#latest case. i told her that i want to learn another language

[purring-tiefling]

.

[yesttoheaven]

AMOR FATI

pairing – neil x female!reader

wc – 3.8k

warnings – mention of death, self-blame, anxious/intrusive thoughts, questioning reality, refusal of help, guns, stalking, but I swear there's a light at the end of the tunnel haha

a/n – The last time I suffered so hard for the death of a character, was when Newt died (Maze Runner) and now Neil has captured all my attention and his death has hit me in the same way 😩 I needed a happy ending so I decided to write this!

The Eternal Return and Amor Fati mentioned in this fic are one of the main ideas of Nietzsche's philosophy.

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

She approached the painting hanging on the wall, watching the details closely. Ouroboros. A serpent eating its own tail. Months ago, when Y/N was visiting an antique store in Mumbai, she saw that same symbol. The owner of the establishment approached when she realized her interest in the piece and explained that Ouroboros represents the ideas of movement, continuity and, in consequence, Eternal Return. A concept that the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space.

"Max finally fell asleep." Kat returned to the living room, attracting Y/N's attention.

She walked away from the painting, taking back her seat on the sofa and asked:

"How is he after everything that happened?"

For a moment, Kat looked at the painting on the wall and then at the friend she won in the midst of confusion over the Algorithm. At that time, despite being fighting on the front lines to prevent a possible Third World War, Y/N seems complete. Happy. Today that happiness no longer exists in her eyes.

Letting out a sigh, the woman sat next to her, answering:

"Sator was never a present father. He was always busy... now i can see the kind of work he was involved in. Anyway, Max just got used to his absence."

"It's notable that he's happier at your side. When we first met Max was a bit of an introvert, but today he is radiant." Y/N confessed, showing a small smile and the blonde shook her head, agreeing with her words. "How's everything?"

"Perfectly well. It's weird sometimes... After years of being stuck in a failed relationship, freedom is good."

"It seems like life is good for one of us." The woman let out a bitter laugh, putting the latest events on a scale, but she didn’t want her friend to think she wasn’t happy for her. She really was. "I'm sorry, I just..." The words remain stuck in her throat, while she covers her face with her hands. In addition to physical and mental fatigue, Y/N tried to hide her grief.

Kat touched her shoulder, showing that she was here.

"I know you're hurt, but it's been three months and you never talked about what happened that day... This is not good for you."

"What do I have to say, Kat? The guy I fell in love with was a fucking time traveler! And now he's dead and I don't know what to do. My life just... stopped without him."

"I can imagine how difficult it's for you to cross that line without Neil at your side, but giving up is not an option. Grief is consuming you little by little and you are just accepting it..."

"We are trained to contain our emotions and deal with death in the best possible way. It used to be easy for me, but then he came and turned my life upside down." Y/N put her hands on her knees and stood up, walking without an exact destination. "Neil was always one step ahead of us all..." She stepped forward too and found the painting again, but her mind was lost in thoughts about him. Neil knew her so well. And he had a charming smile, but completely arrogant at the same time. "I was sent to Mumbai to help two agents and when I arrived at Priya's penthouse that night, there he was. When he saw me, that was the first and only time that he let his guard down. I'll never forget how he looked at me, it was one of those breathtaking moments... Completely cliché, I know."

On the sofa, Kat was impressed. When Y/N turned towards her, there was a bright smile on her face. The simple memory brought her a breath of happiness and Kat enjoyed seeing her friend like that, but unfortunately that moment did not last long. Memories aren't enough. Neil is dead and nothing can change that.

"I miss him so much, Kat." The smile disappeared as soon as tears appeared in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks.

"My dear..." Worried about her, the woman got up quickly and approached Y/N, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I'm really sorry."

"I spent the last three months locked up in my a-apartment because I thought I could handle this situation on my own. At times I b-believed it was just a fever dream... Maybe I was losing my mind, but this is proof that everything was real." Through tears blurring her vision, she looked at the watch on her wrist, remembering that night.

Y/N was in a private cabin on the ship. The others were with Ives and Wheeler, going over the mission in search of any loose ends. A standard procedure. Y/N knew she should be with them, but she needed a moment alone to organize her thoughts. And that moment is now. The past few weeks had been a real mess. The inversion was difficult to explain and mainly to understand. She was used to field missions, but being an inverted soldier on the battlefield was not in her plans. Either way, she agreed to be a part of it and running away with biased assumptions was not going to help. Humanity depends on them.

Three knocking on the door caught Y/N's attention, but she remained silent, waiting for the person to give up and leave, but when it didn't, she just murmured 'Come in'.

"So, here you are." The man used a surprised tone of voice and closed the door behind him. "What will our superior think when he learns that you are running away from the briefing?"

She let out a laugh before answering in the same mood:

"Don't worry, I know this mission like the back of my hand. I just needed a moment."

"There's something wrong? Are you ok?" Neil spilled the questions quickly, visibly concerned for her.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Neil." Y/N smiled at him, but looked away just seconds later, confessing: "Maybe I'm a little surprised by the situation. I have spent years dealing with terrorists, but the inversion is really not my point."

"I'm not good with advice, but someone once said to me: Don't try to understand. Certain things in the world do not need an explanation."

"It's wise advice, but I'm a methodical person. Logic has always been my ally in missions."

"A methodical person, huh?" He asked with an arrogant smile playing on his lips and she just rolled her eyes. "I know how worried you were when Sator shot Kat, but we are using the inversion to save the world and you're one of the most brilliant agents I have ever seen. Everything will be fine."

"Are you praising me?"

"What's that? Can't I praise my partner's talent?" Neil pulled up a chair to sit across from her, crossing his arms.

"In that case, thank you. Remind me to put this on my resume." Those words made him laugh and that sound could easily be compared to music in her ears.

Touching her knee, Neil added:

"We are very confident with the mission. You don't need to worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I cannot say that unforeseen events do not happen, but we are prepared for that." Y/N knew he was right, but this mission is the biggest one so far. It's not about saving a country. It's about saving the entire world. This was arousing insecurities in her and it was like walking in a minefield. Ironically, she was familiar with this, but not in such catastrophic proportions. "I want you to have this." The man took his watch off his wrist and handed it to her.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" The question came out as a whisper from between her lips.

It didn't make sense. Why does everything in this conversation look like a farewell?

"We will be on opposite sides tomorrow, but i want you to know... I will always be with you, Y/N."

"I saw the way he looked at you... That's how I used to look at Sator before he became a monster in my life." Kat started, running a hand through Y/N's hair. "When I was lying on that stretcher and partially drugged with the medicines, I saw him beside you... watching you sleep. There was so much love in his eyes. Love for a lifetime, Y/N. So don't do this to yourself. The way he left hurt us all, but there was nothing you or any other agent could do to change what happened at Stalask-12. Neil saved the world. This gave us a second chance. You cannot give up now. This organization needs you. And keeping your mind busy at that moment is the first step towards a fresh start."

"N-No, I can't..." She broke the hug, shaking her head in denial. "I left the organization."

"What? Don't you work for Tenet anymore? But when we first met you told me that you can't imagine working in another area... And that this is your life's work."

"Being an agent is my life's work. I was in Yemen when Tenet found me and assigned me to this mission. My only job is to make this world a less hostile place, but the motto of this organization is not what I believe, Kat. What's happened's happened. Really? It doesn't work for me." Y/N ended the sentence with drops of anger in her voice and Kat did not say a single word.

Through the newspapers, Max's mother followed what was happening in Yemen over the years – a real endless war – and knowing that Y/N was in the middle of it, makes the situation unquestionable. People died in front of her eyes. Friends of the corporation. And then some time later, Tenet arrived with a fresh start, but in the end everything remained the same. She lost Neil. It is as if her life's work never had a happy ending because the world will never stop being a hostile place.

"He knows?" It was easy for Y/N to identify who she was talking about. The Protagonist. Or just TP.

"Here's another problem. I worked with him and indirectly worked for him at the same time! God, that man created this organization! And his name remains a mystery to us all!" She pinched the tip of her nose, feeling frustrated with all the secrets that haunt this organization. "And answering your question, yes, he knows, but he did not argue about it. I was a complete mess and he was not doing very well either... He stayed in my apartment for the first month, probably to make sure I didn't do anything stupid." And Y/N would be forever grateful for that. She likes him. Just as friends, of course. TP was a reserved man, but it was he who held her when everything was falling apart. "But we've had a fight. I blamed him for what happened at Stalask-12 and since then we haven't spoken anymore."

It was easy to see that they carried more pain than they could actually bear. Y/N lost her great love and the man lost his best friend. The situation just turned into a conflict between them and that was the result.

Realizing the sadness reflected in Y/N's eyes, Kat decided to change the subject of the conversation. Keeping that thought, she smiled and pointed to the painting on the wall. Maybe that could help.

"You seemed interested in this one."

"Oh yes, in my spare time I am a lover of art and its meanings. It is really attractive the way Ouroboros is connected to the Eternal Return..."

"And Amor Fati too." Kat completed, piquing Y/N's curiosity. This part was new to her. "It's impossible to affirm the Eternal Return without loving life. We need to learn that things happen as they do. Sometimes seemingly good. Sometimes seemingly bad. We don’t always get it our way... Unless we choose that whatever way it is, is our way. When we choose to Amor Fati, to love everything that happens, to love our fate, then we will always get it our way. Because the way it is, is the way it is. Unchangable. And therefore it must be good, even if it sucks."

These words touched Y/N's heart. This was a contradiction to what she is experiencing right now. Love your fate. She would like to understand and accept what happened, she really wanted, but why is it so difficult to move on?

Because Neil is dead.

That was the only explanation for her. The end of a relationship would be more acceptable. If he were alive, things would be completely different now. However, grief is overwhelming. How could she just accept what happened?

"I... I gotta go." That was all she managed to say before picking up her bag and leave the penthouse, ignoring Kat's protests.

