeared.”

“That’s not true! The one at fault here is the arsonist — the Yard had nothing to do with that!”

“What’re you saying? I’m sure you people sparked it all off. Quit whining and give me back that place of comfort!”

“What part of that wretched inn could be called comfortable?! It’d be more pleasant being buried in straw! When we were interrogating the other man, the floorboards were creaking so badly I thought we were going to fall through the floor any moment!"

“That’s because all of you came in at once! Spare a thought for the building capacity!”

“Are you telling me your rooms reach their limit after just a few people step inside?!”

“…………”

As Gregson and Hillary — the inn’s proprietress — were engaged in a row that was completely beside the point, Sherlock turned his attention to the three suspects.

The first was a burly man. The left half of his face was wrapped in bandages, and his long sleeves were rolled up.

The second was a slim young man with short sleeves. The lower half of his face was bandaged down to his neck.

The last was a tall man of indeterminate age. He wore a thick coat, and his entire face was swathed in bandages.

Three men, three suspects. Right as the detective used his powers of observation on them, Gregson signalled his men to get Hillary to back down, forcing the argument to a close.

“……Dammit, was she silver-tongued. Now I’ve wasted energy.”

His shoulders were heaving, and Sherlock flashed him a cold smile.

“If the talk show’s finally over, then let’s get on with the questioning. We’re short on time.”

“I know! ……Well then, let’s start from the big man over there, and proceed in order.”

Gregson addressed the burly man.

“Tell us your name, the room you were staying in, and what you were doing when the fire broke out.”

“My name’s Mike Myers. I was in room 203, on the first floor. When the fire broke out, I was in my room reading a book. It was from one of my favourite authors, but all my belongings were destroyed in the blaze.”

The man answered in a deep voice that matched his appearance.

Gregson took down the information on a notepad, and moved on to the next man.

“Next, the slim man over there.”

The young man promptly sat up straight.

“Y-Yes, um, my name is Bruno Campbell. My room was…… number 301, on the second floor. At the time of the fire, um…… I was sleeping right until it started. Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise. Next.”

Gregson turned to face the last man.

“……Jerry Dorff. Room 101. I was asleep.”

The man who called himself Jerry murmured that in a low voice, uttering only the minimum number of words.

“101…… The ground floor, huh. So all your rooms were on precisely separate floors.”

Once he’d ascertained the suspects’ rooms, Gregson quickly sketched the inn’s floor plan on his notepad.

According to his diagram, on the ground floor, there was a staircase next to the reception desk, and three rooms in a row behind it. Starting from the one closest to the front desk, the rooms were numbered 101, 102, and 103. Further to the back, there was another set of stairs. The other floors had the same layout; it had been a simply-structured inn.

The reception desk, the front stairs, three rooms in a row, and the rear stairs. All the rooms had their doors on the south side of the building, and their windows on the north side. Sherlock craftily took a peek at his drawing, memorising the layout, and applied the locations of the three suspects to his mental picture.

“It seems all of you were in your own rooms when the fire started; but before that, did you stay in your rooms throughout?”

Mike spoke up.

“I never even took a step outside my room after you bobbies entered the building. After all, one of the criminals from that attack on the department store was lurking inside, right? I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I made a wrong move and ended up getting suspected.”

“I-It was the same for me: I tried to avoid moving around as much as possible.”

“Me too.”

The timid young man, Bruno, and the taciturn Jerry both agreed with Mike.

“So you all didn’t leave your rooms, let alone the inn. ——Is that certain?”

Gregson asked one of the officers standing beside him, and the man responded with vigour.

“Yes; I was standing in front of room 303 at first, and two others were standing watch in the ground and first floor corridors — we didn’t see a single person leave their room.”

Sherlock had been listening from the side, and now he pointed to the officer and Gregson in turn.

“So during the break in the interrogation, Gregson took over from you in standing watch outside the room.”

“Indeed.”

“Oi, Holmes. I told you not to butt in.”

Ignoring Gregson’s complaint, Sherlock made a deduction.

“So no one was moving around during the interrogation. Then during the break, the man was left alone in the room. Since no one heard any suspicious noises, it would be difficult to conclude that there had been movement inside the room. In that case, as I thought, the criminal must’ve made his move after the fire began.”

“A-As I was saying, don’t talk without permission.”

“……We don’t have time for that kind of thing. From what you said earlier, it seems you were standing outside the room until the fire began — were you also standing watch throughout after it started?”

Reluctantly, Gregson revealed his actions at the time.

“……No, when I got news of the fire, I went to the stairs nearer the reception to check out the situation. I climbed down until I could see the ground floor, and saw that the corridor there had already been covered in flames; so I quickly shouted for everyone to evacuate as I went back up to the second floor, in order to free the man we had arrested.”

“Did you go door to door when telling people to evacuate?”

“There wasn’t any time for that: the best I could do was to shout in every corridor as I rushed up the stairs.”

“I see. By the way, do we know where the fire originated?”

One of the officers standing to the side responded.

“I was outside the building at the time, but back then, part of the ground floor’s exterior north wall suddenly burst into flames. Though, I can’t say I had witnessed the moment the fire was set.”

“……Oi.”

The officer had readily given information to the detective he so hated, and Gregson glared at him. But as expected, Sherlock continued as if nothing had happened.

“Even so, the mob had surrounded the inn at the time, didn’t they? Was there really no one who saw exactly what happened?”

“The crowd had been rather large, so we couldn’t interview everyone who was there……” the officer responded briskly. “But we didn’t receive any eyewitness accounts of the arsonist.”

Even as he threw a displeased glance at his subordinate, Gregson thought hard.

“In that case, what if he used a device that automatically ignited the fire after a certain amount of time?” he offered.

“That’s one possibility,” Sherlock added. “It doesn’t have to be automatic either; he could’ve sprinkled flammable oil around the area beforehand, then sneaked out the window, climbed down the wall, and thrown a tiny spark — like the cinders of a match — through a window. Just like this, he’d be able to ignite the fire without drawing attention. It started from the north wall, right?”

“Yes, the wall where all the rooms’ windows are lined up,” the officer replied.

Sherlock gazed at the three men.

“In that case, that means any one of you could be the arsonist himself. But the question remains: after the fire began, how did the culprit manage to kill his accomplice in room 303, and create a locked-room murder case without anyone noticing?”

“…………”

In a way, this was the biggest ‘riddle’ in the case; all the officers, including Gregson, fell silent. In this situation, how should they proceed? Sherlock too pondered that question.

——“Oi, Sherlock. This is just my opinion, but……”

Amidst the long silence, the voice of Sherlock’s partner rang out in his mind.

——“When the fire started, Inspector Gregson went down the stairs until he was almost at the ground floor, right? During that time, there probably wasn’t anyone in the second floor corridor. Since Bruno-kun was also on that floor, I think he’s the most suspicious……. Hold on. If Mr Mike climbed up the rear staircase from the first floor, he would’ve been able to avoid the inspector and reach the second floor. Moreover, Mr Jerry was on the ground floor to begin with, so you could say he was in the most convenient location to start the fire……. Oh my, I’m starting to think all of them are suspicious.”

Sherlock could easily picture John getting confused by his own theories; gently, the corners of his mouth creased into a smile.

Then Gregson flashed Sherlock a bold grin as he spoke.

“Oi, Holmes. When I went down the stairs till I was nearly at the ground floor, there probably wasn’t anyone left in the second floor corridor. In that case, since he was on the same floor, Bruno would be the most suspicious. Fufu, as I thought, there was no need to bring you on this ca…… Hm, hold on. If Mike used the other staircase, he could’ve reached the second floor without me noticing. But Jerry’s room was on the ground floor, so it would’ve been easy to start the fire there…… Dammit, now we can’t narrow it down.”

“…………”

Strangely enough, the assistant inspector had unfortunately put forward the same theory, erasing John’s face from Sherlock’s mind once again.

Then, Mike also put forward his own theory.

“Hey, certainly, it makes sense that any one of us could’ve went up to the victim’s room. But wasn’t the door locked?”

“H-He could’ve been shot or stabbed through the door, but from what I heard, there wasn’t any evidence of that, right? M-Maybe after he killed him, the murderer locked the door again from the outside?”

Bruno also proposed a theory, but Mike was sceptical.

“The fire was going to burn everything down anyway, so why would he bother to do that?”

“I-In that case, maybe the killer opened the door to attack him, b-but the victim suddenly closed the door to try and protect himself?”

“Yeah, that might be possible. So when the wound proved fatal, it ended up looking like a locked-room murder. That makes a fair bit of sense; well, what do you think?”

“……I don’t know.”

Mike’s words had started a frank exchange of theories among the three suspects. Sherlock seemed to be listening with great interest, but Gregson seemed annoyed.

“Oi, don’t talk as you please: this is a matter for the Yard to examine. In the first place, it’s not clear whether it was a stab or shot wound……”

Hearing that, Sherlock spoke up.

“If he’d been done in with a gun, there probably would’ve been the sound of a gunshot. Though with a bit of effort, the sound could’ve been suppressed…… Did anyone hear any strange sounds?”

Bruno, who by chance happened to meet Sherlock’s gaze, responded.

“I heard someone shouting ‘Fire!’ from the outside, then flew out of bed, but I don’t remember anything after that…… Oh right: during the commotion, I think I heard something breaking once or twice.”

The timid young man had given an important testimony, but the burly man disputed that.

“Is that so? I was awake the whole time, but I didn’t hear anything?”

Even Mike’s usual appearance was intimidating; hearing that, Bruno shrank back.

“R-Right. It was probably just the sound of the wood snapping as it burnt.”

“……I can’t say either way. After all, everyone was confused and in chaos.”

Jerry also gave a vague testimony, and Gregson ruffled his hair in frustration.

“We don’t even know if there was a gunshot — it feels like we don’t have a single lead at all.”

“But if the killer had fired a gun in room 303, since he was on the same floor, Bruno probably would’ve heard it — though he himself isn’t clear on that.”

“……I knew that already; you didn’t have to say it.”

“Even though you’re making a face like that was a revelation?”

Sherlock poked a little fun at Gregson, then continued questioning the suspects.

“All of you are bandaged up rather pitifully — are they injuries from the fire earlier?”

“Yeah, I got burned while escaping; It’s not life-threatening, though.”

“It’s the same for me: when I reached the ground floor, it was already covered in flames, and when I tried to escape, I tripped and fell…… It was just my luck that the spot I landed on was aflame, so I ended up getting burned around my neck.”

Two of the suspects had explained how they got their injuries, but only one person remained in silence, his gaze slightly lowered. Of course, the detective probed further.

“Mr Jerry. Is your story the same?”

The man looked up at him. Then, after hesitating a little, he muttered briefly.

“……These are from an accident a long time ago. They have nothing to do with the fire.”

Saying that, he pulled his thick coat closer, obscuring his mouth. That caught Gregson’s attention.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but only you’ve seemed rather reluctant to speak. It feels like you don’t want to have anything to do with this case.”

Sherlock had also gotten the same impression; in contrast to the other two, who had even made their own deductions, it seemed this man was trying to withhold information about himself.

As both the detective and inspector fixed their gazes on him, eventually, Jerry explained himself in a low voice.

“I don’t like people prying into my affairs. But that’s because of my own personal situation; it has nothing to do with this case.”

“Why’s that? Could you be hiding important evidence from us?”

“…………”

Gregson tried to press him further, but Jerry remained silent, his intentions unreadable.

His actions were clearly suspicious, but Sherlock’s intuition told him the man had definitely been telling the truth. Jerry had answered all their questions properly; in addition, he couldn’t sense any hostility to the police emanating from the man.

However, Gregson tended to interpret such behaviour in the wrong way. Sherlock had to steer the conversation down a different path before the inspector made any needless accusations — so he called out to the inn’s proprietress, who had been waiting silently in a corner.

Footnotes:

[1] No relation to Jackie Weaver, the unexpected star of the Handforth parish council: this book was published end-2020, and that incident was in early-2021. (The Guardian)

[ouyangzizhensdad]

The Mo Village arc and establishing the MC

MDZS is a sprawling book with many characters, but it seems that it was clearly important to MXTX to establish her MC’s characterisation very strongly from the start. Although the novel in its entirety leans toward providing a strong characterisation for WWX, I thought it’d be fun to look back at how it is conveyed to the readers in the first few chapters before the inciting incident at Dafan Mountain

(N.B. I’m using a composite translation made of different translations so the wording/format might be slightly different than the version you are using)

Framing

The prologue starts with a conversation between unnamed characters in an inn, discussing the news of WWX’s death. While it was a clever way to already introduce an important theme of the novel (the effects of public opinion and how easy it is to make someone into a irredeemable villain) and get the exposition out of the way, it also frames WWX as a character: as readers, we are introduced first to perceptions of him, a characterisation-from-hearsay we’ll be able to compare to his characterisation in the novel. WWX is a “scourge” whose death is celebrated, who “defected” and bit the hand that fed him, a “deranged” killer who took thousands of lives. But before he went on the crooked path, he was a promising youth--although others seem to think he was corrupted from the start.

“But it can’t all be blamed on the path he cultivated. Ultimately, it was still because this Wei Wuxian’s moral character was too flawed, angering the Heavens and man alike! By the heavenly law, everyone answers for their deeds in the end, good and evil……”

The rumours also suggest that if WWX comes back to the world of the living he will enact his revenge upon them all, and his unimaginable powers would allow him to rain fury upon both Heaven and Earth. We get told: this guys is an incredibly powerful villain, reviled and feared by many. 

But the Yiling Laozu had enough power to overturn the Heavens and smother the Earth, move mountains and drain seas—at least, that was the way the rumors went. If he wanted to resist the summoning of his soul, it wouldn’t exactly be outside of his abilities. If in coming days his spirit were restored, if he forcibly possessed a body and were thus reborn, then not only the cultivation world, but all of humanity would inevitably meet with an even greater frenzy of vengeance and curses, sinking into a chaotic age of foul winds and bloody rains.

Establishing WWX and how he reacts when he’s thrown into an unpleasant situation

When WWX is brought back by MXY, we already have something to contrast him against thanks to the hearsay and rumours, and from the get-go we get a sense that WWX is not this fearsome figure that people made him out to be.

I’ll never get over the fact that our first introduction to WWX’s is the equivalent of the “the audacity of this bitch”.

Hazily, he thought: that’s quite a lot of courage you must have to kick this Laozu. 

Our MC and POV character is thrown into a situation, and from his reactions we can rapidly tell that he is someone who is observant, resourceful, good at deductive reasoning and thereby apt at solving mysteries. This is something that is reinforced at many, many points in the first few chapters and helps us buy in into what happens later in the novel when they uncover many other mysteries. WWX is a guy who figures shit out.

When WWX figures out he was summoned as a “an unforgivably evil malicious spirit“, we  get his take on his public perception.  

Wei Wuxian reeled at the implications. How had he been classified as “an irredeemly evil, malicious spirit”?

Yes, his reputation was rather poor and his final moments, horrifying tragic—but he had neither haunted nor had he seeked revenge on the living since becoming a spirit. He would dare to swear upon the Heavens and the Earth that you would never find a more peaceful and well-behaved lonely soul of a wild ghost!

At the same time, readers get a sense that even when he’s dealt a bad hand, WWX does not wait in despair for his luck to turn. Even though WWX describes his situation as “hopeless” and keeps “repeating over and over How could this be! in his heart “, he immediately goes into problem-solving mode, trying to figure out the situation and the wishes MXY forgot to share. This also happens  later. 

There was not a single thing to help him find some joy in being reborn! He might as well sit and meditate for a time, and adjust to the new body.

That same passage gives us a sense that WWX is not rushing into situations without taking the time to take it in, make up his mind and prepare as much as he can: the fact that we see him do meditation twice during that day (before he goes to the East Hall and after he checks on the Lan juniors) also contributes to that idea.

The chapters convey as well that WWX is sympathetic to MXY’s situation and does not resent him even though he forced WWX to enact revenge in his stead. As readers, we thus receive the following message: WWX is not prone to being resentful, to hold grudges.

He had originally wanted to wash his face and pay a few respects to the owner of this body, but there was no water in the shack—neither for drinking nor for washing. 

WWX is also, for a lack of a better word, sassy. It’s clear that he has a flair for the dramatics and lots of attitude. Look at that dramatic entrance.... he just.... yeets the bowl he was holding....

He pondered for a moment. Then, rising to his feet, he kicked the door open.

The two servants, in the midst of making eyes at each other, screamed in horror as the double doors of the shack suddenly burst open. Wei Wuxian threw aside his bowl and chopsticks and walked outside without anyone’s leave [...]

We are also introduced to the fact that WWX does not seem to take himself seriously and loves to shock people. 

When it came to wild displays of misbehavior, Wei Wuxian was a master. In the past when he ran wild, he still had to mind appearances lest others accuse him of having not been raised right. But now that he was a lunatic anyways, what face did he need! He could go straight to making a scene, acting however it pleased him.

While WWX is clearly not the one-dimensional evil monster depicted in rumours, we do see that he can be cunning: he lies easily if he feels it motivated, he is very good at talking people into a corner, apt at making them do incriminating things by leading them on, which he does by humiliating the Mo family for their mistreatment of MXY in front of a crowd. But in a way, that is also a quality of his: he is not just silver-tongued; he’s good at assessing a situation and people’s characters, able to figure out what will set them off.