When the elevator doors closed, an exhausted sigh left her mouth and the instant she saw her reflection in the mirror, Y/N wanted to cry again. After three months alone, she thought visiting her friend would be a good idea. Kat was willing to help, but the problem was that Y/N is not allowing herself to be helped. As soon as the doors opened, she left the metal box and found the hotel lobby partially empty. Her watch showed it was 3:13 AM, this explains the absence of people on the street as well. In front of her car, she searched the bag for the key and coincidentally her cell phone started to vibrate. Probably the text messages were from Kat, but confusion hit Y/N the instant she looked at the identifier and saw that the messages did not belong to any of her contacts.

Stay away from the car

They put a bomb

I'm on my way

Her first reaction was to take a few steps back and look around, trying to understand what’s going on and find the person responsible for these texts, but Y/N was alone in the dark street. When she thought it might be an unnecessary prank, a black SUV approached at high speed. The car stopped just a few meters away from where she was, but that was enough to make her body freeze.

"Y/N, come on!" The man exclaimed, the urgency in his voice would have made her run immediately, but she didn't move. Her feet had frozen on the floor. This cannot be real. "Come on, get in the car! We don't have much time!" He tried again, it was possible to hear the sound of the other cars approaching.

Y/N watched in slow motion the moment he left the car and ran towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"How is this possible?" She asked in a whisper, completely lost in his blue eyes.

"It's good to see you too." Neil admitted, feeling his heart race. She looked so fragile in his arms. Very different from the last time he saw her. "We have to go." He accompanied her to the car and as soon as Y/N took the passenger seat, he returned to his seat.

For her this moment was like a fever dream, so she just looked down and started counting her fingers. One, two, three, four, five... Neil noticed, but said nothing, just kept driving. The cars were fast approaching, but he would do everything possible and impossible to get Y/N away from these people.

"Give me your cell phone." He looked at her for a brief moment, but when Y/N didn’t react, he wasn't sure if she heard it, so he just took the phone from her hand and threw it out the window. That was enough to get her out of the numbness:

"What the fuck, Neil?!"

Despite the adrenaline rushing through his body, the man laughed.

"If I found you because of your cell phone, they can too." After that, he crossed the red light and made a risky turn, trying to end this chase. "Before you ask, no, this is not a dream. Unfortunately this is very real..." Neil didn't like what he saw when he adjusted the rearview mirror. "And now they are getting ready to shoot us."

That observation put Y/N on alert and she looked back, seeing a man with an AKS-74U and another with a Beretta M12.

"If you knew it wasn't a dream, why didn't you bring an armored car?" She ran her tongue between her lips, smiling at the man beside her. Neil tried to argue, but she just took off her seat belt and picked up the Glock 19 stuck in the vest he was wearing.

Y/N crawled out of the car and sat at the window opening. This encouraged the men in the two cars to start shooting, trying desperately to hit her. Neil shouted something that she couldn't understand and then she felt one of his hands on her thigh, giving her stability to continue with the plan. With her arm resting on the roof of the vehicle, Y/N aimed the gun at the car that was closest to them. Her intention was not to start a firefight in the middle of one of the main avenues in the city, but she had no other option. Holding her breath, she fired the first shot and the bullet hit the tire, taking the car out of circulation. Y/N celebrated while preparing for the second car, but dealing with this one was not an easy task. Now they were in a tunnel and, consequently, losing speed because of the other cars that came along the way. Neil left two pats on her leg, indicating that she had better get back in the car and that is what she did. Screams, honks and gunshots echoed through the tunnel, turning the place into a war zone. Whoever these men were, Y/N knew they weren't going to give up.

Tired of playing cat and mouse, she went to the back seat, getting on her knees. Through the broken glass above the trunk, Y/N adjusted the aim of her gun, ignoring the sniper and focusing on the driver. With another accurate shot, the bullet hit the man's chest and he lost control of the vehicle. The car overturned for a while, streaking the asphalt, but no other car was involved in the accident. Y/N sighed in relief and looked for another possible threat, just checking, but when she realized that the area was clean, she returned to the passenger seat, leaving the gun on the dashboard in front of her.

"Next time I'm going to get an armored car." Neil comments, stepping on the gas. "Nice shot, by the way."

"Anytime." Y/N smiled, trying to control her breathing.

With the adrenaline disappearing from her body, it was hard for her to believe that this was really happening. For many nights she cried, wondering what it would be like if Neil just came back to her, but now she was afraid to wake up and realize that it was just another vivid dream.

The sun was rising when they arrived in a shed away from the city. Seen from the outside, the place was a little scary, but the interior wasn't that bad. There was some equipment like trackers, walkie-talkie, bulletproof vests, weapons, ammunition; a table with a mess of papers and on the other side two beds and something that Y/N supposed to be a private bathroom.

"Where we are?"

We. That simple word echoed in her mind. Y/N thought that "we" didn't exist anymore.

"For now in a safe place. It's dangerous for you out there." He answered the question and took a bottle of water, handing it to her after taking a generous sip.

"Who are these people, Neil?" She wanted answers, lots of answers, and that frustrated the british spy because for the first time he didn't know what could happen.

Neil had a mission and that mission ended with him dying in Stalask-12, but after what TP did, everything changed.

"We have a name..." He wanted to say more, he wanted to reassure her, but that was all he had at the moment.

Y/N drank some water and left the bottle on the table, looking at some reports and photos. All photos were of the same man.

Lenard Vaher

"But apparently they don't just want you..."

It took a few seconds and when the realization hit Y/N, concern appeared on her face.

No, not him.

"Where's TP? He's safe, right?"

"He was going to see you when Lenard's men kidnapped him. This happened three weeks ago." And considering the anger in Neil's voice, finding TP was proving an almost impossible task, but in the midst of so much concern, one point attracted Y/N's attention.

"You said he was going to see me..."

"There was something he needed to tell you." Neil sighed, resting his hands on the table. A few strands of blond hair fell over his forehead, but he quickly shook his head back, as he always did. "He returned to Stalask-12, Y/N."

After that statement, the only sound that could be heard was Neil's footsteps closing the distance between them and the first thing she did was put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Neil smiled. And that was not one of his famous smiles. That was a shy smile. His heart was beating like a drum and it was all because of her. Loving Y/N was something so special and pure, that Neil accepted his fate without a second thought. Saving the world, he was giving her a second chance to live, but now he is the one who received a second chance.

"I missed you every day." Before she could begin to consider the meaning behind his words, he settled his mouth upon hers, robbing her of thought.

She closed her eyes and melted against him, flattening her hands on his arms. Neil caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbling and licking at it until she thought she might perish from the intensity of the feeling. She whimpered at the sensation, and he rewarded the sound by deepening the kiss, giving her everything she desired. His tongue stroked hers, slow and insistent. A lush, decadent pleasure unfolded within them, snaking through their veins as though it had lain coiled in anticipation for years.

Just waiting for this moment.

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a/n – really hope you enjoy it and thank you soooo much for reading ;)

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Summer Nights (3)

A/N: INDEX

Warnings: alcohol, language, sexual alludes, and... that’s it??

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags: @war-sword @paradigmax @winnsmills @idkatee @bforbroadway @okaydraco

So her name was Y/N.

Draco couldn't help himself but wonder about her for the past few days, after their encounter in the restaurant. As he thought more and more of her, he decided she was more of a changeable person, judging on what he had learned about her; timid and coy one day in the lobby when he first arrived, and plainly confident on another when she approached him to return his fucking wand.

And did she believe in that fictive tale about him playing a magician? Did she sense his sudden abashment when she started to question him on the subject?

He blamed himself for the whole situation, which could have never happened if he only were more careful. He assumed he had lost the wand when his mother furiously dragged him back to his hotel room from the bar he had stopped by for a while. Perhaps, it was when he had handed the receptionist, Y/N, the letter, and it just dropped out of his pocket as he was taking an envelope out.

Fortunately for him, it found its way back. So he didn't have to trouble his head with that now, right?

One issue, however, stuck to his thoughts and vividly came back every time he glanced at his hand, only to see blurry words written with a hard-to-efface ink. Of course, by none other than Y/N.

A few days back, she had scribbled her name and a number on his palm, and since then, he tried to figure out what it was for. He knew he couldn't walk out to the city and stop people in the middle of the pavement to ask for an explanation for the note because it would be as irrational and bizarre as it sounds. The second thought was to ask his mother for an additional conjecture about that by sending an owl. But then he quickly remembered, he didn't have access to any of owls here and -- so and so -- he didn't know the address Narcissa was staying at.

So both options were excluded.

Soon enough, however, the situation cropped up. Someday around six in the morning, still sound asleep and immersed in the dreams, the strange, alarming sound rang up in his bedroom, echoing off the walls and waking half of the death of him as he heard it. He flopped off his bed with the sheets falling along with him, and he began looking for the source of the noise. Then he noticed: a white handset and a set of ten digits next to it; he picked it up -- it was only a hotel checking up if he needed anything.

From then on, everything lined up and made a perfectly logical sense in his head -- it was a muggle device to communicate with each other. If you were desperate enough not to meet up with somebody in the real-life, you were likely to click nine digits and either meet with the receiver's voice or voicemail on the other side. So here was a purpose of the number.

Draco also discovered these things were so-called phones. And they were sold in various forms and types like the models of brooms in the Wizarding World -- from less to most exclusive ones. Little did his consciousness helped him, but after an hour, he was already out in the city and walking next to the shops' exhibitions and searching for an electronics store to buy himself one of those.

Why did he want to buy the phone? He could lie and say that it was only in case of emergency. But admitting truthfully to himself, he felt a nagging curiosity about those devices and wanted to understand this part of the muggle world. And something, more of a hunch than reasoning, told him that he soon might be needing one of those.

Later that day, after wandering for almost an hour and stepping into some cafeteria for lunch, he was finally holding a fucking iPhone in his hand. It had a lot of fancy shining buttons and a small, black partly-bitten apple on the back, and some kind of virtual assistant (at least that's what he had heard from a salesman) Siri with a very posh British accent. Having been advised to purchase it, Draco did so even without a second thought.