We further get proof that he is not a blood-thirsty monster who disregards others when he tries to figure out if he can satisfy MXY’s spirit without having to wipe out the Mo family (although it is clearly the obvious solution) and when he is shown to care for the well-being of others. This is illustrated by the way he double-checks (through ruse) that the zhaoyin flags are properly set up and will be used safely by the Lan juniors. 

During the conversation, Wei Wuxian had already finished making a rapid examination of the Yin Summoning Flag in his hand. It had been painted in the correct manner, and there were no missing sigils either. There was not a single error or omission, so they should worked as intended. That being said, the person who had painted the flag lacked experience, and the painted sigils could only attract the evil spirits and walking corpses within at most five li. That should however prove to be enough. (chapter 2)

[...]

Wei Wuxian’s first thought was that something had gone wrong with the flag arraw the youth had set up. His inventions needed to be used with extreme caution, or else risk disaster. This was also why he had gone to check earlier if there were anything wrong with the array. (Chapter 3)

As our POV character, WWX comes across as endearing through little details: it’s in the way he calls LSZ a “good little seedling (好苗子)” and calls the Lan juniors a group of “小朋友“ in his inner monologue, or when he defends the Lan juniors from Mo-furen’s accusations. Or the way he likes Xiao Pingguo because it looks at him with contempt:

A donkey was tied to the handle, chewing on it. When it saw Wei Wuxian run over rashly, it seemed like it was surprised, and eyed him sideways as if it were a real person. Wei Wuxian made eye contact with him for one second and was immediately touched by the minuscule amount of contempt in its eyes.

Establishing how WWX acts in high-pressure situations

Things escalate quite quickly into accusations of murder and death and resentful corpses. This first sequence is thus our introduction to how WWX acts under pressure and in high-risk situations (which will continue to happen to our MC until the end of the novel). 

WWX is shown to be cool under pressure and quick to think on his feet, constantly re-assessing the situation and the risks. He is also seen as expecting people to arrive to conclusions without him needing to explain them out loud, like when he takes out the zhaoyin flag that MZY stole from his corpse, letting the Lan juniors understand on their own what happened. When he needs to explain, he will not do it in a straight-forward manner, giving small hints first (this preludes many of WWX and LWJ interaction when they understand each other’s thought process with only one sentence being said, and preludes how WWX will continue to act with the Juniors later on, making them think through the situations instead of feeding them the answers).

We also get the proof that WWX does not privilege self-preservation over the fate of others.

If he wanted to avoid having the situation get out of hand, Wei Wuxian should retreat. If they people who came did not know him, then all would be well—but if they happened to be someone who had dealt with him or fought against him in the past, it would be hard to guess what would happen next.

But the curse meant he could not leave Mo Village yet. As well, the spirit that had been summoned had taken two lives in quick succession, meaning it was extremely vicious. If Wei Wuxian left now, once the reinforcement arrived, the streets of Mo Village might already be packed with corpses missing their left arm, of which some would be blood relations of the GusuLanShi. 

After a short deliberation, Wei Wuxian thought, fight a quick battle to force a swift resolution (速战速决). (Chapter 3)

[...]

Wei Wuxian was watching the battle attentively. His tongue was slightly curled, suppressing a sharp whistle inside of his lips, preparing it to be let out. The whistle would be able to evoke even more hostility in the cruel corpses, which might turn the tables. Then, however, it would be difficult to ensure that nobody knew that it was his doing. 

In the blink of an eye, the hand moved like lightning, ruthlessly and precisely breaking Madame Mo’s neck. Watching as the Mo family grew closer to defeat, Wei Wuxian prepared to blow the whistle that he suppressed under his tongue. At the same time, the echoes of two strums on a stringed instrument came from far away. (chapter 4)

As well, we are told something about WWX when he only leaves once LWJ arrives: certainly because he’s afraid that LWJ might recognize him but mostly because (as it will become clear later on) he trusts that LWJ will be able to handle the situation in his stead. In order words, although WWX is willing to risk himself to help others, he is not careless with his life and safety (for instance he makes sure to destroy the proof of the Offering ritual before fleeing to make sure no one can figure out the fact that he is back from the dead).

WWX will not hesitate to fool people or pretend in order to help his goals. In this case, he is trying to help and fight without appearing like a powerful cultivator who can do modao, balancing self-preservation with the incentive to protect the people present. This is why he pushes LJY in front of LSZ at one point in the battle, instead of blocking it himself, while pretending to just be a lunatic doing lunatic things.

Inside of the Lan clan’s uniform jacket, there were compact stitchings of incantations using thin threads of the same color, included for protection. However, against strong ones like this, it could only be used once before it became invalid. During the emergency, he could only kick Lan Jingyi and use his body to protect Lan Sizhui’s neck.

This sequence also allows the reader to know more about modao and WWX’s skills, and how he can control corpses, as well as how WWX perceives his own abilities. 

TLDR:

The Mo Village arc, in conjunction with the prologue, competently sets up a lot of the moving pieces for the novel. It also leans heavily toward establishing a strong sense of characterisation for our MC and POV character, which is neat! 

NB: I think it’s also very telling that the next chapter after the Mo Mansion arc begins with us learning that WWX has been, in the past few days since his retreat, lorded over by a capricious donkey. WWX is clearly not someone who takes himself very seriously (often mocking himself):

The donkey ran over there and nothing could make it leave. Wei Wuxian hopped down and slapped its honoured buttocks. “You’re definitely destined for wealth, even harder to please than I am.” The donkey spat at him.

[ddarker-dreams]

Do Well. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]

warnings: dabi is just a huge asshole, emotional manipulation, implied panic attack word count: 2.6k.

“Would you be a dear and wait here for a few? I need to take a call.” 

Dabi tilts his head alongside his words, glints of amusement present in his sapphire eyes. You’re certain the bastard picks up on every subconscious movement your body makes at the question, feeling like an open book before him. Despite your valiant efforts, human biology doesn’t operate in your personal interest. The challenging premonition causes your lips to curl down, fingers twitching on the wide straw of your milk tea. Pausing mid sip, you pull back, eyelashes fluttering. It’s the subservient behavior he wants to see, and considering the alternatives, you’re tripping over yourself to give it to him.

“... Of course. I should just stay here, right?” It’s more of a question posed for your sake than his, information vital to keep your head above water. Any movements on your behalf that even hint at disobedience could lead to dire consequences, ranging in severity. The worst of which is being confined back to his dingy apartment, with nothing but your thoughts to entertain yourself. All the faux smiles, carefully timed giggles, and strategic brushes of skin against skin would be for naught. You worked too hard for these trips outside for it to fall through your fingers like sand. 

Your captor makes a point of giving you a once over, lackadaisical visage a front for a predator in waiting. Condensation builds up against the plastic container in hand, making it tricky to tell if it’s your hands growing clammy or the drink. Time passes by at a snail’s pace, neither of you making the slightest of movements. People go about their lives in happy-go-lucky bliss, none the wiser to the potential harm that Dabi poses. Feeling finally returns to your body as he stands, seemingly content with the exchange.

He shoots you a coy look over his shoulder, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “Don’t miss me too much.” 

Dabi snickers at how your nose scrunches up, waving and slinking off with his phone in hand. You watch his retreating figure, still in disbelief over the unfolding events. This would be the first time since being kidnapped that you’ve been on your own in public. These special little outings were a privilege, one that you had worked diligently for. Consistently being on your best behavior, day after day, in the presence of someone you abhor from the depths of your soul is no easy task. A rush of adrenaline shoots through your body when he’s out of sight, eyes darting around in excitement.

This is a prime location to make an escape, the outdoors of a crowded mall in the afternoon. Everyone ranging from families, to couples, and employees on their lunch break are walking around. Lively chatter fills your ears, and you observe every possibility as if it’s your last. While it’s likely a futile dream, the rush your quickening pulse brings demands attention. Lithe fingers shake by your side, every ounce of your strength devoted to keeping yourself from unraveling at the mere concept of being free. He has to be watching. You know him well enough that he wouldn’t have offered the opportunity to escape on a silver platter, there’s got to be measures in place. 

There’s no way he isn’t keeping an eye on you now, making sure that you hold true to your word of behaving. 

Your shoulders slump at this cruel reality. The act of looking around excitedly would be too much of a give away, an observation he’d surely bring up later. An eruption of goosebumps dot your skin, even in the sweltering summer heat. Taking another sip of your drink, you abandon hope of escape, certain it’d be a mistake should you try it. Though he’s purposefully kept you in the dark on most of his relationships with the League of Villains, you can safely assume he’s interconnected with enough unsavory figures to locate you should it be necessary. In contrast to the sugary goodness that coats your tongue, a sour taste in your mouth develops at this blatant flaunting of power. What an asshole. 

To be so self-assured that even in the event of your escape, hunting you down and bringing you back into his loving arms is still within the realm of possibility. Your eye twitches at this realization, mentally flinging numerous curses towards him. He didn’t have to make it so obvious, rubbing salt on the theoretical wound of your pride. Too preoccupied with festering thoughts of resentment, you fail to notice a figure taking a seat next to you on the bench. 

“Is the drink not good or something?” A light, masculine voice asks from your left. Darting around immediately at the interruption of your venomous thoughts, you spot a man around your age. Sporting messy brunette hair and a casual get up of a tee with a pair of jeans, it tugs painfully on your heart to see someone living an uninhibited life as you used to. This envy mutates into horror, as you realize being caught speaking to a stranger is going to land you in boiling water. Dabi’s consciousness is a minefield in waiting, daring to blow at the slightest wrong movement. 

What do you do? It might leave a wrong impression should you not say anything. The current times are plagued by high tension.  Numerous League of Villain attacks have rendered the surrounding regions on constant alert, news anchors telling folks to be wary of anyone or anything suspicious. Weighing your options, you decide to dismiss the stranger in kind as fast as humanly possible. 

Just act natural, act natural… “W-why do you say that?” 

Shit. Your first conversation with someone other than Dabi in over half a year has left you thoroughly horrified, pupils no doubt dilated and voice meeker than a mouse squeak. The stutter has you wincing, your naive companion undoubtedly picking up on it. You want nothing more than to shoo him off, but in fear of drawing unwanted attention, attempt to suppress your frayed nerves. You’ve been through worse than a strained conversation and made it out relatively unscatched, but this feels like a different type of battle. 

“You just seemed to be making quite the upset face,” he chuckles, reminiscing on the thought. He must’ve been referring to the glowering thinking about Dabi brought out from you. “I swear I’m not a creep or anything. I was just waiting to pick up my little sister, and happened to catch you scowling.” 

“The name’s Ryota. And you?” 

Suppressing panic that threatens to drown you, you swallow thickly. “I’m uh, Hina. The drink is fine… I just have a lot on my mind.” 

The lie is seasoned with enough truths that you hope it isn’t too transparent. Giving away your actual name could hint back to missing person’s cases, the thought of which would greatly displease Dabi. Besides, if it had been as simple as going to the police, you would’ve done it by now. You’ve grown uncomfortably familiar with Dabi’s workings, killing off a few people or bribing them would be one of the least heinous things in his portfolio. You figure the best case scenario here is that this well meaning Ryota character leaves you be, or else dire consequences will come to fruition. 

“Good to know, Hina-san. My lil sis talks about boba often, but I’ve never gotten that into it. I figure since the store’s right here, I should surprise her with a drink. What would you recommend?” 

You can’t help but greedily soak in the normalcy an interaction like this brings with it. The irritation from being drawn into a conversation is replaced with pity, a stronger resolve to keep this bystander out of harm’s way blooming. There’s no time to be wasted on the warmth erupting in your chest, or on the first genuine smiles in months that’s settled on your lips. To see the best humanity has to offer, after being subjected to the worst, is a much needed breath of fresh air. While it may be greedy to fixate on these aspects, you find yourself wanting to savor the moment of being a regular person. 

Surely, Dabi would understand your logic. 

“It depends on her tastes. If she likes sweeter drinks, I’d recommend Thai milk tea. If you’re not sure, classic milk tea is always a safe bet.” You’re proud of how you’ve been able to pull yourself together, speaking like you used to. With this, he should be set to leave, or at least you want to believe this. Unfortunately for you, life is never so easy. He doesn’t seem interested in going anywhere anytime soon, crossing his legs and leaning slightly closer to you. Realizing your mistake of radiating friendliness, your muscles go taut. 

You need to do something about this before it’s too late. 

Ryota scratches his head, mulling over your advice. “I’ll keep all that in mind. I appreciate your insight.” 

“It feels nice to be able to chill and talk like this every now and then. If I’m being honest, I was somewhat against my sister coming out to hang with friends,” Ryota’s tone takes a turn for the somber, face looking crestfallen. “With all the chaos that’s been around, y’know. It feels like everyday I wake up to more of those League of Villain stories. It feels like it’ll just be a matter of time until something happens near here.” 

“I’m sorry that--” 

“Things sure are rough,” A voice that brings out every negative emotion possible speaks up from behind you, Dabi’s familiar figure slithering into sight. He takes a seat on the bench, close to your person, wrapping a tight arm around your shoulder. “I hate to interrupt, but I need to borrow her for a bit. You mind?” 

Neither of you were expecting the sudden interruption, Ryota trying to piece everything together. “Oh, uh, not at all.’

Everything hits you like a ton of bricks. From Dabi’s rich cologne that mixes in with the smell of ash, his hair brushing against the side of your face, to the possessiveness of his grip. He squeezes your shoulder, looking from Ryota to you. It takes a moment to register what he’s communicating, but you’re able to decipher the gesture. In a last ditch attempt to salvage this situation, you confirm Dabi’s statement before things get ugly. Nodding your head, you watch with bated breath as Ryota looks from Dabi to you. He gets up from his spot on the bench, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets.

“It was nice talking to you.” 

Ryota heads off towards the mall doors, leaving you in the clutches of the devil incarnate. You feel how terribly warm Dabi is next to you, words wanting to spill out to justify the actions that led up to this moment. Before you get the opportunity to ramble out your thoughts, Dabi places a finger on your lips, looking at you with the same grin as always.

“Making some new friends, hm?” He inquires, drawing out the syllables. His finger goes south, lifting up your chin, and holding you close to his face. “Awe, babe. You look like you’re aboutta cry. Don’t give me that look.” 

You’re not sure if you should feel horrified at his sudden spike in talkativeness, or relieved over not having to speak your piece yet. The words wouldn’t be able to leave your mouth even if you wanted them to, a lump forming in your throat to coincide the dryness of your tongue. Dabi makes a point of emphasizing his engulfing height, having to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. Not wanting to make a scene, you do everything within your power to still the tears that are threatening to spill out. There’s no visible signs of wrath, not that you can pick up on. He watches with great interest as you calm yourself, releasing the grip on your face and leaning back into the bench. 

When you appear sufficiently soothed, he speaks up once more, voice grating your ears. “So tell me, doll. What was all that about? I knew you’d be hurting for company in my absence, but I didn’t think you’d be so bold as to speak to someone else.” 

“I… I was approached, and… I swear, nothing happened. He just-- just wanted to know about a drink for his sister, and--” 

Dabi gently flicks your forehead, unable to stifle his cackling any longer. “I’m just messin’ with ya. I saw everything.” 

It doesn’t settle in immediately, the hypothetical cogs and gears of your head turning in slow motion. Your heart is pounding so violently that you hear it in your ears, your face erupting into a bright red. Humiliation, indignation, and finally, loathing take turns dominating your mind. He’s always had the best of times playing with you at your own expense, poking and prodding to see what reactions he can get. There’s a knee jerk reaction to want to slap him, anything to let out these overflowing feelings. Knowing that getting bothered is what he finds the most pleasure in, you’re further motivated to gain control over yourself. 

A deep breath. Inhale, exhale. You continue repeating these steps, biting your tongue to the point it stings. Dabi rests his head on his fist, watching you calm yourself down through lidded eyes. You really do get yourself worked up so easily, it’s endearing. He wants to pinch your cheeks and tease you more, but is feeling generous enough to give you this time to gather yourself. There’ll be plenty of time to play with you later, occupying himself with this cute sight placates him for the time being. When you finally reopen your eyes, you’re met with the deplorable sight of Dabi’s crooked grin. 

“Can we just… go home? Please?” You hate how weak your voice sounds. You hate everything about this situation, about the life that you’ve been forced into living. How you have to adapt to unspoken rules, subjected to twists and turns that never let you lower your guard. Most of all, you hate the person who has done this to you. His touch, his scent, his voice, all of it. You want nothing more than to scream at him at the top of your lengths, ripping that satisfied looking off his flesh and ridding yourself of this turmoil once and for all.

“Hm? Already? I thought you were hoping to get some dinner out tonight.” Dabi keeps up an air of nonchalance, likely wanting to hear you repeat yourself. Not willing to give in outright, you instead bunch up the fabric of his jacket with your hand. 

“Dabi…” 

It’s a low plea. You know you’ve gotten your point across ages ago, but he’s deriving too much pleasure from seeing how you squirm. The painful utterance serves you well, earning the slightest bit of reprieve as he gets up. On shaky legs, you follow after him, head downcast. Fixating on the tops of your shoes, you wonder if distracting yourself might do anything to ease your tormented soul. The events of the day have left you thoroughly exhausting, and nothing sounds better to you than sleeping for as long as he’ll allow you.

“Alright, alright. Let’s head on back,” he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. No longer having strength to muster up in retaliation, you let him do as he pleases, still fighting down sniffles. “Don’t bother your pretty little head about this.” 

You don’t bother honoring him with a reaction. 

Dabi takes a final glance over his shoulder, spotting the pesky man from before, who is still waiting against a wall. He takes a mental picture of the notable features, lips settling into a deep frown. How troublesome. Before you notice anything, he picks up his pace, continuing the walk back to his apartment. Ideas and resentment swirl within his mind like a tornado, pent up frustration begging to be released. 

All in due time, he thinks.

[blushing-starker]

Anon asked for alpha Peter and omega Tony for a baby announcement. Thank you to the wonderful @vaguekiwi for motivating me and sharing her thoughts on the story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did, anon.

"Tony, Tony? Are you up? It's 7:30am already, you have a meeting with Miss Potts in forty minutes. Tony?"

Soft hands curl into already silver hair, scratching at the strands in an attempt to wake him up gently. Butterfly kisses on a cold nape, a ridiculously hot nose nuzzling everywhere. Peter knows scenting the billionaire is basically the only way one can ensure a calm morning.

Not today. And not for the next few months either.

He loves his husband, appreciates the nearly romantic demeanor, he does. But "unless you have a cup of coffee for me, there is no way in hell i am gonna leave this bed. your child has kept me up with nausea the entire night. I wanna hurl my guts out more than that time Rhodes found Dad's liquor cabinet. please, tell me you have coffee."

"..." Tony is severely displeased by the fact he can read Peter like a book even with half his mind shut off because fine, he's right and dammit all.

"I want that weird drink you make. The one with milk, cinnamon and chunks of brownie. And French toast with waffles. No jam, not too much butter, as much sugar as possible. Now, go before I scream at you for having the only dick that could get a hormone fucked forty something omega pregnant. "

The kid scrambles from bed, practically face plants with all the covers tangling long legs and yup, this is the person that the universe designated as his soulmate. Because Tony Stark can never have a partner with a reasonable, normal amount of enthusiasm, stamina and a sense of balance.

That sounds like he's ungrateful, he's not. But it turns out being three months pregnant gives him plenty of perspective to peer at life in a whole new way that does not include caffeine, alcohol or sex.

Would he kill and die for this amazing human being that makes Tony's heart race no matter the day, that inspires him to be a better version of himself? Yes, no questions asked. No hesitation and no regret.

Would he clobber Peter for doing the impossible and technically causing Tony incredible discomfort on a daily basis thanks to what his doctors can only assume is a superhuman baby he already loves and adores more than life itself? Also yes.

Things aren't mutually exclusive in this household.

Pep, bless her, has yet to find out about their future mini Parker so there's been no respite on the whole 'running a multi billion dollar industry ' thing. And yeah, while it's not exactly easy, he can focus on other things and not fall into a panicky state of mind — because him? A father? Of a super baby? Tony Stark, infamous playboy with a hedonistic streak, a dad?

Just thinking along those lines makes shame and self doubt slither over a metallic plate. Working, dealing with innovative scientists, crafting the new world of tomorrow, guaranteeing the safety of their planet, shapeshifting into a role model, a mentor (for the interns and school kids he visits, not Peter, of course, thank God they left that dynamic ages ago), loyal friend, reluctant errand boy (fuck the assholes in charge of the Accords), great husband, good man, it all distracts a fearful child from thinking, what if I turn into Howard?

"I couldn't find brownies, so cookies it is! Aunt May had a few boxes sent in when I told her work was keeping you on your feet all the time. Said it'd be a good idea to snack along the day in case you—" Peter freezes, tenses with a not-so-narrow back held ramrod straight. Oh, his husband brought him breakfast in bed.

How could he ever think to clobber such a nice, wonderful—

"Your scent is odd."

"Yeah, well fuck you too then."

Five seconds of silence.

"I'm bringing you one cup of coffee and the hormone pills."

" Yup, that's a great idea. "

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

Tony’s mumbo jumbo with self loathing is firmly put on the back burner after inhaling a delicious breakfast and chugging that one glorious cup of coffee. Until they go to the bathroom and he sees himself in the mirror.

"We gotta tell them."

"You said you wanted to wait a while before saying anything."

Peter strips, ducks into the warm shower, lets out a pleased little sigh and Tony wants to rip his fingernails off. Is it bad, having sex while pregnant? No! The doctors, every single one of them, said it's a perfectly normal thing to do. It'd be bad if they didn't have sex because Tony, thanks to his crazy hormone production, needs the extra attention for his body to understand this is a happy process that shouldn't include sad pheromones or stressed out moments. Will Peter put him out of his misery and allow a quickie in the mornings? No.

"Take more than five minutes in that shower and I'm joining you."

Listen, he grew up in the 80's and 90's, Tony wasn't immune to peer pressure. Did he cave and eventually do so many squat competitions with Rhodey his butt turned into a duck's butt? There's no evidence, he's made sure, but yes. And Starks have always turned out to be beautiful, doesn't matter your gender or age. Finding a companion for the night has never been a problem for anyone in his family tree.

That, and his work as Iron Man has kept him — well, not ripped like Cap, certainly not as lean and (God help him) athletic as Peter, but fit. Sturdy. Firm. Solid. (Peter once muttered the words 'daddy-like' in regards to his body and he nearly choked on water.)

The passage of time has made him a bit slower, dusted once black hair with, as his husband says, stardust and the corners of his eyes now show how much time Tony spends laughing or frowning. All in all, he looks fucking spectacular for his age and experience as a villain-punching-bag. Thing is, he has a belly. A bump. A curve where it was once, well. Less curvy. Is it a problem for Peter? Nope, as acknowledged every time his alpha tackles him if he so much as looks oddly in the mirror. Is it a problem for him? He'll get back to you on that.

The point is, there's a belly when just a few months ago there wasn't such a pronounced belly. It's great, of course. Proof their child is growing steadily and Tony's body is adjusting to it accordingly. A small part of him, the omega part he actually lets live, is fascinated and proud. He's doing that, Tony's the one growing a human being, creating life out of nothing in his own body. That child, although not the only physical embodiment of their relationship, is a result of his love for Peter. Of how much his husband loves him. They love each other so much they're gonna start another family together. That chokes him up a bit, reminds him how grateful he is for Peter and for the other Avengers. If they hadn't been so accepting of his status, would he have ever considered going through with this?

Anyway, he's not gonna start sobbing this early in the morning when there's no alcohol involved. It's fantastic seeing his child develop, good, warm and fuzzy feelings, yada yada yada, it's also not very easy to hide. And Tony...Tony wanted to hide it from his family because.

Because Peter hasn't been the only partner in all his life that has wondered about a future with a white picket fence. Because when he was Peter's age, in his goddamn prime, a doctor, ten doctors, all the doctors told him the same thing, smashed his dream into a million pieces. Tony was nearly infertile. There was a one in a million chances of him getting pregnant. If he did, they couldn't be sure his body would be able to maintain two hearts. And then the cave happened.

So yeah. It happened to his cousins, his aunt, a few uncles, his grandmother. Tony would do a baby announcement, but only the second that baby was outside of him and safely in his arms. Now there are still several months left and nothing certain. But time is a bitch and beginning to show the world, maybe those extra pounds aren't from eating the Parker's amazing breakfasts.

"Tony, you know I don't wanna risk-" Losing control of my strength. They've been together long enough that Tony can see quite clearly between the lines.

"Hurting us, yeah, I know, I understand. I'm getting too wide, we're gonna have to tell them or Natasha will take one look at me and whoops, impromptu announcement from someone else. It's a miracle she was out on those missions when we found out." Thank God for renegade troops.

He's still looking at himself in the mirror when Peter comes out, barely dries up and slides behind him. His husband is slightly taller now, can easily hook a curved jaw on Tony's shoulder to peer at the image they make. Contrasts, he supposes, have always enthralled Tony. The study of light and shadow. Variations of the same basic components. Where his body is aging, showing signs of wear and tear, Peter's is evolving into something beautiful, majestic. Silver hair, chestnut brown. Scarred canvas, silky smooth and sunkissed skin. Soft, fragile curves, chiseled lines that deserve to be revered more than Michelangelo’s David. But their eyes, their eyes are equally tired.

“We can tell them if you want, have dinner together and just, just say it. Like that -”

“No. It's our kid, we're not gonna act like it's ripping off a band aid. This is special, unique. Dinner is good. Fantastic, actually. Wait for dessert, and announce it. “ Peter comes ever closer, wraps arms that could carry the world around him and how did he get so lucky?

They've lied to each other in the past. Mostly in the beginning, when they were too worried about hurting their new relationship to show their desires and wants. Tony didn't explain the Training Wheels Protocol. Peter tried to fight high level crime on his own. Things got hard to understand, like being in the right place at the wrong time. Puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together, an extra inch of space prohibiting them from seeing all the possibilities that the truth could bring. They were walking the same path, just in parallel lines that never crossed.

But then he'd been rejected, thrown away and able to realize how fucking stupid it was to let Peter go when being near the kid, it felt like finally breathing after residing in the deep end of a pool for a thousand years. So Tony ran after him one day, crashed into his AP English class, half assed an excuse for the baffled teacher, yanked Peter out of the room and proceeded to have the best make out session of his life with his back against the kid's locker. And now they don't lie, ever.

Which is why it's so hard to accept Peter's, “You're beautiful, Tony. The handsomest man I've ever seen in my life. I loved you before, I love you now, I'll love you forever, Anthony Stark. You carrying our kid doesn't change that, how could it, Tony? It's going to be ok. The three of us will be ok and I won't stop thanking whoever decided I'd get to marry my wet dream.”

Scorching kisses trace his pulse point slowly, sharp nails start dragging against a too thin shirt, but it's the fact that Peter hasn't looked away from him, is confidently holding his gaze through the glass, that makes Tony shudder and stop breathing.

The bathroom is flooded with pheromones, cinnamon and honey assaulting an unprepared billionaire, and he'll die if they stay like this, can't function properly, brain switching gears, trying valiantly to remember baseball stats, past wounds, May's cooking because Peter's gonna wreck his sanity if those hands keep winding down, if those lips don't stop unraveling him like a Christmas present.

“If I'd known you'd get this handsy and romantic, I would have complained about how I look earlier." It's a gasp, half murmur, half plea as Peter grins at him shamelessly. “I know it's rude and wrong and sexist, but I like comforting my omega, acting like a stereotypical alpha. Makes me feel like I'm doing my job of making you happy. “

He quirks an eyebrow, is glad Peter can be comfortable enough to take the reins every once in a while. “You're telling me that assuring me I'm still drop dead gorgeous, “ his husband snorts, nips at Tony's shoulder for that quip, “ makes you horny because you feel like an alpha comforting, and I quote, ‘your omega’? “

Peter reverts back to the shy teenager who could barely ask a girl out to the homecoming dance, ducks his head into Tony’s neck with a blush quickly spreading over damp skin. “Well, I've got news for you, sweetheart. Your wet dream also thoroughly enjoys it so you better break tradition and have sex with me to remind me I'm the hottest man you've ever seen. "

He's actually serious about this, his self esteem hasn't exactly been, you know, the best and Tony's mood always improves significantly after playing around in bed with Peter. Besides, it's a sign of trust. Peter won't hurt him or their child, will be able to hold back his strength. He always does.

Listen, it's not exactly moral, but he has more than enough problems to go ahead and analyze his attraction and dependency on Peter while pregnant.

“So, I can distract you from your bad thoughts by acting sort of possessive and taking you to bed? " Oh, he adores when his husband is afraid of showing a new side of himself and asks for permission ever so sweetly.

“Babe, if you don't, I'll kick you out of the apartment. Give me possessive Peter Parker any day you want, like I'm gonna complain about a gorgeous, brilliant twenty something year old all over me. Now what's it gonna be, alpha dear, bathroom or bedroom? I wouldn't mind the tile but, oh God, I forgot you could pick me up." Tony clings to broad shoulders, can't help but laugh because aren't they a pair?

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

After having what he's sure was the best sex of his life, Tony stumbles out of the bedroom with torn clothes, a dazed look in his eyes and several bruises blossoming around his neck. Peter's halfway out the doorway when Tony whistles, makes sure all their family is paying attention, blurts out, “Peter and I are having a kid. I'm pregnant, woohoo, it's great, it's amazing, save your congratulations for later. We'll do a proper thing soon, if anyone interrupts and they're not dying, I'll kill you myself. See you in a few hours, " and yanks him back in while Friday activates Sock on the Doorknob Protocol.

Rhodey and Nat clink glasses while waiting on the others to pay up on their bets regarding Tony and Peter's odd behavior.

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

Later, much later, like, two days later, they have a proper dinner with their family in the tower. There are balloons and streamers, cake and ice cream, warm hugs and gentle cheek kisses, subtle tears and full on weeping (Happy had to borrow a box of Kleenex), pictures and videos and a pile of gifts taller than Tony.

The most important thing, though, is that the A.I recorded the reaction after Clint asked about baby names. He's grateful they went to the doctor before tonight. The visit revealed a treasure Tony thought he'd never have. Now it's time to reveal it to their pack.

His husband snuggles up to him, is so ecstatic the whole dining room smells like cinnamon and honey, like joyous love he'll never get enough of. Tony grins at him, curls their hands together and repeats the same thing over and over again in his head.

It'll be ok. They'll be ok. If the universe keeps giving Tony the greatest gifts he could ever want, maybe it's time he stopped looking at the horse's mouth. That's how it goes, right? Right.

He turns to look at Peter, loves him so much it aches, feels tiny feet pressing against his stomach. Guesses he's not the only one smitten with this incredible human being.

“We were thinking Marie,” Peter smiles at him, eyes lit up and lovely.

Tony is never going to forget this moment, this warmth in his chest.

“And Benjamin Parker-Stark.”

Their family loses their shit and both Friday and Karen have ample proof.

(@puppypeter look, omega tones! @tonystarkisaslut thank you so much for allowing me to use the prompt board! I am still accepting prompts! Although I can't guarantee getting them ready within a few days, I'll try to finish them on the one week mark depending on how long the fic is!)

[wafflesandkruge]

when you love someone

The Grand Palace was quiet at this hour with nearly everyone asleep, save for the two royals themselves. Although he’d gone to bed at his usual time, sleep had eluded him and he’d tossed and turned until he simply gave up. He’d slipped into the kitchens the same way he had when he was a boy, but instead of desserts, he found himself looking for something a bit stronger. But to his surprise, he’d found his soon-to-be wife already there, her personality more bracing than any liquor he’d ever tasted.

for @trackermal​​: “ehri and nik and ‘how come she loves you?’”

Ehri looked at Nikolai over her glass of brandy with obvious distaste. He couldn’t help but think she had spent a little too much time with Zoya- they had the same unimpressed expression seemingly reserved just for him, like he was a cheap street magician who kept bumbling his tricks. Which was rude, because he was perfectly capable of juggling.

“Should a wife really be looking at her husband like that?” He attempted to reach for his glass, then remembered Ehri had stolen it. She’d developed a taste for his favorite drink in her few weeks in Os Alta. With a sigh, he fetched another glass from the cabinet and poured another one for himself.

The Grand Palace was quiet at this hour with nearly everyone asleep, save for the two royals themselves. Although he’d gone to bed at his usual time, sleep had eluded him and he’d tossed and turned until he simply gave up. He’d slipped into the kitchens the same way he had when he was a boy, but instead of desserts, he found himself looking for something a bit stronger. But to his surprise, he’d found his soon-to-be wife already there, her personality more bracing than any liquor he’d ever tasted.

Ehri scowled. “Like what?”

“Like I just killed your childhood pet in front of you.”

“My sister did that once,” she mused.

“Makhi?”

“Correct.”

“Hmm. Elder siblings really are the worst, aren’t they?”

“I’ll drink to that,” she muttered as she clinked her glass to his. A bit of amber liquid sloshed over the side and onto the table, but she didn’t seem to notice as she brought the glass to her lips again. Nikolai wondered just how much she’d had before he’d walked in. When he’d entered the room, he’d found her sitting at a table under a window, the moonlight bathing her in a silver glow as she’d sipped at rice wine and stared out at the city with a melancholic expression. In her pale dress, she might as well have been a statue carved by a skillful hand.

He often wondered if he’d ever be able to love her the way a husband loved a wife. Attempted murder aside, he found he was quite fond of her; her sharp wit and sharper tongue were always worthwhile sparring partners and she was undeniably pretty in the unassuming manner of a spring blossom. But the fondness he had for Ehri never grew into anything more than the affection he'd feel for a close friend, not in the way it did with...her.

He cleared his throat loudly, suddenly not wanting to dwell on those thoughts. Ehri cut him a baleful glance.

“Yes, dearest husband?”

“I was wondering, sweetest wife, the reason for your late night visit. I’m assuming you weren’t here for the excellent view?”

Ehri scoffed and reached for the bottle again. “The view here is nothing in comparison to Ahmrat Jen. I am marrying into a backwater village.”

Nikolai clutched at his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me.”

“And I’ll do it again.”

He let her threat of regicide slide and sipped at his glass. As he’d hoped, she sighed and began to speak to fill the silence.

“I talked to Mayu today.”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. The Tavgharad girl had been confined to a separate wing of the palace ever since she’d recovered from her self-inflicted wound. To his knowledge, there had been no attempt at contact from either of them. His puzzled thoughts must have shown on his face, because Ehri snorted and shook her head.

“It was that Shu guard of yours. Tolya. He snuck me into the east wing for half an hour.”