He paid for it with some muggle money his mother provided him before her departure, and walked out of the store, having it packed in a nice paper bag with a receipt and a SIM card. He decided on opening it when he reaches his room, and meanwhile, look around the area for some entertainment or something in those terms, to preoccupy himself.

Actually, Draco hadn't been too much in foreign countries, and hauling him out to Muggle London was a miracle, much more to Muggle Paris. He could find a similarity, but it was much different here -- cars honking at each other at the traffic jam; countless shops with clothes; restaurants with delicious food; people babbling at one another in French but also in Italian and German, and English. It was chaotic; it was loud, and he had to watch his feet in order to not trip over by someone else.

Draco felt lost in that mess. Random people encouraging him to visit the shops he would never intend to drop by, strangers pushing him in a rush and mumbling indistinct 'Sorry' for stepping on his shoes, some even too bothered to even look at him. Partly, he wished he had never listened to Narcissa and instead spending time with Thoe, Blaise, or whosoever and talking about irrelevant stuff like the score of the last Quiddich match (Banchory Bangers against Falmouth Falcons) or about the latest affairs with the Ministry of Magic.

And what was he even doing here?

In mere seconds, he decided on changing a route back again to the hotel instead of meandering aimlessly and optimistically, waiting for some godsend to find.

What he wasn't, however, considering was actually finding some godsend in front of the revolving doors of the hotel building.

Yet again, as if some supernatural powers brought them to the same place every time, he was standing on the opposite side of the door where Y/N. It was the late afternoon, so instead of wearing the usual white shirt in the composition of black jeans, she had a green top and striped, yellow shorts with a small watch on her wrist.

She was turned, slightly to the side, so it was her profile he saw as she waved probably at one of her friends, smiling broadly. Draco never really paid much attention to the girl, especially to her looks, but now as his eyes roamed over her standing figure in those a little too revealing clothes, he felt a gulp forming in his throat. Her hair was falling on her shoulders, the beam plastered to her face, and she seemed to be a radiating sphere of positivity.

For the last time, she blew her friend a kiss, and then she was looking at him, infinitely shocked at the sight of him behind the window, staring at her. Draco blinked, snatching out of thoughts.

Y/N made her way out, gripping her big handbag and throwing it hastily on the shoulder and a glowing grin waving over her face again. "Nice to see you again," she said. "I thought you would call."

He furrowed his brows, detecting the faint trace of hope in her voice and feeling his heart take up on the speed. "Well... I was just about to. In the room. I bought a phone..." He lifted the sack in his hand. "...and was about to dial your number."

"Really?" she asked, slightly startled and happy at the same time. She brushed some of her hair behind the ear. "Didn't you have the phone?"

"I left it at home." It was the quickest lie he could conceive. He playfully rolled his eyes, indicating the slight amusement at his alleged absentmindedness. "Just heading back from the shop."

She laughed at that. "Right." Suddenly, her cheeks were covered in a light scarlet, and she dropped her gaze at her feet for three seconds, as if she was about to share something very, very secretive with him. Then she was eyeing him again. "Listen... I've just ended a shift. Maybe you would like to go somewhere? I promised I'll show you around the most interesting spots. Are you up to that?"

Draco contemplated, taking in a small breath. Some part of him really lingered to give it a shot and go out with her, seeing where it carries them, as spontaneous as it was. It wasn't a date, and she was practically a stranger, but... what kind of a stranger! A quiet voice in his head told him this was what kept him away from the idea; disclosing his doubts -- her sparkling with joy eyes and the effect she had on him. A mere fact of him pondering the question was pure evidence it mattered to him, and he definitely tried to kick in with a good impression.  

That left him with no more answer than: "Yeah, sure."

For some reason, Y/N let out a sigh of relief and relaxed a little, looking as if she was about to hear bad news but heard the contrary instead. "Great!" she exclaimed cheerfully. A little too cheerfully, she realized, as soon as she spoke up because the embarrassment welled up on her face. Yet another blush brushed her cheeks, and she chuckled at herself. "Sorry. Bad habits from the reception."

Now it was his turn to chuckle. He liked it, actually, but obviously wasn't going to say that out loud. "Don't mind," he assured her. "Shall we--"

"Before we do," Y/N cut him in, already guessing the upcoming rest of the sentence. "I suggest you leave that stuff..." She pointed her finger at the bag he was carrying. "...in the room. We might be wandering some hours in the heat. So it might not be the best idea."

Draco nodded, silently agreeing with her pertinent advice. "I'll meet you downstairs in... five minutes, then."

She shifted a little, still grinning like a maniac and watching him with sparkling eyes. "Okay," she said, as Draco was making to walk past her, feeling the strangest hint of excitement creeping in his chest. As he was nearing the doorway, he heard her shouting behind his back, "I'll be waiting here!" And the tiniest of his rare smiles formed on his lips.

XOXOXOXO

"So tell me something about yourself, Draco." Y/N looked at him, a light of interest entering her eyes.

As decided, they had met up a few minutes later in front of the entrance to the hotel and then took on the route. Draco had asked her about any potential propositions of where there should go, to which Y/N only smiled mysteriously and said it was a surprise.

So now they were walking hand-in-hand, taking almost the same pace as they strolled in the rhythm of the roads. The buzz still could be heard, and people prattling loudly, but this time -- as Draco noted -- instead of crowding in the center of the noise, Y/N led him through some stealthy alleys only a real dweller could know about. There were still laughs and talks coming, but much quieter.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, not quite comprehending how he should answer her question. He had been in some relationships, some successful and some not, but no one had really paid much interest in him. Not really him.

"Uh, you know. Where do you hail from, what are your hobbies, why did you come to France? Whatever you want, actually." Y/N chortled, offering him a small smile of encouragement. The sun rays were smoothly emphasizing her beauty; skin glistening under the daily light. Draco couldn't help himself but think of how her hands would feel on his shoulders and--

'Focus Draco,' he scolded himself for drifting far, far away with his imagination.

"Well," he started. "I'm from England, what you can guess by my accent. I play piano, learned Italian and Spanish, and...you know, basic stuff." He omitted the part he was a captain of his Quidditch team at school for almost five years which was his biggest pride. "My mother forced me to come here."

"Oh," Y/N seemed to be a little surprised by his confession because she made a fish-like face. "Didn't you want to come?"

"Not quite," Draco admitted truthfully. Before she was able to ask him for a reason for that, he outstripped her. "Had a tough time lately. My friend...died."

Y/N stared at him, mouth slightly agape, and in an instant, her expression turned from cheerful to a regretful one. "I'm sorry," she said, massive uncomfortableness visible on her face.

He shrugged, making his faultless poker face to the game as if it didn't affect him at all -- blank and uncaring. But it hit him. Always did. He didn't like to talk about his post-war experience; even recalling it in his mind was torture.

'If she only knew,' Draco thought. 'She wouldn't be so eager to get acquainted.'

Before he could pay off with as much interest as she did to him, Y/N was gesturing excitedly to the name on the corner of the building, located right next to the extensive, artificial beach with impeccably clean water. There were quite a few people enjoying themselves and sitting on the warm sand, but not throng as Draco could expect from a place like that. "Here we are!"

Not only the sand, but a minibar was there as well: a small deckhouse in the midway of the shore and pavement; a few wooden stools; and the bartender who was shaking a cocktail mixer in his hands.

Shortly after, however, the man behind the counter noticed them approaching. He shot Draco a brief look, and then his gaze landed straight at Y/N, who also perceived him glancing at her. He seemed to be happy at the sight of her, and his eyes swept momentarily over her figure, perhaps identifying if it really was a person he thought it was, and then he gestured for her to come closer. Y/N seized Draco's forearm, tugging him to come along with her, and Draco, left without any other choices, followed.

Y/N began speaking something French with him, and he heatedly answered her back in a sort of enthusiastic voice. Apparently, they must have known each other because, after seconds, they started joking around, laughing, and patting each others' shoulders like old friends. It took quite a moment, but the bartender eventually focused his attention on Draco, who was standing next to Y/N and was trying to make any sense out of the conservation. The man asked something, curiously arching his brow yet again at Y/N, who flushed suddenly. Clearly flustered with his question, she playfully smacked him at the top of his head and turned to face Draco.

"Sorry for that," she said, putting both of her elbows on the countertop and making a slight pout of guiltiness. "It's just an old friend of mine. I used to come here a lot in the past, so we know each other... pretty well, I guess."

That arose Draco's curiosity, and he didn't miss a chance to ask her. "Don't you come here anymore?"

"No." The readiness of this reply surprised him a little bit. She bit her lip and let her eyes drift at her shoes, which -- Draco noticed -- was her typical reaction when she was nervous. "I... I used this place to meet up with my boyfriend. My father didn't approve of our relationship -- he assumed there was something iffy about him and that he had bad intentions." Chuckling dryly, she tried to cover up her emotions, though the sadness was hitched to her voice. "He was right. He used me and then dumped me, saying it meant nothing."

Although he felt an urge to hug her, he held it back and stared at her, not really knowing what to say. Should he console her by telling her the man was a pig and she clearly deserved better? Or should he keep silent, only proving himself to be a good listener? It was very confusing for him to be around girls who cry and complain and expect reassurance in their words. He witnessed Pansy weeping a lot of times, but she was the one to instruct him what to do by throwing herself at him and lingering in the embrace. But Y/N was new to him, and it was no easy way to find out what she wanted him to say.

"Sucks," he uttered under his breath before the awareness kicked in.  

What the fuck, you dolt?! Is it how you want to comfort her?

Fortunately, Y/N didn't receive his words as critically as he because her eyes lighted up, and she giggled softly. "Yeah... But I learned from that. I try to be warier now."

The bartender poked her suddenly on the shoulder, making some mumbling and incomprehensible sound. Y/N nodded and slightly tilted her head to have a better view of Draco. "Jean asks if you want a drink. He recommends Brave Bull. Brags that he can do the best one in the country."