A bolt of panic went through him. Tolya? If his most trusted guard was helping plot against him, why would she reveal that? His grip on his glass tightened until his knuckles were white. But before his thoughts could spiral further, she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t look like that, you’ll get wrinkles. And what would you be without your good looks? He was within earshot the entire time to make sure we weren’t plotting anything. Ask him yourself.”

“But...” he started, his mind still struggling to grasp the magnitude of his friend’s betrayal. “Why would he help you?”

“Because he’s an incurable romantic,” she replied, her gaze shifting away from his face. Her hands shook as she raised her glass again and downed it in one go. He waited for her to say more, to finish her thought, but her lips were pressed into a thin line as she looked at anything but him.

It hit him a moment later.

“Oh.” He suddenly felt like the world’s biggest fool.

“Took you long enough. And I thought they said you were clever.” Her words were sharp, but there was visible relief on her face as she finally set her glass aside. He supposed he ought to have been touched she trusted him enough to let him in on so big of a secret. Though he supposed he didn’t have much to gain from it, not when he was the one who needed the wedding to happen.

“So how long...” his voice trailed off.

“Since we were seventeen. She’d just been assigned to my guard, and she was the only girl my age in the palace who wasn’t scared to talk to me.” She traced the grain of the wooden table with a finger, seemingly lost in her memories. “She kissed me first, actually. Stupid on her part, when she knew I could have had her executed for even touching me. But it all worked out. Until it fell apart again, I suppose.”

“What happened?”

“She said she wouldn’t be staying. That she’d go back to Shu Han the first chance she got because she couldn’t see me wed to another.” Ehri gave a brittle laugh. “Her jealousy is stronger than her oath of loyalty, I suppose.”

Nikolai averted his gaze. He had the distinct feeling Ehri wouldn’t appreciate it if he saw her cry. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Well, actually,” she conceded, sniffling a little, “it is. But it’s not your fault we were born as two people who couldn’t be together in this life.”

He suddenly found his glass terribly interesting. He wasn’t sure if she’d meant to hint at his own personal dilemmas, but their conversation was getting uncomfortably close to turning on him. And of course, she decided to pounce on that.

“You and the general.” It wasn’t a question, or even speculation, but a statement. Nikolai tried not to wince.

“What about General Nazyalensky and I?”

“You care for each other.” Her golden eyes were bright with unshed tears, but they were still narrowed in triumph. Saints, did everything have to be a fight with her? Nikolai ran a hand through his hair and tried to keep his knee from bouncing.

“Of course we care for each other,” he said with a forced laugh, “As I’m sure you know, four years ago-”

“That’s not what I mean,” she interrupted. She leaned in closer until he could smell her floral perfume. He tried not to lean back. That would have been a loss for him. “The two of you are like Mayu and I. Zhiji. When they know you better than you know yourself.”

He thought about denying it, as he’d always done. But perhaps it was the drink, or the lack of sleep, or the company, that he gave a tired nod. It wasn’t his best decision, but it felt fair. Surprisingly, Ehri didn’t gloat. Instead, she looked even gloomier if possible. She slumped back into her chair.

“Why hasn’t she left, then? Will she still be seeing you behind closed doors even after we are wed? How can she still love you?”

How indeed. Nikolai reached for the bottle again, only to find it empty. They were both going to regret this the next morning. He sighed and folded his hands together so they would stop trembling.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her. If she tells me she wants to leave tomorrow, I wouldn’t stop her.”

Ehri’s brows furrowed. “You wouldn’t fight to keep her here?”

“No. Sometimes, love is about letting go.” And that was what all love was in the end, wasn’t it? The loss of it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Saints, he needed another drink. He pushed himself up from the table and started digging through the cabinets again.

She was silent as she turned that over in her head. Nikolai found a half-full bottle of kvas, probably hidden away by a kitchen boy to show off to his friends later. Not his favorite, but it’d have to do. He’d replace it with a nicer bottle the next day. He brought it back to the table and filled both their glasses.

“I don’t think I like that very much,” Ehri said, staring into her drink as if she could scry secrets from its surface. “Love should be something you fight to keep, no matter what.”

He offered her a tired smile. “Then you’re the braver one of us, Princess. Personally, I’m a bit tired of fighting at the moment.”

“You give shitty advice,” she accused.

“I’m drunk.”

“It’s an improvement.”

He decided to let her have the last word. They sat in silence as the moon climbed higher in the sky, the last bottle quickly polished off between them. There was a certain comfort in the quiet, an understanding that he only found with Ehri. It was rather nice. But if he ever told her that, she’d probably laugh in his face. Saints, he wished he’d meet a decent royal at least once in his life.

Ehri was the first to push away from the table first some hours later, the legs of her chair scraping against the stone floor with an ear splitting screech. Nikolai winced.

“Have a good night, o’ honorable husband,” she said as she brushed some dust off her sleeve. Her entire body swayed with the motion. “Don’t get assassinated. I don’t think I could manage to look mournful at your funeral.”

“Sweet dreams, darling wife,” he said with some amusement as he watched her stumble out of the kitchen. If he’d been feeling kinder, he might have offered to walk her to her room. But when he already knew what the answer was going to be, he didn’t have the strength to waste his breath.

[poormeowmeowcollector]

We would name our children Jackie and Wilson

Relationship: Loki/Female Reader (Hozier did the gender first, don't @ me)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, mental health, alcohol.

Summary: Your relationship reminds you of a nice soft song. But things are not always so sweet.

Notes: this is part of a somewhat Collab with @lucywrites02, her part is done and can be found here, read it to soften the pain. I would say that I'm terribly sorry for the pain ahead, but I'm not. Meaning of the song can be found here, I used it for reference

Read On AO3

So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes

Loki fights for a deep breath.

It's just your face, you idiot. What are you afraid of? This mean voice from the back of his head asks.

They manage to draw a shaky inhale and puff it out, finally opening his eyes and staring at the reflection.

But those hateful crimson eyes staring back is too much, even though they look at them behind tears.

"Maybe another day…" he sighs and wears the illusion again. But the bloodshot eyes stay, this time not because of the Jötunn form.

No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight

For how long will you hide from the monster you are? This same voice asks in the dead of the night.

Once again, it's not mistaken.

"I can't walk amongst mortals like this. This illusion helps me avoid some of the staring," they respond. It's a beautiful lie, Loki almost believes it.

Still, it will break down. Like everything does.

This argument stays and torments him for the rest of the night.

Soul deep in this swill with the most familiar of swine / For reasons wretched and divine

Stark had suggested another night out on a bar. Loki usually declines, but comes to this one.

Soon enough, everyone is drunk and happy. Alcohol from Midgard is like a beverage for Æsir, and Loki can barely get tipsy. But Loki still decides to drink.

This period had some very successful missions, and the avengers are celebrating it by drinking. Little do they know that Loki drinks for a whole more different reasons…

She blows out of nowhere, a roman candle of the wild

It's late. Loki's surely past the tipsy phase, but still has control. So, they just sit on a bar and watch the others have fun.

"Would you mind some company?" you yell from a part of the crowd. Loki tries not to flinch, loud sounds do no good at him.

Then they see you, all smiling and beaming like a firework, drink in hand as you walk closer and point at a stool beside him.

They have to admit, you look ravishing.

"You're free to sit, if you want to," he smiles back and nods at the seat. You grin and slide there, placing your drink in the bar and having your attention to them.

"Are you not afraid someone might drug the drink?" Loki winders, eyes on the cocktail.

"Sitting beside an Avenger is safe enough, don't you think? And it's rubbish anyways, I probably won't finish it,"

Midgard has different communication patterns, and Loki's inability to catch up in time has made their silver tongue rusty and useless. But you make a conversation with him out of nowhere, like it's the most easy thing.

Laughing her way through my feeble disguise/ And Lord, she found me just in time

A few days later after the night out, the sparks of happiness you casted on Loki's heart have died out. But Thor insists that being out of the four walls of their chambers will do good to him, and Loki gives in. They wear an illusion to hide the mess that he is in and join Thor on their afternoon walk around for some food, mostly.

During the hours long conversation, you didn't mention that you work for Stark, in the Tower. They smile and call your name the sparks igniting inside his heart once again. It gets stronger when you give them this glowing smile and walk closer.

"Brother, will you mind if I get stolen for a moment?" he turns to Thor.

"Have fun, brother," he smiles before greeting you and leaving.

"You know, there's a nice coffee shop with a big tea collection, what do you think?" you beam, knowing it's an offer Loki cannot resist.

It's not far away, and truly a sweet little place, crammed between the offices. You order your drinks and settle on a table nearby. You give Loki the chair with the view on the passers by, sitting so you can only see them and the wall behind him.

"You didn't say you work for Stark," they hum, taking a testing sip of the dandelion tea that caught his attention.

"That's cause I work for the Avengers, technically, not Stark. Mission support agent, Romanov brought me here," you shrug one shoulder. Loki can't hide a smile, they always had a soft spot for humble warriors, for they're so rare on Asgard.

"Odd, I don't remember you in any field," he mutters.

"I haven't gone on a mission with you. I find it insulting for a God to be supported by someone who learned how to tie their shoelaces at age 12," you laugh. Loki doesn't share the enthusiasm for the 'joke'.

"You'll be the best support, if you ask me," they smile, and change the subject. And then, you throw this damned question.

"So, how are you doing?" you trail off.

"Just fine," he scoffs. You see through it like they're the worst liar ever.

"I know we're somewhere public, but you are allowed to be honest," your eyes scan him.

He takes a deep breath and makes an illusion of you and them just talking. Then, he lifts his own.

Your face stays almost unreadable as the green glow reveals the mess of them. Expect for the eyes that speak of sympathy.

Underneath the table, you cup his right hand, your thumb petting it. "If you want to, we can go somewhere more private. Your call,"

"Only you can see this. Don't worry, I'm not making a fool out of you," they laugh without humour, voice almost breaking. You now squeeze the hand.

"You'll have to actively try to make a fool out of me, your highness. It's your boundaries I'm worried about," the playful tone leaves you as you speak.

You've barely done anything, but Loki is already determined to kill for you.

Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done / I need to be youthfully felt 'cause, God, I never felt young

"Forget it, I'm not doing it. It's stupid!" he tries hard not to yell at you.

"But it's going to be fun! Come on, you can cast an illusion if you're embarrassed. Didn't you have fun as a teen?" You grin, pleading for them to come.

Little do you know that the last question feels like a knife in the guts.

"No," he whispers.

"Okay then. I'll be there with Sam, you can pop up if you change your mind," you sigh. It takes some minutes for them to realise what you just said.

"Allow me to rephrase it. No, I didn't have fun as a teen, I had to prepare myself for the throne I wouldn't take. And… this park will do nothing but remind me what I've lost. I'm sorry but I can't come nor change my mind," he fights against tears as he talks, your eyes on them. You walk closer and cup one cheek, letting them rest their head.

"Society says that you must have certain experiences at certain time frames. It's wrong, especially for someone who will live for as long as you. There's always time to replace things you've lost, the question if if you'll do it or not,"

Loki gazes at you and takes a deep breath, in, holding it, and out. Almost like he's smoking the air.

"Fine. But don't force me to stay if it's too much," they smile weakly, but it's genuine.

"Have I ever forced you?" you grin and place your forehead against his. "And anything critical to your physical health doesn't count,"

They laugh before nodding a no, a small kiss being blown in your nose.

Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime / Me and my Isis growing black irises in the sunshine

Out of all the things Loki expected his fallen heart to do, daydreaming was last on the list.

They're a realist, always have been.

But the image of him and you in a nice stone castle in the middle of the woods is too perfect to resist. How you two would wake up and sleep together, have no one and nothing to make you feel anything but bliss. The two Monarchs in your little kingdom of two residents

Norns, they haven't even talked to you about these feelings. And he's already scheming his retirement with you.

How are you doing this to them?

Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside / We'd sit back and watch the world go by

"That's it, Laufeyson," he's glaring at the mirror, one finger pointing at the glass, "no more lies. Fuck those illusions and games and just say the damned words!"

They sigh and run their fingers through the hair, testing if the smell of smoke is still in there, after five sessions with the shower. He has noticed that you don't like the smell, when you keep some distance on his bad days. And stinking on a moment like this is the least they want.

"Alright… into the battlefield…" he conjures his weapon, a bouquet of black irises, your favourite flowers. They finally teleport themselves on the field, outside your door.

Goal of the mission: be vulnerable.

He rings the bell, fixing his already perfect posture before you open the door. This smile they know and love so much is on your lips.

"You didn't have to! Come in," you exhale, beaming as you make space for him to walk in.

They call your name, the tone making your smile drop. "I have to tell you something I've been hiding from you for a while…" he sighs.

You nod, the agent face on. A green shimmer makes the flowers rest in a vase on the coffee table, Loki's hands now free to pick on each other.

"I appreciate your friendship, more than you can ever imagine. You're the only person who has reached out to me like this for eons. But, my heart has started to yearn for more. I've fallen for you, hard. And I can't keep the illusion anymore," they recite, eyes scanning your unreadable face. You stay dead serious, making Loki's nerves eat him up.

"Took you long enough," you grin and bring them down to a kiss.

It's nice and warm and slow, one devouring the other while also offering the best you can. Then, a salty taste makes you break the contact and cup Loki's face.

"Love, why are you crying?" you whisper, wiping away the thin paths the tears have crossed. He hasn't even noticed he's been crying.

"You can't imagine how happy you make me… I love you," they whisper.

You barely have time to say anything before he pulls you into the tightest hug possible, tears streaming down to your shirt and those three words coming out of their lips again and again like a prayer.

Loki has no idea how many lifetimes he washed off within just one hug, but a weight they never noticed they carried was gone when you break the embrace and stare deep into his now puffy eyes.

"I love you too,"

She's gonna save me, call me baby / Run her hands through my hair

"I'm telling you, you have to be more careful in the missions. Yes, you are a God, but don't be so reckless," you groan as you rinse them with water and try to remove the blood and dirt from their hair.

Just the right amount of strikes, and he now can't lift his hands enough to wash his own hair. If you weren't so good at it, they would refuse to stoop so low.

"It was supposed to be abandoned. How would I know that it wasn't? I'm a God, not a prophet," he sighs, holding his sides. Even talking is making their scattered ribs pierce him… "And I did call you to save my arse, that's the exact opposite of recklessness,"

"If you say so. But what will I do if one day my baby comes home with something more than a wretched ribcage?" you laugh.

They try to answer but both the pain and the pleasure from your fingers on his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo, are making his tongue a knot and his throat release one moan of pleasure after another.

She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily / Better yet, she wouldn't care

You walk through broken mirrors and scattered furniture, reached out to Loki, who's hiding their head between their knees.

You don't say anything, you just play with his hair. It's cold, much colder than usually. But you don't care.

"Leave, please. You'll get hurt," their voice is growly from the smoking but weak.

"Forget it. I'm not leaving you alone in this state," you declare matter–of–factly. A sound comes out of his throat, something between a chuckle and a cough.

They snap their head up, blue and scarred cheeks wet with tears and flaming red eyes with blue veins all over them drilling holes in you. "Do you dare say this in my true face? Declare that you care about a monster?" He spits, lips shaking as they try to hold back another crying fit.

You face stone, you grib his cheeks to stop them from breaking eye contact. "I am not leaving you alone like this, because I care about you and I love you. And, I don't give a fuck what others have made you think of yourself, you're anything but a monster," you keep your voice steady, trying to physically pin those words in his mind.

They sigh and lean against your hands, eyes closed and breaths slow as tears start rolling down his cheeks again. They turn to kiss your palm, now the rest of his body relaxing and hands bringing you close to a hug. "Thank you," they breathe out against you, the weakest of smiles forming slowly.

We'll steal a Lexus, be detectives / Ride 'round picking up clues

"Feet off or I'll chop them off and put them in the truck," you snap, eyes on the road as you try to find a place to park.

"Relax, it's not ours," Loki brushes off the threat. You sigh and park the car among some trees on the edge of the road, hoping no one will see it. He tries to mask it, like always, but you can see how the pain is making their features harsh.

"You can drop some spells, we're well hidden," you point out, watching as the pale skin starts melting and dark azure replaces it. Your skin crawls, you don't know if it's the cold or the awe. Loki breathes out, head resting back on the seat. "I didn't know the illusion is so painful," you think out loud.

"When running so low on rest, everything is painful. Now, where are those files…" they mutter and turn around, searching for the yellow case in the back seat. "Here. Do you have any idea?" he asks, giving you the file.

"I'll probably find something to milk. Now get that rest before you pass out on the field," you glare at them with that Look. He grins and nods before laying against the window, a thin layer of frost already forming.

Then, they start laughing.

"What's so funny?" you ask, not looking up from the report you're reading.

"Before I even talked to you, I had the honeymoon trip already planned in my brain, with too many versions to count. This wasn't even on the list," he straightens up and smiles. You laugh too.

"Well, it's not exactly as bad as you make it sound,"

"Norns, are your standards so low or are you so disappointed in me?" They raise one eyebrow.

"Neither, love. Now get rest before I have to knock you out," you smile through threatening him.

"Kinky, might try it later," they wink and lay back down, his breathing deepening some minutes afterwards.

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson / Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

You're laying against them, smiling like an idiot as he runs a hand on your stomach and feeling this new anomaly.

"Are you sure?" you ask, watching a small wrinkle from between their brows.