"Mhm... Let it be it," he agreed, giving up on his usual liquor and dipping into more muggle-like specials. He attempted to force a smile on the lips, trying to give it more of a tone of a request than a demand.

She reciprocated the gesture, and then she turned to her friend, leaning casually against the bar and expertly translating the conversation. He only nodded, smiling, and grabbed the nearest bottle of some booze to pour the contents into the glass along with some other ingredients.

"Here you go," the bartender, Jean, tried out his amateur English, but remnants of French accent could be heard. He laid two glasses of alcohol -- one fiercely brown; the other one, blue with a cocktail umbrella inside -- on the countertop and grinned. Before Draco could take out some cash to pay, Jean's voice echoed again, still with a little stammering accent. "Free!"

Y/N and Draco made their way to a nearby bench, both calmly sipping their drinks and looking at the horizon as the sun set down, disappearing out of your sight. It was strange for Draco how comfortable he felt in her presence; the comfort he hadn't experienced for years in anyone's company. Although he was aware you had met a few days ago, something in your relationship gave him enough space to be himself. And he liked it.

Draco chanced to glance at Y/N, and she was already looking.

"I like coming here," she started hastily, as to conceal she was staring. "It's calming."

As an excuse to tear their eye contact, Draco scanned the beach again, and he could definitely get her point. The place was nothing but charming. "Agree."

"You know... It was my inspirational area when I drew. I first found it when I got into a huge fight with my father. Since then, I have used it as an escape from the outer world. It was a mistake that I shared it with my ex, but... you seem to be a proper person."

Draco didn't miss the compliment, and a barely visible blush danced on his cheeks. He felt his pulse speeds up, heart pounding at the sudden realization of their proximity. "You drew? Is it past tense?"

"Yes." Y/N nodded swiftly, grunting. "I love to capture the moments I find beauty in: people, places, specific objects. I even aspired to go to art studies. But..." She exhaled deeply, preparing herself to continue. "...they are too costly. My father says so... I don't blame him; I know he tries. But I stopped myself from having hopes."

Draco listened, and the pity churned his stomach. Taking a nip of his drink, an idea popped up in his head. "Do you have those drafts?"

"Right now?" Y/N asked, shocked, to which Draco responded only with a short nod.  "Yes, I usually carry them --er-- in my bag. I had to throw them away... but I just couldn't."

"Can I see?"

Surprisingly, for the first time, as Draco saw, reluctance appeared on her face. She deflated, apparently battling with doubts. "Ummm... Yes." And then she slipped her hand into her motley bag, rummaging intensely. After mere seconds, she finally found what she was looking for -- the set of papers bound neatly around by a fine twine and clip, to the additional perseverance.

Y/N passed him, what seemed to be many hours of her solid work, and he examined them closely. What Draco could say is that he wasn't an expert in the field, but he unconditionally believed that those sketches required a lot of talent to draw as precise as they were. He was in awe, really -- the accurate contours given the best preciseness; the attention paid even to the smallest details; gradings made with soft touches of a pencil. The drawings presented a lot: random people walking in a rush, natural landscapes, some sculptures lined up in front of a building, even the least relevant objects like shoes or an apple. That, of course, didn't discourage Draco from watching further -- he flipped the pages, soundlessly, and a little too fascinated to utter a thing.

"And what do you think?" asked Y/N, nervously tapping her fingers on her thigh and (unnecessarily) preparing herself for a flow of criticism. Her gaze darted between Draco's face and the sketches.

"I... think you have a gift," he complimented her, weighing the great truth in his words.

"Really?" Y/N asked him in disbelief, blushing profusely. "Thanks! But --er-- you can take them if you want. It'd be easier for me to know I give them in the good hands than throwing them away."

The 'good hands' comment flattered Draco, and he felt almost honored to accept the offer. "Yes. Thank you." He buried the works deeply in his pocket.

He would definitely make good use of those. He had a plan.

XOXOXO

A/N: Okay, hi everyone! It was supposed to be longer, but I decided to divide it into more chapters with less word count instead. Nothing is happening yet, but you can already feel some tension, right? :D The next chapter is going to be super, super short. So I might be posting it within two days or so??? Idk yet, and it’s not a promise because I have a nice surprise (spoiler! a new one-shot) coming and a few requests to answer, so it might also take a moment. But please, stick with me :D If anyone wants to appear on the tag list, write in comments, DM, or wheresoever!

[bourbonbees]

Suptober Day 6- Cemetery Boys

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34336042

Rating- G Jack POV

Jack has discovered there are a great deal of things that he loves about being human, he loves eating cake, taking his dog for walks, and swimming, but there’s nothing he loves more than his family. His family is not conventional, he’s got three dads, one of which is an angel, but all of them love him unconditionally. It’s rocky at first with Dean but after some quality time spent listening to Zep and going fishing together, the grumpy hunter warms up to him. It also doesn’t hurt that Jack’s first dad, Castiel, is also Dean’s partner and therefore holds a lot of sway over him, whether he likes it or not. Sam, his third dad was the best! He’s the one that establishes family movie night, Jack’s favorite night of the week!

Sam lets Jack pick the movies pretty much every week, much to Dean’s dismay. This week Jack chooses Ghostbusters as his pick. It’s great, he especially loves the jokes and the Stay Puffed Marshmallow man. He isn’t sure where the writers did their research for the movie though, his experiences with ghosts contain a lot less whimsy and a lot more salting and burning. The movie is just wrapping up when it hits him, they don’t have a name, every great team of heroes has a name.

“Hey, why don’t we have a name?” Jack poses the question, looking to Dean for a response.

“Kid, how much candy have you had? Are you sugar crashing? Remember, me Dean, you Jack, that annoying guy over there, Sam, this adorable ray of sunshine, Castiel.” Dean is concerned, he feels Jack’s forehead and looks him over, his parental instincts kicking in.

“No like a team name! Like there’s The Avengers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, uh The Fellowship of the Ring.” Jack lists off, Sam sending him a proud smile at the last one.

“Jack, hunters don’t really do teams. We’re kinda solitary, it’s our nature.” Sam explains, causing Jack even further confusion as he looks around at his family. They do everything together, live together, celebrate wins together, spend holidays together, work together, is that not a team?

“We’re not a team? Isn’t a family a team?” Jack frowns, worrying that he’s misread a long series of social cues. He is prone to that sometimes, his brain working a bit differently from his dads, neurodivergent, that’s what Sam had called it.

“Jack, oh, of course we’re a team. But more than that, we’re family.” Cas swoops in, reaching over and patting Jack on the shoulder. Cas is always the gentlest of his dads, he gives really good hugs, and is the one Jack goes to on the days where being a human is too much to deal with.

“Would it make you feel better if we had a team name?” Dean offers, following Cas’ lead. Jack doesn’t miss when Cas sends Dean a small nod of approval. Dean has a different parenting approach, sometimes he’s a bit harder on Jack. Jack doesn’t like that but he understands that Dean is trying.

“Yeah, I was thinking Cemetery Boys!” Jack says right away, looking around the room expectantly. Sam chokes slightly on his beer while Cas smiles approvingly, Dean laughs softly, shaking his head at Jack.

“Well we do spend a disproportionate amount of time in cemeteries, so it makes sense to me.” Jack defends, his cheeks feeling hot, blushing, that’s what Sam had told him it was. Sometimes Jack hates being human, blushing is embarrassing and makes him feel a bit like a baby.

“Shouldn’t we be cemetery men?” Dean questions, raising a quizzical brow at Jack.

“Technically speaking, Jack and myself are neither male nor female. So, no.” Cas supplies, shrugging his shoulders at Dean and earning an eye roll. Jack doesn’t understand why his dads enjoy teasing each other so much, maybe annoying someone was another human way to express love?

“So, you’re telling me, I came out as bisexual for nothing because, I’m not really dating a man?” Dean blanches, gently smacking Cas on the shoulder. Hitting people is another love language Jack has learned, but not too hard, he learned that after accidently punching Sam a little too enthusiastically on the shoulder. Play fighting is good, actual violence is bad, he had explained that to him.

“We’re non-binary! Claire taught me that.” Jack is happy to interrupt, always happy to share the latest things he’d learned. He loves Claire for that reason, she’s always full of new things to learn, she is an excellent big sister. “Claire, Me, Cas, and Dean, we’re all LGBLT? Or is it LGBTQ? Either way, Claire is a lesbian, she also taught me that. And Dean, you’re a bisexual! Cas, you’re gay, I think? So, you didn’t come out for nothing, you came out for your non-binary partner.” Ha! Jack is very proud, this is one area he feels confident he knows more about than Sam, Dean, or even Cas.

“You’re surprisingly well informed for a toddler.” Sam compliments, tipping his beer bottle at him.

“The toddler age range ends at 3, I assure you, Jack is 4. He is no longer a toddler. I read all the development books.” Cas corrects, earning a laugh from Dean and a groan from Sam.

“He did, trust me Sammy, made me read some of them as well. Babies are weird man. Glad you came out fully formed kid, it was a relief.” Dean chuckles. Jack is relieved he came out fully formed too, it’s a lot more fun hanging out with his family when he can talk to them like this.

“I’m a celestial being, age doesn’t exist for me. I am as old or as young as I want to be at any given minute. Isn’t that neat?” Jack prides himself on choosing this form, a teenage body, he likes it because he can help his family. He likes going hunting, driving cars, and helping Dean cook dinner, a baby couldn’t do any of that!

“He really is your son-uh I mean they really are your child?” Dean self corrects, Jack notices he does that a lot more lately, again he really is trying to be better. Jack admires that about Dean, it’s something he tries to emulate as best as he can, always working to be a better person and make his mistakes right.

“Oh, I’m comfortable with he/they, just like my dad! I do feel like a boy most of the time.” Jack looks to Cas who nods along with him. They’d talked about it once, Cas explained that Jack could change a number of things about himself if he wished, if it would better match his soul. But Jack is really and truly happy with who he is. So is Cas.