"Yes. Two of them. Perhaps boys but I can't tell yet," he whispers, hand still resting there even though the spell is over.

"Twins… we will become parents," you smile, breathing out and laying against their shoulders.

Loki calls your name. You turn around and he rests his forehead against your own. "I love you so much, you know that? All three of you," they grin. You chuckle and close your eyes, accepting the kiss that's definitely coming.

"You know, we'll have to name them something," you point out after they break the kiss.

"Narfi and Vali," he's… quite fast on picking up the name.

"No way,"

"Why?"

You freeze. "It's silly…" you mutter.

They cup your face, glowing green eyes on yours. "It's bothering you,"

"It's the myth… how Narfi and Vali suffered in the myth because of your… because of Loki's mistakes… I don't want this to happen to the little guys," you sigh.

"Then, do you have to suggest another name while I'm trying to think of a second choice?" he smiles.

"It's even more silly," you giggle.

"At least it won't be your mythological dead kids,"

You take a deep breath. "Jackie and Wilson, from the song," you are ready to hear them laughing at you for the suggestion. But he just smiles.

"Jackie and Wilson…"

Cut clean from the dream that night, let my mind reset / Looking up from a cigarette, she's already left

Loki has no idea how long they've been staring blankly at the ashtray, the suit in front of him mocking him.

It's maybe the first time they're so hesitant about wearing all black.

It was supposed to be a small mission, nothing dangerous. You were supposed to be back, safe, within an hour.

You were supposed to raise your sons and retire in that castle in the middle of the forest.

Why was he so foolish to believe that he deserves a happy ending?

"You have to collect yourself. You have to say the farewell, a fucking thank you for all you've got from it, you coward!" they spit at the mirror opposite to them, hand tensing and breaking the cigarette in half.

A deep breath, in and out, a tight squeeze on the wedding ring hanging from his neck, and they stand up to put the damn suit on.

I start digging up the yard for what's left of me in our little vignette / For whatever poor soul is coming next

The funeral is over, the farewell has been said. But there's a small dinner coming afterwards.

Out of all the public appearances, this is by far the worse. Malevolence is something Loki has learned how to deal with a long time ago. But these eyes of pity are unbearable.

The strangers, probably reporters or Stark's acquaintances, coming to express their "condolences" are at least few enough to allow Loki to slip away to the bathroom.

He sits on the cold floor, this numbness drowning him. They hoped you had made it go away, but you just suppressed it. He wants to cry, to scream, to beg to whatever cruel Deity did this to bring you back. But their mind cannot give the order.

He takes your phone out, opening the music app and wearing your earphones. They press play on the last song you listened to, only to hear some familiar chords echo from the small device.

You were muttering this song all the time since you found out about the pregnancy, it's no wonder it's the last tune you listened to. But the upbringing melody of the song and the dark emptiness in Loki's heart are painfully opposite.

He sits there and listens to the whole song in silence, trying to milk some happiness out of it.

But they only manage to whisper along the last two lines, or an alteration of them. Just before he starts weeping at the tile floor until Thor finds him.

"We would name our children Jackie and Wilson, Raise 'em on rhythm and blues,"

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

2/6/9 - Sobbe 🧡🧡🥰

There might be a part two of this, if I can get my act together.

2- Hogwarts!au ~ 6-fake dating ~ 9- "why are you awake so late?"

Special thanks to @gukyi 's prompt list

Requests are open!

Robbe found himself in the astronomy tower that night, not because he had any prefect duties there, but because he liked the view. The Great Lake was a giant mirror in the darkness. Where he lived during the summer, streetlights always washed out the stars. He should probably get on patrol and do some actual work before someone came around and sent him back there.

He climbed up onto the window ledge, carefully placing his feet to avoid falling out. The astronomy tower offered the best views because there was no glass to look through. That, and the height. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something streak through the open air. Might be a shooting star. Robbe braced his hands on the windowsill and craned his neck out.

Nothing. Of course it was nothing. He sat back into the shadows.

A cloaking charm was in order, for the sake of discretion. He wouldn’t want to draw any of the other prefects up to his safe place. Especially not Noor. Most prefects travelled in pairs when they canvased the hallways—Noor tagged along with Britt and Britt’s troublemaker of a boyfriend. When he and Noor were together, it’d been a foursome. Not that they’d been together. His fellow Hufflepuff prefect, Jana, stuck to him like glue after her breakup went a little sour. Tonight, he’d ditched her outside the Great Hall.

Something much bigger flashed past, temporarily blocking the light of the moon. Not bigger—closer.

“Shit!”

Okay, that was definitely something.

Robbe looked out the window again, his eyes strained. Nothing out here was lit properly, save for the Lake, which had mother nature doing all the work. He could use Lumos to give a little bit of light, except it would give away his location to anyone outside. Hogwarts retained the same peaceful stillness as ever. Not a ripple on the surface of the water.

Something hit the castle wall, so close to Robbe that he almost fell backward off the ledge in surprise.

“Come on... turn on...”

Robbe considered announcing his presence. Whatever this person was doing, they probably shouldn’t be doing it. Heights like this meant broomsticks, broomsticks right here meant prohibited behavior, prohibited behavior this late meant hefty punishment. It was his moral responsibility as prefect to stop it.

Not that he really cared much for his moral responsibility as a prefect.

He clenched his hand around his wand. “Hello?”

Soft music wafting down from above, muffled as if someone was playing it too loudly through headphones. Whoever it was, they seemed to be circling the tip of the tower, around ten feet over his head.

“Hello?” he tried again. “No students should be out of bed right now.” Which, of course, they knew. But it brought the situation under his control.

The music got a little bit louder. Robbe heard heavy footfalls on the slanted roof, maybe heavy enough to jar the shingles from their careful positions. Might as well introduce himself. He put on his prefect face, the no-nonsense pantomime of confidence that he gave to pretty much everybody around Hogwarts, and jumped down from the windowsill like a good narc would. Detention for all.

“Hey!” he called at the ceiling. “Come down.”

No answer. The music got louder. Robbe didn’t recognize the song, nor could he hear the lyrics very well. Something slow about a guy named Tom and a planet.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “I’m a prefect. This is against the rules!” Fuck, Jens and Moyo would make fun of him for ages if they heard him say that. Robbe tried not to cringe at his own behavior. “Turn down your fucking music.” Except, all the f-bomb did was make him sound more childish. He wasn’t exactly flourishing in this role.

Whoever was up there cranked the music to full blast. Enough to wake up the whole campus. Footsteps sounded on the roof again, and a boy slid in through the window, his robes ruffled and dirty, his short, bleach-blond hair sticking straight up with electricity. He brought along with him a strange orb of light balanced in his hand, enough make out his face and to see his green and silver tie was woefully tied. It was Britt’s boyfriend. That much was clear from the attractive cut of his jaw—no, not attractive—never mind. Shit, what was his name? He left his broom on the sill and jumped down to Robbe with unparalleled grace. When his feet hit the flooring, the smack echoed all the way down the tower.

“Long time no see. Did Britt send you?” he asked Robbe. No one anywhere near the spiral staircase could miss it.

“Students aren’t allowed to be out of bed.” Robbe lifted his head, hoped it emanated authority when he spoke. “I’m sure you know that—”

“Tell her I don’t want to talk to her.”

“You’re not supposed to be—”

“It’s over. Finite. Done. Fuck.” He spun in a circle and said, “Britt, wherever you are, it’s over.”

Sander! That was his name. Sometimes, when Robbe went out with Noor, Sander and Britt came along. The foursome. And maybe, sometimes, Robbe would watch him across the table instead of Noor when they were drinking, resting his head on his arms. Sander tended to end up in detentions, though, and there were only so many trips to Hogsmede per semester. Robbe didn’t spend a lot of time in the Slytherin dungeons. Not enough to see Sander around. You know, nothing that meant anything.

The prefects, of course, heard all about Sander, because Britt was Head Girl. He managed to push rules in ways that Jens, Robbe, and Moyo never could.

Everyone in the nearby dormitories must have been awake by now.

Robbe kept his cool, improvised. “Why are you up so late?” A little confidence went a long way when it came to laying down the law.

“Avoiding her. Tell her that.”

“It’s not allowed. It’s going to be twenty points from Slytherin. And detention.”

Sander crossed his arms over his chest. The top three buttons on his shirt were one hole off, as if he’d dressed in a hurry. The sleeve of his robe was torn. “Tell Britt I don’t care.”

“I’m not with Britt,” said Robbe. “I’m a prefect. It’s twenty points.”

“Huh.”

A gust through the window dropped the temperature at least five degrees within the tower. Something blew from the roof and fluttered to the ground far below—a blanket, maybe? The wind joined with the music for an awfully melancholy wake-up call. The students would be pissed.

“Turn off the music.” Robbe gestured to the ceiling. “You can have your breakup drama during hours when people are awake.”

Sander waved a dismissive hand. “It has boundaries already. You can’t hear it outside of the bubble I made. You’re not with Britt? Thought Noor might have—”

“No. How big’s the bubble?”

“The tower. Plus a few feet, I guess.”

“It’s still detention.”

Sander took a few steps toward Robbe, appraising him like a piece of artwork in a museum. His gaze, or the windchill, gave Robbe goosebumps. He remembered staring at Sander’s hands, wrapped around a butterbeer glass, while the girls gossiped into their chips on a weekend. The casual air of the unattainable. But that didn’t mean anything.

If the punishment was secure, there shouldn’t be anything wrong with asking questions. “What—um—what happened with Britt?”

“Same thing that always does. I don’t know why I bother.” Sander flicked his wand behind his back, and the music got even louder. Now the lyrics were clearer: this is ground control to major Tom— “Head girl. You’d know.”

“You guys were pretty happy last time I saw you.”

“Always pretty happy until we’re not.”

Robbe laughed. “Yeah, I think that’s how happiness works. I liked Noor alright until I didn’t.” He covered his ears. “Would you turn that shit down? It’s awful.”

“Nah,” said Sander. “Good music. Britt keeps making a big deal when I play it in the common room.” He hesitated. “You know that. You and Noor, like a month ago? Pretty sure she chewed me out in front of you guys at the Three Broomsticks.” A pause. “Yes, definitely. You had on your Quidditch stuff that day; I remember.” He carded a hand through his hair, so Robbe could see the dark brown roots coming in underneath the bleach blond. Hair like that glowed in the dark. No wonder it had been so easy to see when Sander flew by earlier.

The day in question was a bit of a blur for Robbe.

“Britt loves doing shit like that,��� Sander continued. “What happened with Noor?”

It was long past time to send Sander away. Something pushed Robbe to reassure Sander of something instead—of what, he wasn’t quite sure. “Noor and I were never together.” Maybe it was the fact that, from this distance, he could see that Sander’s eyes were the same color as the star reflections across the lake. He’d always assumed they were black. “You’re mad because Britt chews you out? You kind of deserve—”

“Mm, more treats me like a kid, y’know?”

Their faces were awfully close together now.

It was nothing.

Robbe wondered why his pulse was speeding up. He wondered if Sander could hear it. But then—any moment like this one, alone in a tower with someone beautiful, would be enough to make one’s heart work overtime.

Not that Robbe found Sander beautiful.

Why did Sander know what sweater he was wearing on a date, when Robbe had blocked out Sander’s name?

“And you come up here to ignore her?” Robbe asked, because if he didn’t, he didn’t know where his mind would go. And that wasn’t cool. Sander held the light orb beneath their chins, illuminating their faces in the dark. His breath ghosted across Robbe’s skin when he scoffed.

“Yeah, but I mean…”

Angry voices sounded from the staircase. More than one. Robbe’s ability to hear them at all over the music was a bad sign. Was the air thinner up here? Robbe froze in place, leaned a little bit back for a clear view of Sander’s face.

Sander jerked away. They rose in volume by the minute, climbing upward, getting closer. “That’s her. I know what she sounds like.”

“If it’s her, it’s Noor.”

“What’s upsetting about Noor? Thought you two liked each other.”

“I did like her.” And it was true, in one way or another. He did. Just… not enough. Not as much as everyone else thought he should. Tonight especially, when all he wanted was to see the stars over the lake, he did not want to deal with her chit chat. Or the way she looked at him when she thought they were going to kiss. No thank you. Not up his alley. “She’s a little—she wants to—You’re still getting detention for this. I thought there was a bubble!”

Britt and Noor probably heard the music. Robbe’s cloaking charm from earlier might prevent him from being seen, but it only did its job for viewers standing five feet away or more. Further would be more advanced magic. He wasn’t an Auror, after all.

The voices only got closer.

“Shit,” said Robbe. He considered climbing out onto Sander’s rooftop perch, although if Sander thought Britt had found him earlier, that was something she already knew about.

“Sander?” came a voice from the stairwell. Fears confirmed.

There were several ways Robbe could take control of this situation. Number one: he could wait and get Sander in trouble as intended, even if it meant having to walk to the Hufflepuff common room with Noor trailing along behind. He’d never hear the end of it. Two: he could make a break for it with the cloaking spell and pretend he’d never visited the tower at all. A stronger option. Too bad Sander would snitch on him instantly. Three: he could somehow get Sander out of it with him, which didn’t seem fair.

“Noor’s all over you?” Sander rubbed his palms against his battered robes. He chewed on the edge of his lip. “Tough for you.”

“Not tough, I mean, I wouldn’t say—”

“Okay, I have a quid pro quo plan.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Go along with me here.” Sander lay a hand on Robbe’s shoulder, and it became terribly obvious that Sander was a good four inches taller. They didn’t have much time before the girls would arrive. “On the fly, but y’know. I’m good. It will work. Women… they fume, but they let it go. You know?”

“I don’t know.”

“All the way or no way.”

I don’t know what that means.”

Sander gave a devilish smile. “Double whammy. Britt and Noor."

Screw it. Robbe didn’t want to talk to Noor. He wanted her off his back and he wanted the boys to stop talking about her when he was around. “All the way?”

Then it happened.

The door to the tower’s zenith flew open. Sander took Robbe by the back of the neck, the communication passing between them in an instant. Sander paused less than a breath away from Robbe’s lips, giving him time to stop it if he wanted to. Then they were kissing, Sander’s hands in Robbe’s hair, Robbe’s in the air like a surrender. Sander backed him up against the stone wall, pinned his arms up on either side, and closed his own eyes as Britt’s wand threw them both into something sickeningly close to daylight.

It wasn’t Robbe’s first kiss. He wasn’t a fan of kissing.

All in all though, pretty solid.

Sander’s tongue tasted like chocolate. Might have liked it a little.

Might have thought about watching Sander across the table in a bar, something jealous and acrid burning in the bottom of his throat when Sander kissed Britt.

Not a lot. Not enough to mean anything.

“What the hell are you doing?” Britt planted her hands on her hips, her appearance sour. Her hair stuck out in a dozen different directions as if it had been hexed to float as such. From the disheveled state of her robes, Robbe could guess that her night had been far more difficult than his. His pulse hammered at heart attack speeds in his chest. Was this what dying felt like? Why were his hands tingling?

Wasn’t that great of a kiss.

Okay, but not like… not like Noor kissed him.

Nothing like that.

“Ow, my eyes,” said Sander, breathless. “Privacy.”

He went back in for the second kiss, and Robbe let him. Just let him. Fucking hell. More short and sweet than the last. Robbe’s hands shook, his whole body shook. All the blood in his veins pumped straight into his head. He wasn’t allowed to want something like this.

Noor clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Sander,” Britt repeated. “What the fuck?”

“We’re—” said Robbe. “It’s not—”

Sander, however, was faster. “You’ve brought your boyfriend here before.”

Both Noor and Britt were incredulous. “What?”

Sander owned the situation. That was Robbe’s job. “I’m allowed to do it, too,” Sander said. “Bring my boyfriend.” His eyes met Robbe’s. This is the plan, go along with it.

Robbe went red. Now that he could see Sander completely in the light from Britt’s wand, he could tell how realistic this ploy was. Sander’s shirt, the buttons! Streaks of dust stained the white material brown, the kind of dirt one might find caked to the walls of this very tower. Whatever he’d been doing earlier, it wasn’t much of a stretch to imply he’d been making out with Robbe instead. Oh fuck no. Robbe didn’t sign up for something like this.

“You’re not—he’s not—” Noor fumbled with her words. “This—”

Sander smiled. He looped his arm around Robbe’s shoulders. “Recent thing.”

Robbe felt like he was about to be sick. No, seriously. Like he was about to drop dead on the cobblestone flooring of the astronomy tower. What would the boys say about something like this? Jens would be okay, maybe, and Aaron would be insensitive but supportive. Moyo… that was a wildcard. Robbe would need to book it back to the dormitories to get ahead of the rumor before it spread too far. This couldn’t be happening.

He tried to take deep, grounding breaths. Sander’s skin on his neck did not help.

He did not like the kiss.

He did not like that kiss.

“It’s actually kind of late,” Sander continued. “We should really be heading to bed. Accio player.” A CD compact flew down through the window and into his open palm. So that was what made the music? A tiny enchanted compact? He slid it into the pocket of his robes and the music cut off.

Noor nodded, bewildered. She put a hand on Britt’s arm. “Um, well… patrol’s all done. Might as well. Sorry to… uh, sorry to bother you.”

“You’re not together,” said Britt, like she hadn’t heard. “You’re doing this to get back at me, and the stupid music—”

Robbe wasn’t buzzing from a kiss. He wasn’t shaking from a kiss. This was something Sander did to get Britt off his back for a night, nothing to worry about, nothing that would continue.

Noor was a better kisser. She used less tongue and didn’t taste like marinara.

Robbe was always a fan of marinara.

“Recent thing,” he echoed.

A watch on Sander’s wrist beeped twelve-thirty. Outside the astronomy tower window, the Great Lake reflected the night sky with seamless synchronicity. Wouldn’t the boys just love to hear about this? Wouldn’t they just love—Robbe took one more fleeting glance outside, a castle bathed in the moonlight. He needed to get out of here. He needed to run. This was an arrangement to get Noor off his back.

“I’ll walk you to the common room,” Sander said, casting lumos. He brushed past the girls, took them down the spiral staircase, grabbed Robbe by both shoulders. “Cool, quid pro quo. It’s taken care of. No detention?”

How Robbe mustered the strength to speak, he’d never know. “This is just a bigger mess. Still detention.”

Sander squeezed Robbe’s hand. “Yeah, but so much more fun. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He took the path to the left to the dungeons.

Robbe sprinted the rest of the way to his bed, breezing by Jens, Jana, Moyo, and Aaron’s little huddle in the common room. Straight beneath the covers. The curtains pulled. He swore he could hear Sander’s music from half a castle away. No way could he wake up tomorrow and face the implications of tonight. No way. The door to the dormitory opened again, closed quietly behind. It was Jens. it had to be Jens.

“What shit are we into this time?” came Jens’ familiar tone.

Robbe choked on the sentence as he spit it out. “I think I’m dating someone.”

[azaisya]

no art for this week bc its been crazy so have 1.7k of alternate ending/sequel to Sleeping Awake (my de-aged shen jiu fic). This was where I was going with the original before I decided I wanted to focus more on the qijiu, so some of the stuff in the beginning is repeated. If I was writing a sequel (which I probably won’t), then this would probably be how it started.

“Take one of my robes?” Yue Qingyuan asked, voice small. 

Shen Qingqiu hesitated, his awareness of how underdressed he was going to war with the instinct to refuse anything from Yue Qingyuan. He’d spent the last however-many-decades violently exploding every time Yue Qingyuan gave him a gift. He’d assumed they’d been given out of pity or obligation, expensive baubles to cover up the dirt of Shen Jiu’s past. 

But—

He really was very underdressed. This robe was one of the outfits he’d worn to sneak out to the Warm Red Pavilion, back when he’d been a lesser disciple and in need of subterfuge to get off his Peak. 

Wordlessly, Shen Qingqiu picked up Yue Qingyuan’s outer robe from where they’d carelessly dumped it the night before and slid it over his arms. It was a little too big and he chafed at wearing another person’s colors, but the look on Yue Qingyuan’s face was worth it. 

With a sarcastic wave, Shen Qingqiu turned on his heel and strode from his room.

The robe was a little less worth it when Yue Qingyuan’s head disciple dropped a teapot in shock when she saw him. 

He ignored her. She was the overly candid girl who’d intercepted him and Luo Binghe yesterday, but that didn’t surprise him. Yue Qingyuan was too soft with his disciples, and she was clever. Of course she would be outspoken. 

At the thought of Luo Binghe, Shen Qingqiu grimaced. He’d specifically ordered that the beast wasn’t to be fed all weekend. Ning Yingying had probably ignored that and brought him food anyways, charmed as she was by Luo Binghe’s pretty, pitiable face. 

He should lock him in the woodshed for another week, just for that. 

The thought made him falter, and he spared a moment to be intensely grateful that nobody was around to see him trip on nothing. 

He’d always told himself that he was nothing like Qiu Jianluo. That he’d only ever beaten boys who deserved it, that they should be grateful that he hadn’t done worse. 

He’d never touched any of them, after all, no matter what the rumors said about him. 

But his younger self hadn’t even needed to think before equating Luo Binghe’s shizun with Qiu Jianluo. 

That was another revelation, Shen Qingqiu supposed, to add on to all the others he was having. He didn’t like that one very much. It wasn’t earth-shatteringly surprising in the way that Yue Qingyuan’s apparently unconditional devotion was. 

Perhaps that said something about him. 

He didn’t like that very much either. 

He was still turning the matter over in his mind when he arrived at Qing Jing Peak’s familiar landscape. It was late enough in the day that his disciples should already be at their lessons, and they would survive a few more hours without him. 

The bamboo house was almost exactly as he’d left it, but somebody had made his bed and moved the black and silver fan—Yue Qingyuan’s latest gift—onto a table. It was a deceptively plain thing, despite the value of its skeleton. Shen Qingqiu suspected that the painting—bamboo and distant birds—had been done by Yue Qingyuan himself. It had the hesitant, detailed brushwork of somebody unused to painting but had tried their best anyways. 

It was the most sentimental gift that Yue Qingyuan had ever given him. His other gifts were impersonal things worth exorbitant amounts of money that suit Shen Qingqiu’s carefully cultivated image. 

Shen Qingqiu would’ve thrown them away, if there wasn’t some part of him that balked at wasting that much money. Mostly, they just languished in the backs of drawers or vanished into boxes. He’d thrown some of the more egregious pieces into Yue Qingyuan’s face. 

The fan was different, though. He could see the time that Yue Qingyuan had spent on it, could see the care and emotion poured into every brush stroke. 

It’d broken him. 

With a sigh, Shen Qingqiu shrugged off the borrowed robe and, after a beat, laid it out on his bed. His own clothes were more complex. His younger self would have despaired at all the finicky ties and complicated layers, but Shen Qingqiu managed with ease. 

With each layer he pulled on, the more that strange, nervous energy in his chest settled. It was as if something inside of him had been knocked off-kilter by his qi deviation and then shoved even further askew by the discovery that Yue Qingyuan had returned for him and the sudden realization that he’d come far too close to the line that Qiu Jianluo had drawn. 

The clothes made him feel more like himself. A doubtful boon, given the scum that he was. 

He turned to leave again but then hesitated, eyes lingering on his bed. Yue Qingyuan’s robes were a streak of shadow across the green sheets. 

He’d been so afraid, when he’d woken up the morning before. 

He wondered if Qiu Haitang was still alive. He hoped she was. He hoped she was happy. 

Was that fucked up?

Maybe.

Setting his jaw, Shen Qingqiu snatched the closest fan—Yue Qingyuan’s fan, the one that had started this all—and swept from the room. He made his way towards the woodshed with a calm, steady stride, the black and silver fan held loosely in his hand. 

He could see the distant shapes of his disciples running around the mountain, tiny blobs of white and green. A sudden anxiety struck him, so sharply that the fan creaked as his grip tightened around it. 

What if Luo Binghe had told them?

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t imagine how his disciples—the children of wealthy lords and poor farmers alike—would look at him if they learned that he was nothing more than a worthless slave. 

A couple of his disciples—the quicker ones, talking cheerfully while their peers tried to finish their laps around the peak—noticed him and ran over. Shen Qingqiu panicked and opened his fan with a flick of his wrist, raising it over his face. 

“Shizun!” the short-haired girl—Lin Xieran—called, as uncomplicatedly delighted to see him as ever. Neither of them looked alarmed or disgusted. If anything, they seemed a little more cheerful than usual to see him, although they were well trained enough to bow instead of run up him and cling. 

Shen Qingqiu rewarded them both with gentle pats on the head. If his hand trembled, none of them mentioned it. 

Luo Binghe, he thought, that off-kilter uncertainty creeping back into his chest, What game are you playing?

Well. He would find out soon enough. Voice as smooth as ever, Shen Qingqiu asked, “Where is your Ming-shixiong?”

The shorter one—a round-faced boy named Sun Tiandou who looked younger than he was—wrinkled his nose. “Ming-shixiong is still running with everybody else.”

Shen Qingqiu nodded imperiously. That was good. Ming Fan had been raised by respectable parents on a comfortable estate, and so he was prone to panicking over even the most minor of injuries. If he’d gone out to run willingly without his shizun’s prompting, then he couldn’t be terribly injured. “Good. And—” The beast died in his tongue. 

Had Qiu Jianluo called him a beast? He couldn’t remember. 

“—and Luo Binghe?”

Sun Tiandou’s expression tilted uncomfortably, but Lin Xieran’s lip curled at the name. “Oh,” she said, waving a hand flippantly, “He’s still in the woodshed.”

Shen Qingqiu idly poked at his newfound disgust with himself and discovered that it didn’t extend far enough to compel him to scold Xieran for her coldness. “Very good,” he said instead, “You’ve both done well today.” 

Their expressions turned instantly starstruck, and Shen Qingqiu continued down the path towards the woodshed. 

To his displeasure, there was a figure sitting against the woodshed’s door. He would’ve thought it was Luo Binghe if it weren’t for the bright orange of Ning Yingying’s favorite hair ribbons. She spotted him and leaped to her feet, waving her arm with the enthusiasm of a child who’d never been punished before. 

Shen Qingqiu flicked his fan open and waved it gently at his face. “What are you do—” All his breath left him in a rush as Ning Yingying threw herself at him, hands flying around his waist. 

Shen Qingqiu sighed and waited for her to let go. She did quickly enough, dancing back a couple steps and grinning up at him. “Shizun!” 

He examined her over the edge of his fan, tracing the shape of her bright brown eyes and her round face. He wondered if she really did look like Qiu Haitang, or if his mind had just seen a bright girl with gentle smiles and made the connection for him. “What is Yingying doing here?”

Ning Yingying’s expressions turned as sly as it ever went. Mostly she just ducked her head and scuffed her feet. “Yingying is, um—” She looked around, spotted the dirty dishes lying where she’d been sitting earlier, and hastily said, “Cleaning! Yingying is cleaning.”

Shen Qingqiu raised one eyebrow and didn’t bother replying. 

Ning Yingying fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. “And, um, waiting for Shizun!” She looked up, lips curling into a hopeful smile. “This one is glad that Shizun is feeling better!”

Fear beat another staccato rhythm against Shen Qingqiu’s spine, a desperate rattling of what did Luo Binghe say. He revealed none of it on his face. “Did Yingying bring food to Luo Binghe during his punishment?”

Ning Yingying visibly drooped. “He’s so small, Shizun—”

Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth and then shut it, feeling suddenly tired. The rebuke on the tip of his tongue faded, and he just sighed. “Take the plates back to the kitchens.” 

Ning Yingying peeked up at him, hope lighting her eyes. “Yes, Shizun!” She ran to grab the plates and then scuttled back, eyes wide. “Shizun isn’t going to punish A-Luo, right? He didn’t ask me to bring the food.”

Any other day, and Shen Qingqiu’s temper would have flared at the familiar address. Instead, he just said sharply, “I’ve warned you to keep your distance from him, Yingying. Do as I say.” 

Ning Yingying nodded. “Yes, Shizun.” 

Liar. He didn’t call her on it, though. “Go.” 

She sketched a bow, shallower than she should’ve, and dashed off. But that was alright, because she was his favorite and she knew it.

[whosaskingwrites]

I Remember (Bokuto x Reader)

A/N: Bokuto is my absolute favorite in Haikyuu so this physically pained me to write. But I personally love this one its my favorite and its told entirely from Akaashi's point of view. Also this one ended up being the longest one so there's that.

WARNINGS: ANGST. Hospital is mentioned so mentions of needles. There's fluffy moments scattered in but do not be fooled it is angst.

Date: Sunday October 25th, 2020

Details: 7 pages 2,518 words

Theme: Hanahaki Disease- The victim begins to have flowers grow in their lungs leading to them coughing up flowers petals this continues getting worse until it causes their death. There's a surgery option to get rid of the flowers but it comes at the price of never feeling love again.

Angst Masterlist

I was twenty three years old when the first petal appeared. It was a pure white rose petal as it sat in my palm. That was the same day I told my best friend Akaashi.

I answered the phone holding it to my ear and before I could say anything Y/n’s voice came through. “Keiji I’m panicking I don’t know what to do and I’m scared-,” I interrupted her talking trying to understand what was happening. “Y/n slow down what’s wrong?” She took a deep shuttering breath as she responded “…I’ve got Hanahaki Disease Keiji,”

I was twenty four years old when I had to be rushed to the hospital during a MSBY game. I was hooked up to machines Akaashi by my side. He held my hand when I cried and admitted the cause of the flowers.

“Keiji I really love him…And I don’t know what to do…,” I sighed looking at her before I spoke “You two have been friends for years im sure you’ll be okay no matter what,” She shook her head eyes wide in fear “Keiji…loving him is different I can’t tell him!”

Bokuto was the reason for those snow white rose petals.

I was twenty four when the first petal appeared. It was a f/f petal clutched in my palm. That was the same day I told my friend Kuroo. 

“Kuroo I’ve got something to tell you,” Kuroo heard Bokuto’s voice over the phone speaking as soon as Kuroo had answered the phone. “Aw are you about to express your undying love for me?” He snickered at his own joke but Bokuto didn’t laugh with him “I’ve got Hanahaki Disease...,” Kuroo took a sharp inhale of breath when Bokuto told him what was wrong. “Oh fuck,”

That same age I was rushed to the hospital during my match. I was hooked up to machines with Kuroo by my side. He sat next to me when I admitted the cause of the flowers.

“Kuroo it hurts. Why does it hurt so much?” Bokuto’s hand was pressed against his heart a fresh trail of blood on his face and trashcan overflowing with f/f petals. “Bokuto…,”Kuroo said staring at his friend feeling sad just watching him. “I love her Kuroo so why does it hurt?” Bokuto looked up then locking eyes with Kuroo and Kuroo gasped as for the first time he saw Bokuto’s normally bright gold eyes were now dull and lifeless.

Y/n was the reason for those f/f petals.

They fell in love with each other at different times. She fell slowly not willing to jeopardize everything they’d have for years. 

“Keiji I can’t tell him! It’d ruin everything even if he felt the same,” She was nervous as I spoke her eyes looking everywhere but my face. “It wouldn’t ruin everything Y/n,” I soothed her rubbing gentle circles in her hand “I can’t risk everyone’s friendships for this,” she whispered finally looking me in the eyes. Her eyes had lost their normal spark and I knew she was missing him.

He fell fast but unwilling to put their relationship on the line.

“Kuroo I’m not telling her,” Bokuto’s arms were crossed over his chest his iv needle jostled slightly causing him to hiss in pain. “Bokuto nothing will change!” Kuroo mirrored the arms crossed position as he looked at Bokuto. “Everything would change!” He threw his hands up trying to emphasize his point.

It was a funny thing though back in high school everyone always assumed they were dating.

“Y/n!” She turned in her spot her eyes catching Bokuto’s “Kota!” she cheered as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up in a hug “Aw they’re so cute together,” A first year said while everyone nearby stopped to watch. “There goes Fukurodani’s power couple,” Konoha said from next to me with a chuckle. “I wish I had a relationship like theirs,” Another third year girl said. “We aren’t dating!” Y/n claimed still holding on to Bokuto. Its not like he helped though “Yeah!” He yelled pouting as he rested his chin on top of her head. “Yeah right,” A second year whispered nearby.

Those last few days in the hospital though…Those would stick with them forever.

I walked her to Bokuto’s room she had finally cracked and decided to tell him her feelings. We walked in her holding onto me and she held onto the pole holding her I.V bag. She looked at him he was sitting up in the bed looking no better than she did. 

Both of them looked so tired. With eye bags and skin discoloration everywhere. They both bruised so easily now and were malnourished and dehydrated. Both had been unable to really eat or drink anything since they often threw up flower petals.

Bokuto’s hair was down and messy and I shivered at the depressing aura in the room. She moved forward and nudged his feet to get him to move them. Both of them seemed aware of the other’s fragile states being very soft in their touches. It however was very obvious both of them wanted to hold each other.

She sat when he moved his legs and Kuroo went to stand by me. I noticed he was taking pictures and he smiled when I noticed. “So they remember how dumb they are,” he whispered. She reached forward and took his hands holding them lightly “Bokuto please listen I love you,” He pointed at me then and offered her a shaky smile. “No...You love him Y/n,” he was trying to convince himself she didn’t and she knew that.

“No Kota I love you,” his eyes widened then knowing she was telling him the truth. She never lied to him when she used his nickname. He would have been able to tell if she was lying anyway. For once his gold eyes returned to their normal brightness as he leaned forward.

I remember how they hugged sobs falling past their lips and tears running down their faces.

“Kota I’m so sorry!” her head was buried in his chest as she cried arms wrapped around him. “It’s okay I’m here…and I’m sorry too,” He placed a kiss on top of her head as he whispered his response. I didn’t know why they were apologizing to each other but then again. I didn’t need to know they were happy and that’s what mattered.

I remember how they kissed hushed I love yous falling past their lips and their tears mixing together everytime they kissed.

“I love you so much Y/n,” Bokuto said pressing soft kisses to her face and multiple against her lips. “I love you too Kota…so so much,” she had replied back in-between the kisses. Her hands were in his hair running her fingers through the silver and black strands. “I feel like we shouldn’t be here,” Kuroo whispered to me as we looked at them.

His hand was holding tightly to her hospital gown the other hand was on her hip rubbing small circles into it as she sat on his lap. Their foreheads rested together at this point both of them closed their eyes basking in silence and finally being able to hold eachother.

“Maybe…But they deserve this Kuroo-san,”

I remember her sitting between his legs as they talked about the future. They talked about their future son.