“Yeah that’s my son.” Cas says fondly, pulling Jack into a hug. This is a good hug, the kind that makes Jack feel safe and cared for. Cas always makes him feel like he belongs, that no matter what he has a place in his arms.

That night, Jack sets a plan into motion. He waits until everyone is asleep and gets to work on creating gifts for his family. He uses his powers to manifest a set of matching black crew neck sweatshirts with the words ‘Cemetery Boys’ embroidered on the front in white thread. He then designs a magnet, putting a little ghost and tombstone on it. Once he’s satisfied he goes through the recycling and finds a box to put the sweatshirts in.

The next part is the most dangerous. Jack, creeps down the hall to the door that leads into the garage attached to the bunker. His eyes glimmer when he finds his target, the black 67 Impala, sitting dead center in the garage. Dean had just waxed her the day before so she was extra shiny. Jack likes when Baby is shiny, it makes the sun reflect on his face, nice and warm. He takes the magnet and carefully places it on the bumper, making sure not to scuff or scratch the shiny metal. Then in a flash, he is back in his room, laying in his bed as if nothing has happened.

Dean doesn’t notice the magnet until they are packing for a hunt the next day, a simple salt and burn case in Wisconsin. The whole family is going! Dean has even promised Jack that he will take him to Wisconsin Dells if it goes well and they will go to a place called Deer Park where he could pet and feed a bunch of deer. Jack likes animals, sometimes more than people, they’re much less complicated.

“Oh my god! My Baby is a whore! You gave her a tramp stamp?” Dean gasps, pointing to the offending ‘Cemetery Boys’ magnet on the bumper.

“You like it? I made it myself!” Jack beams with pride, hoping Dean was speechless because he was blown away by his ability to create magnets.

“Also, the term you’re looking for is sex worker. You need to be more sex positive Dean, especially for someone, who from the sound I hear coming from your room at night, seems to enjoy sex a great deal.” Jack blurts out nervously when Dean doesn’t respond. Jack tends to do that, he wishes he could stop, another part of what makes him different from most people.

“Oh, for the love of Christ. Please Jack, no.” Sam is doing something Claire told Jack is a facepalm, meaning he was either embarrassed or frustrated, perhaps both?

“Do not be ashamed of our healthy sex life, Dean. But do but ashamed of your gendered slurs and generally overdramatic demeanor. The car is unharmed, it’s a magnet.” Cas steps in, doing the teasing thing again. Jack really doesn’t understand his dads, but he’s glad they seem happy together.

“I swear one day Baby and I will drive away and leave you all behind. Traitors.” Dean threatens, this is a joke, Jack measures. Dean does that a lot, uses sarcasm and empty threats, at first they used to confuse and frighten Jack but now he just accepts it’s part of his nature. Dean is grumpy. Loveable but grumpy.

“See your theatrics are quite comical. You couldn’t leave us if you tried. Who would open the pickle jars for you, darling?” Cas smirks, Jack remembers witnessing this scene, Dean saying all the “no words” at a jar of gherkins as he struggled for a good 5 minutes, until his dad took the jar and opened it within two seconds.

“It was one time! And I swear I loosened it!” Dean glowers, clearly ashamed by the great pickle debacle of last week.

“Dads, stop. I will remove the magnet.” Jack decides it’s his job to play peacemaker, he steps up and gently takes the magnet off baby’s bumper, Dean visibly sighs in relief. Jack tries to hide his disappointment, he’d meant the sticker as a gift.

Cas notices his mood shift and is by his side, pulling Jack into a side hug. “Hey, you can put it on my truck.” He offers, rubbing Jack’s back and making him instantly feel better, must be magic dad powers Jack figures.

“Thanks dad, this is why you’re my favorite.” He says without thinking, Sam and Dean giving him matching offended expressions.

“Uh-what about me, I’m the one that sneaks you candy when Cas isn’t looking.” Sam makes a good point, he is exceptionally good at sneaking. He and Jack have so much fun together, that’s how they ended up with Miracle the dog. Sam had helped Jack smuggle him into the bunker and once both Jack and Cas had bonded with the dog, Dean couldn’t kick him out. Though Jack knows that Dean loves the dog just as much, he’s caught him slipping Miracle some of the good bacon when he thinks no one is looking.

“No Dean is the one that gives me candy. You help me pull pranks!” Jack laughs as Dean, flinches, quickly busing himself with packing all their bags in the trunk along with the weapons they’d need.

“Dean!” Cas says in his low, ‘oh no you’re in trouble,’ voice. “We’ve dicussed this, Jack’s intake of high fructose corn syrup is frighteningly high. He needs to eat real food.” He adds. Nougat is a food, Jack thinks privately, nougat might be his favorite food in fact.

“He’s a kid, he’ll be fine. Dean and I lived on that shi-stuff as kids and we turned out alright.” Sam, usually the vegetable police, surprisingly comes to Jack and Dean’s rescue, earning a matching raised brow from them both.

“Did you though?” Cas challenges, hand on his hip, sometimes dad gets sassy. Jack likes when dad gets sassy because it’s funny, makes him laugh.

“Well damn, don’t sugar coat it or anything babe.” Dean says in disbelief, opening the passenger door for Cas, Sam climbing into Baby’s backseat before Dean motions for Jack to come sit behind him. “Do I even want to know?” He sighs as he spots the box Jack is carrying.

“Well you’ve all been distracting me, I almost forgot.” Jack pauses as he opens the box and holds up the Sam sized sweatshirt. “I made us all shirts! Team shirts, we’re the Cemetery Boys!” He says proudly, shoving the shirt at Sam, then two at Cas, one for him and one for Dean. Jack pulls on his own shirt right away, stretching his arms and modeling it for them all.

“Can you all wear them for me?” Jack pulls out his trump card for this one, using the ‘look’ that Sam had taught him. He made his eyes big and kept them open just long enough so they were watering slightly, then bit his lip.

“I really screwed myself when I taught you my secrets. Really, using my own puppy eyes on me. Really short sighted of me to teach you that.” Sam sighs as he pulls on the sweatshirt, Cas doing the same.

“Nope, still not doing it. I don’t do matching shirts.” Dean holds firm, shaking his head at Cas when he holds out the sweatshirt to him as they pull out of the garage.

“Dean, the couch in the library is awfully uncomfortable. It’d be a shame if you had to sleep there.” Cas is firmly on team Cemetery Boys, pulling out the big threats to get Jack his way.

“Ugh fine, but no one can ever find out about this!” Dean groans, waiting until he’s at a stop sign at the end of the road to pull it on. Jack lights up, his team is complete, all three dads are wearing his shirt!

“It’s funny how easily emasculated you are Dean. Life is a lot more fun when you stop caring about gender expectations.” Cas smirks, Dean rolling his eyes at Cas and mimicking his know it all expression.

“Dean is sensitive, dad, and he’s really good at making pies! I think he cares less than you think he does.” Jack pauses, pleased when Dean makes eye contact with him in the rearview mirror and smiles. “Besides, I saw the pink underwear he hides when I helped with that laundry that one time.” He adds, Dean’s smile quickly disappearing, his eyes wide as he tightly gripped the steering wheel.

“Jesus Christ, kid, stop selling out all my secrets.” Dean grits between his teeth, now he is blushing. Jack knows Dean hates blushing just as much as he does.

“Oh that’s good! Can’t wait to tell Claire that one!” Sam barks out a laugh, taking his phone out of his pocket.

“You wouldn’t!” Dean hangs his head in shame when they stop for a train.

“Already did!” Sam sing songs, holding up his phone. Jack is sometimes thankful that Claire doesn’t live with them, living with your sibling seems exhausting sometimes, if Sam and Dean are any indication.

“Alright that’s enough Jack, don’t spill all the coffee. Your dad is allowed to have his secrets.” Cas intervenes, gently patting Dean’s thigh.

“Tea, dad, its spill the tea!” Jack sometimes can’t handle how out of touch his dad is. Guess that’s what happens when you’re millions of years old.

“Oh right, what’s the difference?” Cas sighs, laying his head back against the headrest as if he’s exhausted, Jack knows it’s just for dramatic effect because Cas doesn’t sleep.

“Cas, there’s big difference! One is the nectar of the gods and the other is glorified leaf water.” Dean defends, holding Cas’ hand, it’s meant to be a private gesture, but Jack can see it and it makes his heart happy.

“Tea is good.” Sam tries.

“I rest my case.” Dean counterpoints.

The case is a rough one, it turns out to be a bit more than a simple salt and burn. The ghost, a family annihilator was coming from beyond the grave to try to kill his son who had survived his attack. They had split into two groups, Dean and Cas at the cemetery burning the bones and Jack and Sam with the victim, trying to keep him safe.

“Do you think maybe we can take a photo together in our shirts?” Jack asks offhandedly as he and Sam roam the house looking for any objects that might still tether the ghost to the house.

“Why do you care so much about these shirts and taking a photo together?” Sam asks curiously, making Jack pause to think for a moment.

“Because, I’ve been watching a bunch of shows and movies, and all the families in them, they have all these photos together. They make all these memories together and they display them in their houses for everyone to see. I want that. The fact that we don’t have that makes me kind of scared, like this isn’t real. Like you all are prepared to run at a moment’s notice if I go nuclear.” Jack explains, using air quotes around the word nuclear.

“Oh. Oh. Jack, hey, it’s not like that. I guess, well we’ve been so busy saving people and hunting things, we’ve lost track of normal family things. You’re family Jack. Promise.” Sam says right away, pulling Jack into a crushing hug. Sam is strong, Jack hopes to be that strong someday.

“Can we take a photo then, a family portrait?” Jack asks hopefully.

“Family portrait? Family portrait. Shit! Jack, the family portrait!” Sam gasps, letting Jack go and looking around the room with wild eyes.

“Huh?” Jack is trying to catch up before he spots the family portrait hanging above the fireplace, both the victim and his evil departed dad in the photo. He rushes to grab it off the wall and tosses it into the fireplace. Sam pulls out a container of salt and lighter fluid, coating the portrait, then Jack tosses a match, lighting it on fire.

“Good work kid.” Sam grins as the ghost appears and then bursts into flames. “I think you’ve earned that portrait.”

True to his word, the first thing in the morning, Sam helps Jack use the laptop to find the closest portrait studio. It happens to be a JC Penney portrait studio, making Dean groan and complain about cheesy backgrounds and awkward poses that they’d likely endure. With much coaxing and further threats from Cas to relegate Dean to sleeping with Miracle on the dog bed, he agrees to the photoshoot.

Jack gets several copies of the photos made. He hands out wallet sized copies to Mary and Eileen who both coo over how adorable they look. Cas gets it framed and hangs it in the library, Dean never admits he likes it, but Jack catches him stopping to look at it every day, a proud smile on his face.

This is Jack’s family. His team. His Cemetery Boys.

[sergeantgoggles]

@cloneshipweek

The Flowers Speak Volumes When There Are No Words Day 16 (technically) | Flower Shop AU Hunter/Tech | Huntech (feat. Echo) 1,592 Words

Light, bell-like chimes jingled as the glass front door to the corner flower shop opened, signaling a customer had entered the establishment. Taking pause from pruning his latest display arrangement, Echo looked up and smiled at the man who stood in the lobby. Soft brown eyes with lightly golden flecks scanned the flowers that were already composed and poised in their vases, and he took each of them into quick consideration. From the look of him, Echo was able to discern that the man had somewhat of an idea what he was looking for. Some of his customers did, and it was always nice to hear from someone else who was just as passionate about flowers and plants as him. Others weren’t as knowledgeable, which worked just as well. Echo liked to flex his vast flowery wisdom when the opportunity presented itself.

“Hey there,” he greeted after a moment of observation. “Something I can help you with?”

The man in question seemed to be around his age, perhaps only a year or two in difference. He smiled sheepishly, and it might have been the cutest thing Echo had seen all day. Turning back to one of the displays, the man gestured with his head.

“I think I want something that looks like this,” he told him, but there wasn’t much confidence in his voice.

Echo followed his gaze to a bouquet of different colored roses. At the time he had made the arrangement, he had done so for the annual Pride Parade, a simple showcase of colors of the rainbow. There were other arrangements like that in different pride flag colors, but Echo had taken them off display to refresh them. Only the rainbow bouquet remained.

Smiling, Echo chuckled. “They’re quite colorful, aren’t they? What’s the occasion?”

“...No occasion,” the man, who Echo now noticed was covered in a number of tattoos, replied shyly. “I just want to give someone flowers.”

This earned another chuckle from Echo. “Flowers are an excellent gift, but can have a number of different meanings. For example, those roses certainly look pretty, and if that’s what you’re going for, that’s perfect. If you want them to have meaning, though, I suggest something that isn’t so cliche.”

The man nodded, seemingly following along, then crossed his arms. “So how do I tell someone that I’m thinking of them without coming on too strong?”

A lightbulb clicked on in Echo’s brain, and he grinned. Without a word, he left the man standing in the sunlit lobby surrounded by flower arrangements and hanging plants. When he returned, there were two stools in his hands, and he placed them on the customer side of the counter. He took a seat and offered for the man to do the same. There was a slight hesitation, but the man accepted and sat beside him.

“Tell me about her,” Echo said, his smile never leaving his face. It was his life’s mission to help people communicate their feelings through flowers and plants. They were a natural beauty that everyone could cherish in their own ways and could say so much with just a little bit of thought.

“Um, it’s…” The man hesitated again, and this time Echo caught the blush of a man who didn’t want to out himself. Sympathetically, he laughed.

“I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry.” Echo apologized, which seemed to make the man relax his shoulders a little. He knew what it was like to be judged for his sexuality, and he certainly wasn’t going to do that to this man. What he needed was reassurance and guidance.

“I’m Echo, by the way,” he changed tactics and offered his hand. “I’m the owner here.”

“Hunter,” the man next to him replied with his own soft smile as he took Echo’s hand. “I’m the manager of the tattoo shop across the street.”

“Small world,” Echo laughed as they shook hands, then prompted him again. “So Hunter, tell me about him.”

As he situated himself on the stool better, Hunter took a deep breath and told Echo about the guy he’d met on a dating app as a last ditch effort before he gave up on dating altogether, how they had been talking for a couple of weeks, but they had never seen any photos of the other or met in person. Echo had his own reserved thoughts about that, but he supposed the mystery of it could have been interesting. Hunter continued to tell him that right now it’s really casual, but they’ve been talking more and more the last few nights.

“There’s something about him,” he admitted with a shy tap of his fingers on the counter. “I can’t put a word to it, but I know that I want to mean something to him.”

Echo felt his heart melt a little. Of course, he knew the feeling well, and he felt it every time his husband smiled. Hunter was falling in love with his mystery man, whether he knew it or not, and he was going to help play a part in it.

“So you know a little bit about what you’re looking for in an arrangement then?” Echo edged them back to their business discussion.

“I do flower tattoos for people all the time. Most of the time it’s for a lost loved one, and the flower meant something special to them, so I’ve learned a little bit about the language of flowers just from listening to clients.” Hunter explained, “But, well, flowers were never really something I thought about growing up, or even now, but I wanted to be able to get him something nice to let him know I’m thinking about him without dropping to one knee.”

They both laugh at that, and Echo grinned. “I think I’ve got one for you. It’s one of my simple pre-arranged sets, but it will be perfect for what you want to convey.”

Echo stood and quickly whipped around the counter to the small bookshelf against the back wall. On top of it was a small arrangement of a yellow flower with layers of small petals that fanned out from the center placed delicately in a pearlescent spherical vase. Scattered amongst the yellow were branches of vivid green ferns. Carefully, Echo cupped his hands around the base and carried it back to where Hunter was still perched on the stool.

“Here,” he said cheerfully as he placed the case on the counter. “They’re zinnias. The yellow ones specifically mean ‘daily remembrance,’ or rather, ‘thinking of you.’”

A delighted glint sparkled in Hunter’s eyes as he looked them over. “And the leaves?”

“They’re ferns,” Echo supplied, amused. “If this guy is anything like you say he is, he’s pretty magical, or at least, that’s how he makes you feel. Ferns are a symbol of magic and fascination.”

Hearing that shot a dark flush across Hunter’s cheekbones, but he didn’t deny that was how he felt. Instead he ran his fingers gently along the edge of one of the fragile blooms. “Yeah, he is pretty amazing.”

Echo crossed his arms, pleased with how things were playing out. It wasn’t often that he got a customer that was as genuine as Hunter. Most of his clients were men who had forgotten special dates and had to make it up to their spouses, or extravagant arrangements for events and weddings. It wasn’t everyday that someone came in simply looking to woo a special someone in their lives.

“How much do I owe you?” Hunter’s voice cracked through Echo’s internal reverie.

After a moment's thought, Echo chuckled softly and shook his head. “It’s on the house. Just fill out the card on the counter with where to send them and I’ll take care of it from there.”

Hunter gawked, looking between the florist and the arrangement. “Seriously?”

“Completely,” Echo assured. “If things go well, come back and see me. We can talk about money then.”

The tattoo artist hesitated, and Echo understood why. Freebies weren’t the best way to go about doing business, but sometimes taking a bit of a loss for a greater good was worth it. He watched as Hunter mentally wrestled with himself before conceding to the offer given to him.

“Fine, but if you see me again, I’m paying you double,” Hunter bargained as he grabbed one of the flower ended pens from the cup on the counter and began filling out the card.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Echo laughed with a shrug.

Once Hunter had filled out the information, he stood from the stool. Now that the exchange was over, Echo could tell he was nervous.

“Hey, Hunter?”

Hunter glanced up to meet his gaze, and Echo made sure to hold him there as he gave the man a reassuring smile. “You seem like a nice guy. I’ve only known you for fifteen minutes, but I don’t see many guys like you come through here. If this guy is as wonderful as you make him out to be, he’s going to love the flowers.”

Slowly, the tension fell from Hunter’s shoulders, and confidence replaced the anxiety in his molten dark eyes. “Thanks. I hope so.”

Without another word, and before he could get cold feet on the whole thing, Hunter exited the shop, the light jingle of chimes signaling another customer come and gone. As Echo looked over the arrangement, his hand slid to the delivery slip. He read the name aloud with a smile on his lips.

“You are a lucky man, Tech. I hope you know that.”

[astarryon]

Tame Your Demons

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, blood mention, implied assault, language, general criminal minds things

Summary: The deal you have with Spencer is simple. You call him to take care of the men looking to take advantage of innocents on the street, and he comes to ensure you don’t kill them before he gets the chance. Unfortunately for the both of you, though, things don’t always go according to plan.

A/N: This is my latest love letter to Spencer Reid and Criminal Minds! Part Two will be posted a little later this week, and will be for a slightly more mature audience, if y’all catch my drift. A big thank you to @reids-trauma​ for letting me run this fic by her, she’s literally half the reason it even saw the light of day. Enjoy!

Masterlist

––

You see him before he sees you.

It doesn’t hurt your feelings— it’s the norm, in any case, and it’s what typically happens each time you reach out to plan a rendezvous. Part of the agreement is that you get to set the location, and you’re always careful to pick places you’re comfortable enough to slip your way out of unnoticed in case he ever morals up and brings his team to corner you. To his credit, that hasn’t happened yet — though you’re not naive enough to give up on the idea that it ever will just yet — but never subscribing to uncertain chances was a lesson you’d learned a long time ago.

But you know you’re safe for tonight, at least. He wouldn’t be meandering around the bar for such a prolonged amount of time searching for you if there were rows of feds waiting to take you into custody as soon as you stepped foot out the door. It takes a full fifteen seconds before his wandering gaze finally touches on you, another three before the glint of recognition appears in his eyes, and by the time he’s straightening his spine and striding purposefully toward you, it’s been an entire minute. Damn. Someone was really starting to lose their touch.