“His name is gonna be Keiji Tetsuro Bokuto!” Bokuto had exclaimed Y/n was leaned back against his chest. His arms around her waist and she was holding his hands. Bokuto would occasionally press kisses to her neck and shoulder blade but it never seemed to bother her.

“Wait wait wait! Why is my name the middle name?” Kuroo asked looking at the pair. “Because Keiji is mine and Bokuto’s best friend,” Y/n responded with a smirk. “So will they be a middle blocker since Y/n chose his first name?” Kuroo asked wanting something besides a middle name. 

“I think he’d make a good setter,” I voiced smirking at Kuroo while he glared at me. “You’re both wrong! He’s gonna be a wing spiker like his father!” Bokuto exclaimed looking at us with a proud smile.

I remember how all four of us argued and how they described how their son would look.

“He’s gonna be 6’1 and just as cheerful as me!” Bokuto said with a smile gold eyes bright as he talked. “I hope he has s/c skin like me,” Y/n said leaning back against Bokuto’s shoulder while he hummed looking at her. “I think he’ll have shiny h/c hair like you!” Bokuto suddenly said looking at Y/n with a bright smile. “Well Kota I think he’ll have big golden eyes just like you,” She said as she turned back to look at him.

A hand hit my shoulder causing me to flinch as I looked away from the paper I was writing. Kuroo stood their a small smile on his face. “Ready to go Akaashi?” He was wearing a dress that barely reached his knees unlike myself where I was in a suit. Normally we didn’t dress up on weekends but this weekend was special.

I remember how Bokuto proposed on his hospital bed a thin silver ring placed on her finger when she accepted.

Bokuto was laying down now Y/n pulled on top of him. His arms were still around her and the sun was setting. Kuroo and I had assumed by the soft breathing that the two of them had fallen asleep. Until Bokuto spoke up breaking the peaceful atmosphere 

“Hey Y/n marry me?” He whispered. She lifted her head up and looked at him her eyes were wide in shock as she spoke.“W-what?” “I want you to marry me,” He said again looking at her with so much affection in his eyes.“Kota I…Of course I’ll marry you,” She whispered kissing him he reached beside him and put a small silver ring on her finger. Sakusa had brought it for him earlier when he asked.

“Can we get married in the spring? The cherry blossoms always look so pretty then,” She requested as she placed her head back on his chest. “Anything for you Y/n,” He whispered burying his nose into her hair.

We reached the hill that the two of them had met on. I always remembered that day too unaware that in a few years we’d be back for a different reason.

“Bokuto-san slow down!” I called watching him run towards a hill. He turned to face me now running backwards his school tie fluttered out behind him and a wide grin was on his face. “I can’t Akaashi! I’ve been sitting still ALL DAY,” He shouted back towards me. I saw behind him a girl with h/c hair walking by seemingly unaware of her surroundings. 

“Bokuto-san watch out!”I called pointing behind him with wide eyes. He turned suddenly but couldn’t slow down in time “Wha-?” He ran into the girl knocking them both down. I winced as I got closer hearing a groan from them. Bokuto sat up suddenly looking at the h/c girl “Ah! I’m so sorry!” He shouted helping her back up. The girl rubbed her head and waved a hand at the apology before speaking. “No um it’s okay really!” 

“Hey what’s your name?” Bokuto had a curious look on his face head tilted to the side. He was staring at the girl with wide gold eyes and yet she didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest. “Me? Oh I’m L/n Y/n!” She chirped smiling and holding a hand out. “I’m Bokuto Koutarou!” He said matching her smile before he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you Bokuto,”

I sighed as I got there looking at the cherry blossom petals that fell down around us. “Today’s the day huh Bokuto-san and Y/n to of course,” Kuroo came up next to me.

I remembered them talking about the wedding wide smiles on their faces and holding onto each other tightly.

“I think we should have a dog bring the rings!” Bokuto stated throwing his hands up from where the rested on Y/n's back. She scrunched her nose at that. “No Kota the dogs should be the flower girls!” She said back her voice clearly indicating she was tired. Bokuto hummed in thought it must have been pleasant as she burrowed closer to his chest.

“I like that! Can Kuroo be the ring bearer?” Bokuto asked putting his hands back and tracing soft circles into her skin. She sighed in content at the action while Kuroo scoffed. “Wait why me? Why not Akaashi?” He stated with arms crossed “Im Bokuto’s best man that’s why,” I answered the question for them as the fatigue was beginning to wear on them both.

“Yeah and Yukie is my maid of honor! So you can be the ring bearer,” Y/n mumbled from her position. “Can I be a bridesmaid instead? I’ll even wear a dress,” Kuroo called. “Fine but only if you find a replacement ring bearer,” She whispered and I stood “Good night you two,” I said looking at Bokuto and Y/n.

Kuroo got up as well as Bokuto and Y/n whispered a good night. “See you tomorrow,” Bokuto mumbled nuzzling closer to Y/n his eyes barely open as he looked at us. “See you tomorrow,” Kuroo called back. Bokuto’s eyes closed then and he sighed. The last thing we heard before walking out were Bokuto and Y/n talking to each other quietly.

“I love you Kota,” “I love you too Y/n,”

“Sorry we were late there was some traffic!” I turned seeing my old volleyball team and the MSBY team everyone in suits or dresses. Sakusa had a pair of rings in his hand after he was made the ring bearer. Iwaizumi had brought Oikawa, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki. Each of them had a dog with a basket of flowers. “Well let’s get this started then,” Kuroo said as he took his place on Y/n’s side while I moved to Bokuto’s side. 

Two hours later all of us were leaving to go a restaurant. I sighed as we left Bokuto and Y/n behind their rings sparkled in the sunlight. We left them with a bouquet of white roses on Y/n’s side and f/f on Bokuto’s side. I stood for a minute facing the two grey slabs of marble side by side like they deserved and let my final memories of them go as I stared at the photo of them Kuroo had left.

It was of them holding each other with tears running down their cheeks and smiles on their faces. 

I remember how they admitted their love for each other when it was too late to save them. 

I remember them at twenty four leaving the world curled up in each other’s arms unaware that they wouldn’t wake up again but they left knowing one thing.

They knew they loved eachother.

————————————————————————

TAGLIST: @wonhomarshmallow

[florencewritez]

Euphoric

AN: have a good day <3

WC: 6431  words

WARNINGS: consumption of alcohol, cursing "Mia, babe I genuinely don't know what I'd do without you," I told her as she carefully applied another white dot above my eyebrow to the row she'd already done. Mia only smiled, squeezing my cheeks a little more and telling me to keep my eyes closed or she'd poke them out. Begrudgingly, I did as she asked, tearing my eyes away from the stunning red look she'd given herself earlier. When the Glastonbury Festival started approaching quicker and quicker and me and Mia still had nothing planned, it had been Will who suggested who went as a pair. Angel and devil. Of course, we had to jump on the idea, we'd never pass that photo opportunity. That had been around four weeks ago. Now, it was only around an hour before our group would leave for Glastonbury and I finally felt the festival excitement bubbling in my stomach. Clearly, it bubbled out too, making me squirm a little, as Mia scolded me for moving and again repeated her empty threat of poking my eye. I only giggled. Mia was the least likely person to poke someone's eyes out, let alone mine. She knew it too because when I peeked my eye open, I saw her soft smile, eyes crinkling and making a single star she'd stuck on fall off. By the time we arrived, I was sure they'd all be gone."All done! You can look now."