“You’re late, Doc,” you simper, arching a brow as you knock back a hearty sip from your glass. “Didn’t your mommy ever tell you it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Reid huffs, crossing his arms over one another as he tries — and fails — to sidle up to you in a casual manner. You note the way he avoids touching the bar at all costs, how he folds in on himself like an exceptionally uncomfortable piece of origami. And then, of course, there’s the suit, far too dressy for a place so casual as the lively little bar nestled in the far side of downtown Georgetown. Jesus, the only way he would look like even more of an off the clock fed would be if his badge were superglued to his palm. “Getting away from the others without raising suspicion on such short notice isn’t exactly the easiest thing to pull off.”

“Yeah, well,” you chuckle, taking another sip from your glass. You make eyes at him, pointedly and conspicuously allowing your gaze to rake his lanky, suit clad frame head to toe. He looks good in the outfit he’s picked, the dark black of his jacket drawing the eye to the maroon button down he wore beneath it, and you marvel at the way his chosen color palette sets off his skin in the dim light. If Reid notices your staring or cares, he makes no show of it. Your ogling doesn’t bother him, not like it used to — doesn’t even make him blush, to your admitted dismay, though you suppose that makes sense. Spencer Reid is nothing like the sweet, shy boy he used to be. He’s not so wide eyed and naive anymore, though you’d never expected that to last very long in the first place. Still — getting a rise out of him had always been your favorite part of your arrangement. If you don’t get to keep that going, these meetings are about to become significantly less fun. “That’s the deal, isn’t it? When I call, you come running.”

“That’s the deal,” he mutters, nonchalantly waving off the approaching bartender. “And I came running. So who is it?”

You jut your lip out into a pout, resting your elbows atop the bar before settling your chin against your palms, sparing only a moment’s thought for how low the neckline of your dress must be dipping with the switch in position before casting the worry out of your mind. Were any other man your company tonight, you might have felt more concern for your modesty, but Spencer Reid was far from being anything like most men, and, honestly, the day you caught him checking you out was the day you mentally marked another tally on your side of the metaphorical score board. “Why’s it always straight to business with you?”

“Because—“

“No ‘hello’,” you go on, skirt riding further up your thigh as you cross your legs over each other. Not even a spare glance. Damn. “No ‘how are you,’ no admission of your undying love for me. If you’re not careful, Spencer, you’re going to start hurting my feelings.”

“No offense,” Spencer retorts, sounding particularly unconcerned with whether his words actually offend you or not, “but your feelings aren’t exactly my top priority right now. Arresting whoever this man is before you take it upon yourself to brutalize him is.”

“Well he’d deserve it, if I did,” you tell him matter of factly, swirling the contents of your glass as you pretend to be more interested in that than the eye-catching man just beside you. “This one likes to take advantage of young girls in clubs who accept drinks from strangers because they don’t know any better and still think there are nice people left in the world. Sometimes he keeps track, like it’s a game, and tries to see how many he can assault in a night, and this most recent time three of them made it home all right, but the fourth one turned up in a dumpster. So, yeah, Spencer, you’ll have to forgive me for figuring that if he ends up in a back alley with a couple of bruises and a broken leg he probably got what was coming to him, but don’t insult me by implying that I don’t know how to keep a promise.”

“If broken legs and bruises were all you left men with it wouldn’t be such a problem,” comes Spencer’s dry remark. “Unfortunately for the both of us, you seem to have a particular affinity for leaving men in comas.”

An affinity with which Spencer was all too familiar, you knew — not because he’d fallen victim to your habit of enacting revenge for all those poor defenseless victims, but because he’d caught you in the act with someone else. Two years later and you still weren’t positive how he’d managed to track you down. Spencer had told you minimal things — that an acquaintance on the city’s police force had reached out for his advice on a mysterious case of incapacitated men turning up in dark alleys, rarely little more than a few minutes away from going brain dead. That he’d been surprised to realize you profiled as female, considering the amount of unadulterated rage your behavior presented. That he’d made the decision to do what he could to keep from turning you in provided you help him be able to do so with a clean conscience before he’d even found you standing over some man with a white-knuckled grip on a tire iron.

“Give me your word that you’ll contact me first,” he’d instructed, a shockingly small amount of hesitancy glinting in his irises. “Give me your word that from the moment you call me, I have twenty four hours to find you so I can take care of all those awful men the right way. If I don’t make it in that time frame, they’re fair game, but if I find out that you laid a finger on them before you called me, I’ll personally see to it that you do time for every single man you’ve hospitalized. Can you agree to that?”

And you had. Partly because you had no interest in spending any prolonged amount of time behind bars, and partly because the odd sense of emotional recognition he’d gazed upon you with had been so unlike anything you’d ever been met with from another human being that you were essentially startled into instant complacency.

“He’s in the bathroom,” you sigh, downing the rest of your drink and flagging the bartender down for another. More for show than anything else, though you know the theatrics aren’t strictly necessary. Your drink of choice while out with company is much more coke than it is rum, and after two years there isn’t any doubt in your mind that Spencer is aware of that. “Has been for a while now, as a matter of fact, because he’s pompous and arrogant and wants to make sure the bait is set right for the barely legal girl he’s meeting here tonight.”

“Don’t suppose you want to share with the class the barely legal method you used to figure that one out?” Spencer deadpans, plucking your new drink from the bar and draining a few healthy sips before you even have the chance to reach for it. That’s something he’s never done before, though you suppose his repulsion to germs wouldn’t factor in one way or the other since the drink was fresh. But Spencer never indulged in alcohol around you, and was always incredibly careful to keep his guard up during these meetings. Either he was playing a different angle tonight, or something in him had drastically shifted.

“Only if you want to share with the class why I’ve been tailing this guy for two and a half weeks while you dodged my phone calls,” you retort, never breaking eye contact as you grab the glass and tilt the rim to your mouth, in just the same place that Spencer’s had been. You think you see a vein in his neck pulse as you swallow, but you can’t be sure whether the lights are playing tricks on you, so you decide not to count it. “Not like you to leave an innocent man’s life in my hands.”

Spencer arches a brow, eyes narrowing as he searches your face for something you’re not sure about. “Not like you to wait to hear back from me before doing anything about it.” He pauses, then, and more to himself than to you mutters, “And I’ve never said they were innocent.”

“Guess you’re right,” you mutter, shrugging a shoulder and leaning back in your chair as you let your eyes scan around the restaurant. The man you’re looking for is still nowhere to be found, and with the way your nerves are beginning to fray beneath Spencer’s all too calm and collected scrutiny, it’s hard to get ahold of your imagination as it barrels toward the worst case. “He’s still not back.”

“He’s probably still in the bathroom,” Spencer offers, giving an unconcerned shrug of his own. “You said he was a primper.”

“It’s been almost twenty minutes,” you shoot back, fixing him with a harsh stare. Normally you’d bother to be a bit more vivacious when speaking to Spencer, even in spite of your own irritation, but the sinking feeling in your stomach is making it impossible to pay attention to niceties. “That’s never happened before. Something’s wrong.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” But even to you Spencer’s words sound hesitant, like he’s trying to convince rather than tell, and somehow his lack of confidence only serves to make your throat that much thicker. “He couldn’t have left already, you would’ve seen him.”

Yeah, you would have — provided you hadn’t allowed every ounce of your attention to be monopolized by Spencer. You’d been so preoccupied with trying to appeal to his attention, so hung up on matching him wit for wit and taunting and tempting him with bared flesh and sultry gazes that, truthfully, anything could have escaped your notice in the last couple of minutes. Anything. And if some poor girl ended up preyed upon, if she ended up beaten or assaulted or worse, it wouldn’t be as simple as blaming the monster taking advantage of her. You wouldn’t even be able to blame Spencer for distracting you. No— the only person you’d have to blame would be yourself.

“He’s gone,” you breathe, horror a jagged knife twisting in your stomach. Your hands shake so badly that Spencer has to uncurl your fingers from around your glass so he can set it gently down for you. “God, he’s— I let him get away. He’s gone.”

“Don’t work yourself up,” Spencer insists, and if you weren’t sure your panic was playing tricks on you, you’d have sworn you saw his hand reach out to comfort you, just as you saw apprehension tensing his expression. Of course the one thing it took to get a reaction out of him would be unbridled panic. “Listen to me, everything is fine.”

“Not for whatever girl he decided he liked enough to blow off his date for!” you hiss, and it’s a strain to keep your volume low enough not to attract the attention of any other patrons, but you manage. “We need to— Spencer, we have to stop him! He’s going to hurt somebody!”

“Okay,” Spencer tries to calm you, quickly moving to his feet. You can’t get a read on the way he’s looking at you, can’t tell if he’s taking you seriously or trying to decide if he should make a phone call to he nearest psychiatrist, but he seems to be picking up on the urgency of the situation, so you make the choice to let it go. “Let me go check the bathroom to see if he’s still here. If he’s not there, then we can start worrying.” He turns, taking three steps towards the bathroom before spinning on his heel and coming back to say, “Just— stay here, okay? Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

And as you watch his back as he makes the trek towards the restroom, you think about doing what he tells you to. Truly, you do. Spencer could walk into that bathroom and find the man you’d been planning to turn over to his custody and come back with him in handcuffs, unable to help leveling a handsome smirk at you by way of a silent I told you so. You could be panicking for nothing.

But… if there was even the slightest chance that someone innocent could be in the worst kind of danger, was it really worth leaving their fate up to a coin toss?

You’re on your feet as soon as Spencer’s out of sight, beelining for the exit and dodging between other patrons until your legs have carried you out the door and immediately to the dimly lit corner of the block, lined with the closed shops and darkened alleys the man you were after would need to get away with the unspeakable acts he planned to commit. Even as you book it to stop what you know in your gut to be happening, you can’t help but to hope that Spencer had been right. Things would certainly be easier to stomach, were that the case.