"Finally." She playfully smacked my arm and handed me a hand mirror. The girl looking back at me felt like a different person. Roségold shimmery eyelids with a small line of white streaking through the glitter. Pretty highlight covering my cheeks and nose, like I'd captured the very essence of a rainbow on my face, complete with two white strokes at the top of my nose. And to top it all off, the white dots above my eyebrow, complete with little jewels in between each dot. Somehow, I actually did feel angelic, more than I had when I'd actually put the wings on that were supposed to be the trademark angel piece. Mia truly had worked wonders. "I can't believe this is really me, you're makeup skills are underrated," she snorted and sat down beside me, tilting the mirror to check her hair, hand tucking a spare curl behind her ear, lips turning up into a smile. "It's payback for styling my hair, don't undersell yourself either y/n." Will's voice echoed down the hall, telling us we were leaving to catch the bus soon and I smiled at the dark-haired girl beside me. I could already feel the music pounding through my veins, the adrenaline pumping through me after the fairground. I'd been attending festivals with Will and our friends since we'd moved to London together, having grown up together as neighbours and decided to pursue YouTube together. Some of my best memories in recent years were spent in a random field usually used for dairy farming, screaming lyrics to a song I didn't know I knew, clinging to someone's wrists as we jumped up and down to the beat. The inevitable headaches were always worth the feel of the moment, not to mention the pictures dotting my wall of the before and after that always made me smile when I woke up. George, Will, Becky, James, Aria, even a few random strangers always greeted me, either pissed out of their mind or suffering a severe hangover. However, whilst Mia's face did make an appearance in several non-festival pictures on my wall, this would be the first time we attended a festival together. She'd only started dating Will a little over a year ago and at the time, she hadn't quite been welcomed to the group enough to join us for festival season. Now though, after nights spent together with our group at clubs or nights out and a lot of sleepovers with just me, her and Aria, it'd be a sin to not bring her. I turned to face her, excitement flashing in my eyes and took her hand in mine. Mia smiled back at me, squeezing my hand. "I can't believe this is the first festival we'll spend together Mia, it feels long overdue." "The first of many right?" I saw a flicker of anxiety pass through her eyes and knew she sometimes felt she didn't fit in our group, even now. I understood where she was coming from, it was always hard to find your footing in such a tight-knit group of people who'd known each other for ages, but truly, everyone loved her just as much as the others. Especially me. "Of course. You're one of us now." She wrapped her arms around my shoulders in a short tight squeeze, our perfumes mixing together for just a second. It was a sweet moment, my best friend hugging me close, but I couldn't help but tease her. After all, it was Will she was dating. "Though if I have to watch you and Will make out I will puke, that's too much for me. May I remind you I knew him when he was a square little lad in a diaper." Mia rolled her eyes, pulling me to my feet. I was reminded of the silver heels I was wearing on then when I stumbled forwards, grateful for her being there to make sure she caught me. "Oh please, it's not me and Will anyone is worried about. Can we talk about you and Alex?" She winked. I flushed pink, (which probably looked rotten combined with the highlight) and Mia grinned, her tongue peeking through the gap in her teeth. Alex. At first, when Will started blowing up, dragging me along from almost being featured in his videos, he started making a lot of new friends that I had never met before for the first time in our lives. Before that, we'd always had the same friend group, even through the awkward high school years where friend groups were extremely messy. One day, he'd managed to drag me to a bar with his new friends, despite my complaining, and that's where I'd met Alex. Or rather, where we met each other. Stupid swooped hair with eyes that rewrote my definition of blue eyes the very first time my eyes met his. It had been Alex who managed to integrate me into Wills new group and Alex who remained the closest person in our group to me even to this day. Alex who, along with George, my favourite mask-wearing bloke, I moved in with once Wills place got a bit cramped. And of course, Alex who all my friends liked to tease me about dating. Of course, they did the same to him, probably worse considering the boys were usually a bit dirtier mouthed with each than with the girls, but I was the only one who turned red all the time. Probably because they were right mostly. When Mia prodded about the way I looked at him, my efforts to say there was nothing to prod at were all lies. When James would wink at me when Alex would pull me in closer on nights out, always downing whatever drink was in front of him before I could glare. When Will sat me down one day, patting my knee, and asked if I liked him, he saw past my eye rolls and dramatic head shakes. Most of all it was George who brought it up, always finding a way to shove at least five comments a day about our relationship and giving me the look when I'd mumble a comment back. Because yes, of course, I liked him. I had a stupid school girl crush at the same age I got blackout drunk and could legally do drugs in some countries. Alex was the nicest person I'd ever met, always treating me with such kindness and respect. Some nights I'd pass out by my desk when editing, exhausted from the hectic schedule I forced myself to follow. When I'd wake up, my video editing would be finished and there'd be a sticky note by my head, something that would make my heart beat a little faster, with his signature and a small heart. Not to mention the blanket thrown over my shoulders that smelled faintly of him. That was just one of the many things Alex did for me regularly without ever asking for anything. Yet, something deep inside me screamed to not do anything about it, screamed it was purely platonic on his side. Alex would constantly chatter about what a great friend I was, how much he loved me as a friend. For some reason, him friend-zoning me accidentally hurt a lot more than if he hated me. At least then there was a chance he'd see me as something more than a best friend, even if it was a mortal enemy. Mia cleared her throat and I snapped back to reality, laughing awkwardly. "There's nothing to talk about Mia. We're just friends." If Will hadn't called again, I would have been in for a lot of questions and yet another speech begging me to just tell him. Instead, she just sighed and rugged on my arm. "We'd best be going before his head explodes." "That'd be a sight to see. He doesn't deal well with stress you know," I told her, walking out of my room with our arms interlocked. "Did you know during our GCSEs, I found him out my back in the wet dirt, mumbling algebraic formulas?" "Ay, y/n are you telling that bloody GSCE story again?" Will called, peeking his head out from around the corner. His festival sunglasses were perched in his hair and I couldn't help but giggle.  "I'm sorry Will, it's just so fucking hilarious." "To be fair Will," Mia said, holding back a laugh, "it's pretty funny." Neither of us could hold back our laughter and finally cracked when his glasses slid down his face. Will groaned and told the boys waiting on the couch behind him we were bullying him again. I heard James say he probably deserved it, followed by Georges laughter and Alex's giggle. "Are they ready yet?" Aria called, having arrived with James already ready way before me or Mia had even started. Mia let go of my arm and walked ahead to the living room, posing at the doorway. Aria gasped and said she'd looked gorgeous and Will said the same, snaking a hand around her waist. Gross. Still, no matter how gross I called Mia and Will sometimes or how much I insisted nothing was going on between me and Alex, it didn't stop me from smiling like an idiot when he stopped giggling, calling me pretty. Schoolgirl crush. That was all that was. We'd finally piled onto the coach awhile after before pictures already filling my camera roll and only two videos on my Instagram story. One of me recording when Mia was doing my makeup and the other just our group leaving me, George and Alex's apartment to get the coach simply titled 'it begins'. Once on the coach I came to the startling revelation everyone expected me to sit with Alex, the couples all pairing up and Becky insisting she absolutely had to sit with George. My eyes stared out the window, surprising heavy despite not doing anything yet. "You alright?" Alex asked, poking me in the ribs as the coach finally started, several cheers erupting around us. I couldn't help but smile back, nodding my head. His eyes didn't stop looking worried so I opened my mouth. "I'm fine, don't worry Al. I'm just tired for some reason." "To be fair, you and Mia were up half the night talking about today. I warned you to sleep you know, don't blame me." I giggled remembering how he'd come into my room several times to warn me and Mia to get some sleep. Back then we'd only waved him off, saying we were having girl talk. Now, I wished I'd listened as a yawn escaped my throat. "See?" "Fine, you win. I should have slept earlier last night. I'll be fine when we get there, the pure adrenaline will be enough to keep me up for the entire festival." He didn't look convinced. "It takes around an hour and a half to get there you know." "I'm aware." "Go to sleep, I'll wake you when we arrive. Promise." At first, I was going to deny and say I'd be fine, ask his opinion on the latest Star Wars movie so I could listen to him ramble again. However, as another yawn escaped me, I smiled and nodded, telling him he'd better wake me up when we arrived. "Of course I will, I need someone to go on rides with me. We both know the others are pussies." I smiled, eyes closing without me telling them to. "Of course they are. We're the only brave ones on this bus. We'll ride all night." Alex raised his eyebrow but I was too tired to care, leaning my head on the bus window. The loud rattling actually helped ease me into sleep and the last thing I remembered before waking up was hearing a snippet of James and Arias conversation behind me, laughing about some joke I didn't understand. Gross couples. "N/n, mate, everyone else is waiting outside. Can you please wake up." It was dark for a bit, my dream ending before it really begun because of Alex's voice cutting through the cloudy landscape I'd arrived in. Whatever I was lying on was warm and I nuzzled in more, sleepily asking for five more minutes. Alex chuckled and poked my cheek. "We've arrived you know. The first festival of the year? The one you're usually most excited for?" I had no idea what he was talking about till the wings I had on ached against my back. Shit. The fucking festival. I jumped up quickly, too excited to be embarrassed about the fact I'd somehow ended up sleeping on Alex's instead of the window and smiled. "Everyone else is outside yeah? Do I look okay?" It was then I noticed the pink on Alex's shoulder, sticking out a lot against the light blue denim. Crap, my lipgloss. I opened my fanny pack, white to match my outfit of course, and searched for that stupid tube of lipgloss I'd brought to retouch it later. Of course, I hadn't planned to wipe it off completely on my friends' fucking jacket before I even got off the bloody coach but hey, at least I was prepared. Finally, I found the blasted thing, under my purse, phone, portable and a small bottle of vodka, of course at the very bottom and pulled it out, holding it like a sacred Egyptian jewel.Then there was another problem. "Crap, I didn't bring a mirror. How am I supposed to apply it now? Wheres my blasted phone?" Again, I started to scramble through my bag. Alex gently grabbed my wrist, stopping me from shoving my hand around. "I can do it for you, it can't be that hard. I've watched you do it to yourself like a million times."I paused. For some reason, that sounded like the worst best idea ever. I sucked my teeth for a moment before nodding. "Go on then, it's a challenge." I tossed the tube onto his lap and turned my face towards him, urging him to do something before I did. He unscrewed the tube, a focus in his eyes I'd only ever seen when he was working a video before and then gently placed his hand on my cheek, leaning in. I parted my lips as he carefully did his best to apply an even layer of sheer pink, so close I could feel his breath on my face. I gulped, moving closer to him subconsciously, hand gripping his thigh. "I think I'm done," he whispered, pulling the lipgloss down but still not moving back. In fact, I felt his hand tighten into my hair, tugging it slightly. My eyes darted from his eyes to his lips. "Thanks," my voice was barely a whisper, more of a gasp honestly, and still neither of us leaned back. I wondered if his eyelashes were always this dark or he'd changed overnight. "Oi lads, I'm going to have to start driving to pick up the 2 o clocks now. Are you okay back there?" The bus driver suddenly called, peeking his head out of his seating area. I snapped back into my seat, zipping my bag closed as Alex cleared his throat, standing up. He told the bus driver we were fine, that I'd lost a contact and then we scrambled off the bus, pulling oh hands back at even the slightest contact. The moment my feet touched the grass, I was swooped away by Mia and Aria, both smirking at me, eyes wide. "What?" I asked, my voice a lot more bashful than I meant it to. "What was that?" Aria asked, Mia nodding behind her. Arias's hand was resting on my shoulder, Mia grasping at Arias in a small human centipede. "What was what?" Completely inconspicuous, they'll never know. "Dude, James told us he'd seen you and Alex nearly kiss Alex on the bus," my eyes widened and I was quick to ask how he'd possibly seen that, bus windows weren't the easiest to see through. "He went back on to tell you and Alex to hurry up and instead found you knee-deep in a shift session," Mia exclaimed, a giggle in her tone. "Nothing happened. I just asked him to put my lipgloss on because I didn't bring my mirror." Both of them raised their eyebrows and slowly nodded. "Nothing happened," I repeated slower, making sure to make eye contact with both of them. They seemed to let it go, at least for now, and Becky's voice cut through the air and her arms were thrown over Aria and Mia's shoulders. I laughed at their surprised faces smiling at Becky who already seemed to have cracked up the drink she'd brought in her fanny pack. "Come on girls, let's go in before the boys yeah? The real show doesn't start till tomorrow when performers come so I say first stop the pier yeah? I want some candy floss." Becky looked at me, hoping I'd take her side so she'd get her damn candy floss and I complied, laughing and throwing my head back as I threw my arm over Mia's other side. "I'm down for some 1pm candy floss. Feel like we're going to have a lot of that this weekend ay?" Becky whooped again as Mia and Aria agreed and we all started to walk towards the entrance, Mia yelling for the boys to hurry up and follow before they got lost. Still, even as I laughed at another joke Becky told, posing for a video Mia was taking as we entered, I couldn't help but let my mind linger to that bus seat, to my wet lips of floss, to crystal blue eyes, to what could have happened. I tossed my head over my shoulder, hoping to see Will or George or James or even the fucking busman to distract myself but of course, instead, I met the same stupid blue eyes. He stopped talking and looked at me, I took a deep breath and then James nudged his side and Mia squeezed my ribs and the moment was over. God, this stupid tension had to arrive now, didn't it? Couldn't have waited till after festival season? Still, nothing a bit of alcohol couldn't help drown out, right? Right? "Are we going to go on the rides today lads or are we waiting for that madness till tomorrow?" George yelled over music playing, the night being relatively old at that point. Aria and James said they were heading to their tent now so they'd pass for now, as did Mia and Will after Mia persisted a little. Becky tucked her arm into mine and asked if I wanted to go to our tent yet since we were sharing and I thought it over, biting my cheek. The air still smelled like candy floss, as did Becky's breath and probably mine, though there was a slight sting that I put down to the few shots I'd downed so far, not enough to be pissed just yet. That was for Saturday night. I thought it over for another second before shaking my head, pulling back for Becky's grasp. "Actually Beck, you go ahead. I'm going to stay back with Alex," I turned and gave him a small smile, finally meeting his eyes for the first time since the incident and he smiled back. "He owes me a few hundred rides to live up to his earlier words, right Al?" "That's right. You can go back too if you want George, you keep yawning on me." "Yeah, I think I'll pass on watching whatever the fuck that's going to be you're right, I'll make sure Becky gets back to her tent fine. I'll wait with her till you decide what you're doing yeah?" I didn't ponder on what George meant and only let out a whoop, promising Becky I'd get back fine. She smiled, her nose scrunching and she pressed a kiss to my cheek before nodding at George to go. I watched her go with him, a few close encounters with people already puking on the ground from a really bad-or good-night depending on your perspective. I jumped when I felt someone take my hand until I realized it was Alex, his voice close to my ear, making me shrink away. "So Will and that are already boning huh? Think they could have waited till tomorrow to settle in at least." I snorted and pushed him away, gagging at that thought. "Jesus Alex please refrain from giving me that image. Will is still twelve years old to me. Not to mention little Aria with my man James." "Your man James? I'm offended I thought I was your man." There he goes again, that stupid your man joke. Still, it did make me smile genuinely, even if I rolled my eyes to hide how my face was so bright. I took his hand and let it rest over my shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to it as we walked towards the flashiest ride. "Of course you're my man. My favourite man. But you currently aren't riding anything so I think you're a man backing out of his promise," I carefully evaded a man pissing, his poor girlfriend looking disgusted beside him, still keeping my eyes on Alex beside me. "Then let me prove it to you, three rides on this bastard. Unless you're too scared?" I chuckled, stopping to take his other hand and lean up, glaring me eyes threateningly. "Alex Elmslie, you're fucking on. The first to chicken out this weekend has to do what the other says." He thought about it for a moment before nodding, returning the glared eyes. "Okay, then y/n l/n. First challenge is this. Oh, and by the way, I'm not going to lose." Oh, it was definitely on. The last day arrived quicker than anyone wanted to and before I knew it, my suitcase was packed again, ready for the coach that would pick us up tomorrow. Still, there was one more night to enjoy and especially one last performance. Becky put her phone down, sighing as she tucked her hair behind her ear again. "Babe, we have to go soon. Billies performance will definitely be packed and I don't know about you, but I want to be as close as possible." I smile back, finally satisfied with my last day look. A simple soft pink makeup look complete with a light pink dress and flats. Flats made it a lot easier to hop around. "I'm ready Beck, just waiting for the others to show up at this point. You definitely told James and Aria to meet us here right?" Becky nodded, checking her phone again but her eyes rolling at the lack of new messages. I considered just going to save a spot for our group with just Becky until there was a yell outside asking if they could come in. A few moments later, James Marriotts face peeked through the now unzipped hole of our tent, a smile on his face. After another second, Arias's face appeared on top, face covered in pretty blue glitter. "You ready to be going then? Mia will kill me if we don't get a good spot." James tilted his head, a serious tone to his not really a joke-joke. "Oh I know," I edged towards the tent door, smiling. "She's been raving about this performance for weeks now. If she doesn't get to see more than a bean from a distance, she'll have all of our heads." Aria laughed and they both stood back, letting me step into the warm air. Ah, England's summers, surprisingly warm most of the time for such a known shit weather country. "Alex wouldn't shut up about it last night either to be fair though I suspect at least half of that was due to the drink." Becky followed me out and shared a glance with the couple. Aria licked her lips and looked away. Becky seemed to stifle a laugh, disguising it as a slight cough. I narrowed my eyes at James, hoping he'd crack and eventually he did, sighing. "Y/n, we were wondering if that stupid competition thing was still going on." I raised my eyebrows, falling into step with the trio as we headed for the stage she was performing at in an hour. "Yeah, we decided to keep it going till the festival was over. Why, would you like to join?" I teased, receiving unimpressed grunts from the whole group. Aria piped up next, seeming to take a long time in what she said next. For some reason, I felt like I wasn't going to like what she had to say. "It just feels like it's delaying the inevitable or something, that's all." "What's the inevitable?" "You and Alex getting married and having six children, three dogs and a cat." Becky chirped up, giggling. Aria and James laughed along with her. I could tell that I'd turned red and unfortunately, no makeup could cover that mess, which made everyone laugh a little harder. "I don't like Alex, we're just friends." "N/n, we were all there that night last year. Plus, there's behind such a weird vibe with you two lately, not to mention the way you look at each other all the time. Like bloody puppies or something." Aria tells me and this time, my face pales. That night a few months ago. It had been just another late night out at the club, some music playing in the distance as we all had a chat and chugging back as much as we could consume without dying. I decided to be brave and asked Alex to dance, tugging him to the floor before he could refuse. At first, we'd just been messing, twirling and more so stumbling around the place, clinging to each other for support as the world seemed to spin. It'd been just as I fell forwards the DJ announced they were starting romance hour, the music switching from stupid random beats to the soft vocals of Billie Eilish, singing about ocean eyes and falling from a height. Neither of us moved, my arms remaining wrapped around his neck as they had to stop me from falling, Alex's softly placed on my waist. "I like this song," I told him, leaning up to his ear on my tippy toes so he could hear me. "Me too, Billie's proper class." I snorted, falling back onto my heels. "It reminds me of you actually, this song," Alex tilted his head, pulling me in a little closer. "Because your eyes are blue are so pretty. You know, the first time we met the first thing I noticed was how pretty they were, even before I thought anything about how soft your hair looked. Will had to nudge me back to reality. Felt like everything just suddenly made sense." My words were slurred, heavily influenced by tequila and the heaviness starting to fall over my eyes. Still, I felt his lips press against mine, felt how it was better than any drink or drug. Perfectly moulded together, as though it was meant to be. I pulled him closer, fingers curling into his hair and he gripped desperately at my dress, his fingers able to be felt through the stupid fabric.When we'd pulled back, the song changed and I suggested we headed back to our friends, didn't look him in the eye. He agreed and we never spoke of it again. I had assumed our friends hadn't seen, that we'd been swallowed into the crowd as just another couple making out to a song. The look on my friends face at that moment told me otherwise."I just thought none of yous had seen that," I stammered, eyes looking to the ground so I didn't have to meet their eyes. "Of course we did, you were only a few feet away. Honestly, after that, we'd all just assumed you were dating in secret until this challenge thing." James explained, pointing to the girls to back him up. Both of them nodded, Aria looking slightly guilty and Becky just grinning.Great, everyone thought I was shagging my stupid crush. "Well we aren't, that was just a drunk mistake. Me and Alex are just friends, I promise." None of them looked convinced and I decided to pretend nothing had happened, saying we should hurry before all the good spots were taken. They didn't mention how I'd just moved on and agreed, breaking into a conversation about how excited they were instead. Even though I joined in, laughing when James told a joke or agreeing with Becky when she'd waffle, nothing could erase the strange feeling in my stomach. I couldn't quite decipher what it was, nervousness, guilt for lying about not liking Alex maybe, perhaps just pure excitement from seeing Billie. Whatever it was, it settled deep in my stomach and didn't go away, even as the others joined us at the spot we'd found. In fact, it only worsened when Alex landed beside me, whispering that the next challenge was to sing louder than the other, his hand resting ever so slightly on my shoulder. This would be a long night. My throat ached, begging for the relief I refused to give it as my voice croaked out the lyrics to bellyache like I'd be shot if I didn't. Alex gripped tightly at my wrists, both of us jumping up and down like idiots. I could hear Mia behind me, most likely on Will's shoulder and somewhere in front of me, George was laughing at Becky and James' awful slightly drunk dance moves, Aria most definitely recording to laugh at when they had sobered up. The rest of the world didn't matter at that moment and I pulled my wrists away from Alex's wrist to hold his face, laughing at his expression when I squeezed it. The song came to an end, turning into only loud cheering and instrumental as I croaked out that he looked extremely stupid. He pouted more and I laughed more, a slight snort coming out. The vibe of the audience changed when Billie sat down, announcing she'd be singing an oldie. Everyone got even more excited and couples linked together like magnets, arms around necks and eyes on eyes. I rolled my eyes at the gross displays of affection, letting my hands drop to rest on his shoulders. The first chord of the song played and I felt both of our bodies freeze, my throat becoming suddenly sore. Oh. It was that song. Of course, it was. Everyone else was too occupied to notice how we both stopped singing, how I opened and closed my mouth a few times before deciding to keep it shut. Except, of course, Alex and his stupidly perfect blue eyes, squarely focused on my own. "Al, we need to talk." No, we didn't, why did I say that. Shut up. "Okay." Great, no going back now. That'd make it worse. I cleared my throat. "You don't remember this but I can't pretend it didn't happen anymore. There was one night awhile ago, we were both very drunk. We had a moment and kissed. Everyone actually thought we were dating for ages." "Wait you remember that?" I nodded, swallowing harshly. If anyone had asked why my throat was suddenly dry and closing in, I'd have blamed hayfever. That would have been a lie. "N/n, I've been waiting for you to talk about it for ages. I thought you'd forgotten." My heart stopped, mind still doing cartwheels to try process the pure idiocy that was currently radiating off of both of us. Billie hit the chorus at the same time Alex leaned down ever so slightly, lips just grazing against mine for a moment as if testing the waters. I didn't hesitate to press my lips back against his, more full of emotion and present, saying everything my lack of worlds could never. I could hear the crowd cheering and clapping, the song ending, our friends whooping, but all I focused on was my heartbeat pounding out of my chest, his heartbeat against mine. When I finally pulled back, my eyes remaining closed for an extra beat to process what just happened, I saw him smile. Some people liked to say blue eyes were overrated and I used to find myself agreeing with them. Why so many love songs about boring old blue eyes, the most common eye colour, and not the mysterious browns and mesmerizing green? But at that moment, I understood. It felt like I'd seen him again for the first time but also met eyes with someone I'd known forever at the same time. A mixture of nostalgic warmth and crazed excitement wrapped into a crystalline package. Ocean eyes. And I understood. Mia threw her arm around my neck and yelled that this was our song, swinging me around. I chuckled, pulling her in closer by the waist and allowing her to tug me away. Alex didn't mind, turning around to talk, or rather shout, at Will, cheeks slightly tinted and a certain buzz in the way he laughed that wasn't there ever before. Pretty. "So," he said, arm around my shoulder and Ferris wheel slowly reaching the top. "What do you think about telling our friends we actually are dating this time?" I shrugged, nuzzling closer to the soft fabric of the hoodie he'd thrown on, probably leaving flecks of glitter that would never go away. He wouldn't care. He never cared about stuff like that. In fact, I think he had the right face for makeup. Maybe he'd let me do his makeup if I asked for a video, a festival look and q+a wrapped into one. The smell of cotton candy wafted up from above and somewhere below, I could just about hear Becky screaming on some ride. "They can figure it out themselves. Probably already have knowing our friends. Same with the fans honestly. Alex didn't answer, rubbing circles on my arm with his thumb instead. My body let out a shaky happy sigh. "Look, we're at the top now. Stopped for just a moment too." I peeked one eye open and smiled at the pretty sight before us, the lights of the rides mixing with phone flashlights and distant concert stages, smells of food stands, drink, weed, the sound of faint music, screams, laughter, happy yelling. Of course, the prettiest sight to me was the shimmering stars high above us, our interlocked hands resting on his chest. As I heard Becky let out another shriek, I was reminded of something from earlier that weekend and smile cheekily, sitting up to properly look at my boyfriend. God that felt to think without it being imaginary. "You know, technically you stopped singing before me which means you lost our game." "That sounds fair to me. So, whats my challenge then?" I pretended to think, finger tapping my chin as if I didn't already know exactly what I was going to say. "You have to be the one to tell Becky shes staying with George tonight because you're staying with me." He raised his eyebrow and turned a bright shade of red. I only smiled wider. "You lost the game, Al, those were the rules." "I haven't lost anything actually, I'd say I won a lot today," he held our interlocked hands up. And, if I wasn't so very in love with him, I would have puked. Because I was, I just rolled my eyes and made him promise to not back out. He insisted he wouldn't and walked straight over to Becky the second we were off the ride. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a bit more embarrassed than him suddenly when Becky gasped and grabbed my arm, giving it a slight shake and congratulating me on moving from big fat crush to a big fat relationship. The next Sunday, new pictures dotted my bedroom wall and my Instagram feed. There was a few that overlapped, a group shot by the pier, picture of me and the girls all on a ride, Becky laughing so hard alcohol shot out of her nose, me and Will recreating the same photo we did every year, but most were only on my wall. Me and George taking a shot at the same time, arms interlocked, James watching on with pride. Aria and a random stranger who happened to be wearing the same shoe hugging. Me and Mia in our outfits, laughing so hard we cried or spilling drinks on ourselves. A lot of Will and me simply existing together, whether it be dancing or screaming on a ride. Strangers I found interesting. But most were of Alex. A shot someone snapped when we were on the Ferris wheel. Selfies from just about every location at the festival. And of course, my personal favourite, the one James took on the bus on our way home, when this time when he applied my lipstick, I immediately ruined it with a kiss that told our friends everything they needed to know. When I sat down by the edge of my bed to admire my handiwork, years of photos mixing and telling a story, Alex grunted slightly and woke up from his sleep. He sleepily asked if I'd like to make brownies in a bit before pressing a kiss to my cheek, resting his head on my shoulder. His shampoo filled my nose and the soft material of his jumper pressed against my skin. God, I was ever so glad I understood why there were so many songs about blue eyes.