But, as you’d somehow known with sickening clarity, the closer you draw to the dark alley gaping between the buildings down the street, the more prominent sounds of a struggle become. You heard a man’s voice — deep and angry and enough to set your hands shaking and your mind blazing with fury — and then, beneath that, the muffled, whimpered cries of a young woman, the sounds of which were so pitiful that you didn’t need to have laid an eye on her to know that she was already sobbing. After that, all thoughts of Spencer effectively flew out the window. Suddenly all there was in your mind’s eye was you, some poor innocent girl having the worst night of her life, and what you were going to do to ensure that nothing bad befell her or any other girl ever again.

“Hey!” you screech, running head first into the alley. “Get the fuck off of her!”

There isn’t any time to survey your surroundings, to take stock of the fact that the man you’d known would be out here was in the process of brutalizing a young woman — one who looked to be barely more than a teen, to your unadulterated horror — nor was there time to really assess what you were barreling toward. All you knew was that your body moved of its own volition, and it was much too late to think things through once you’d collided so forcefully with the assailant that you’d knocked him bodily to the ground. It was too late to second guess yourself now, to wonder whether it wouldn’t be smarter to wait for Spencer, who could actually, legally take care of this guy. The only thing that mattered now was getting justice for everyone who had been too incapacitated to stand up for themselves.

“What the fuck?” the man hisses from beneath you, but you’re already whipping around to get a look at the frightened girl staring down at you. Her eyes are rimmed red, tears trailing down her cheeks, and to your morbid relief, you note that she appears to have no more than an expression of horror on her face.

You’d made it in time, then. By the grace of some higher power, you’d made it in time.

“There’s an FBI agent in the bar down the street,” you bark at her, struggling against the brute strength of the man you were trying — and failing — to keep pinned down. “His name is Spencer Reid. Find him.”

And that was all you had to say before she was running off down the alley and out of sight, the mercy of her safety striking such a psychological chord that you were just distracted enough for the man beneath you to throw a punch that successfully manages to clip you on the jaw, causing stars to swim in your vision as a result.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he hisses, quickly pushing himself to his feet and leering over you with a sneer. It made sense that he was under the impression that he had the upper hand— were you anyone else, he likely would have, and you’d have been little more to him than a replacement for the target you’d just saved.

But you weren’t anyone else. You weren’t helpless, or defenseless, and you certainly weren’t about to let this lowlife get away with all of the things he thought he was. No — you were someone hellbent on making a lasting difference in the world, and if that had to start with this guy getting his head bashed in, then so be it. You were down a tire iron, but your rage was weapon enough.

You wait until he grabs at your shoulder, waiting for just the right moment as he fully extends his elbow before punching as hard as you can against it in the opposite direction, not pausing to hear the sickening crunch of his bone snapping before rolling to the side, jumping to your feet, and subsequently kicking out his knee with a high heel clad foot. His howls of pain are equivalent to music in your ears, but you don’t pause to revel in the sound before you continue on with enacting your justified persecution. In this moment, you aren’t yourself. You’re not sure who you are, as a matter of fact, but you know it isn’t someone willing to let this lowlife get away with the mass amounts of pain and terror he’s inflicted on so many innocents.

“You like that, baby?” you snarl, letting your foot fly against his unprotected ribcage over and over again between sentences. “Does that feel good? Hmm?”

“You—“ The man cuts himself off with a hacked cough, spluttering and moaning as blood trickles down his chin. You’re not sure if that’s because you’ve kicked him in the face without noticing or because you’ve done enough damage to have already caused internal bleeding, but you’re not overly focused on figuring it out. “You psychotic— bitch,” he spits, and the hatred he gazes up at you with is so potent that you can’t help the wicked grin that curls across your mouth in response.

“That’s right,” you murmur, hovering your foot over the center of his chest for just a moment before digging your heel into his sternum. The harder you press, the louder he roars, and the louder he roars, the more you’re inclined to ensure that his screams continue. It’s a vicious cycle, but one you’re much too fond of to let go. “I’m a crazy, psychotic bitch because I’m a woman who stands up for herself and other women, and because I won’t let shitbags like you take advantage of us. Do you even know how old that girl was?”

His face contorts in pain, hands flying to your ankle in an attempt to pry your foot off his chest, but with one arm out of commission and pain proving to be too much of a distraction, he doesn’t manage to make any significant progress in alleviating your attacks. “Fuck you,” he hisses, but even to your ears, the vulgar words sound weak and reedy.

“I’m sure you’d like to,” you shoot back, digging your heel in that much further. You wait until you see tears welling in the corners of his eyes before letting any of the pressure up, and when you’re sure he’s hurting too badly to try and pull a fast one on you, you step off his chest and kneel to the ground, straddling his torso before your hands snake up to form a necklace at his throat. “You’re not used to girls fighting back, are you? You’re not used to anyone putting up a fight, and because of that you think you can just take whatever you want. Is that right?”

His eyes bulge out of their sockets as you begin to squeeze, hissed obscenities caught in his throat with nowhere to go, and the more he claws at the manacles your hands form, the tighter you let your grip become. It’s power, what you feel as you reconcile with the fact that you’re now quite literally holding this man’s life in your hands, and for a moment, you forget everything else. That you were only in this situation because you’d set out to save someone, that you’d sent that very same someone to go and fetch Spencer to come resolve all of this, that you weren’t an angel of death enacting revenge upon those who rightfully deserved what was coming to them. All those things washed away in the night, in just the same way as the beginning rainfall washed the man’s blood onto the ground in runny pink ribbons. It was only you and him, now. Nothing else mattered.

“You know, it’s men like you,” you snarl, squeezing so tightly against his throat that your knuckles go white and your fingers stiff, “that make people afraid to walk home alone at night. To send their kids off to college, to let their little ones grow up and experience the world. Because there are always— always monsters like you just waiting to take advantage of us. And no one’s ever made you pay for that, before, have they? That’s why you’re still so cocky, and confident enough to pull this shit out in the open because you know you’ll get away with it.”

Distantly, in the back of your mind, you think you hear someone calling your name. It’s hard to say for certain; with how focused you are on enacting revenge, on making sure this lowlife feels every single ounce of pain he’s ever managed to inflict on another unsuspecting human, your senses aren’t left with much more of an attention span. Even if they had been, you wouldn’t have bothered using it. Your fury, burning your nerves like hellfire, proves such a strong beacon of desire that you have no choice but to indulge. It feels good, the way his breath catches beneath where the heel of your palm digs into his throat, and you can tell by the way his eyes are beginning to cloud that if you keep it up, if you press just a little harder, squeeze just a little more—

Warm, strong arms snake around your middle, forming an inescapable cage of iron trying to pry you off the man beneath you, and the primal snarl that rips from your throat in response is a clear threat, but it does nothing to deter them. Hyperfixated as you are on finishing the job and ensuring that the man on the ground never lives to breathe another day, you don’t have the attention to spare, but your subconscious takes in the sharp scent of cloves filling your nostrils, the soft brush of curls against your shoulder, the domineering grip shackling your wrist maintaining a surprising air of gentleness. Your name is hurriedly whispered into your ear once, twice, three times, and by the fourth round you realize they’re not whispers at all — they’re shouts.

“Let go of him,” Spencer barks, bruising your ribs with how harshly he yanks you backwards. “Listen to me, listen to me. Let go of him.”

“Get off me!” you hiss in pain, stars dancing across your vision as you feel a slight bend in one of your bones, throwing an elbow back in retaliation. It lands square on his chest, and though the resulting grunt of pain he gives is certainly satisfying, it isn’t worth the grip you lose on the man’s neck. Once you’re down by one hand, it isn’t at all difficult for Spencer to wrench the second one back, and before you know it you’re a good ten feet down the alley, kicking and screaming wildly against Spencer’s grip as the monster you’d nearly strangled to death sputtered his way back to life.

“Calm down,” Spencer snaps, voice deep and low in your ear as he adjusts his grip around your torso so that you’re more fully pressed agains his body. “You need to breathe, do you hear me? Snap out of it. She’s okay. You got here in time and she’s okay. She’s safe, and you’re safe. Calm down. Calm down.”

You want to tell Spencer that he’s wrong. That you can’t be safe, that no one can be, so long as the man groaning on the ground across the alley is allowed to keep breathing. That this man can’t be allowed to live another day, waiting for the next opportunity to take advantage of an unsuspecting stranger who didn’t know any better. That it would be better to put him down now than to wait around for him to fuck up all over again, to ruin someone else’s life.

So you do.

Or, you try to. But all that manages to leave your mouth is little more than bent sobs and broken screams.

“It’s okay,” Spencer goes on, “it’s alright. Everything’s alright.” He uses the grip he’s got on your arm to spin you around, muffling your sobs as he brings your head against his chest and keeps it there with a gentle hand rested against the back of your head. Your body’s shaking so badly against his that, with your eyes still closed, you’re certain you’re still struggling to free yourself from his grip. It isn’t until you feel your fingers — numb with cold and shock and adrenaline — curl into his jacket that you realize you’re holding onto him for dear life. “Just breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay.”

“He was going to—“ You cut yourself off with a choked sob, shaking your head profusely. “He was going to—“

“I know,” Spencer murmurs, “I know. You don’t have to explain, just breathe.”

You hate this — that he’s caught you in such a vulnerable position, that he’s bearing witness to the rapid decline of your mental state. You hate that this is what it took to finally get him to wrap his arms around you, to offer words of reassurance and certainty rather than fixing you with unimpressed looks and exasperated eye rolls. Most of all, though, you hate that he’s now seen you at your worst, and that, going forward, he’ll never quite be able to dissociate you from the monster you truly are.

You don’t know how long he holds you there, murmuring insistent reassurances into your ear as he holds you gently to his chest. For how at odds it is with every other interaction you’d had with him — those ones where he’d roll his eyes, wave you off, regard you as little more than a vapid, spoiled brat who was all too used to getting her way — it’s nearly impossible to reconcile how you’d grown used to being treated with how you were being treated now. And though it’s certainly the last thing your mind should be focussing on, though you really don’t have the mental capacity required to work through this on top of everything else, you can’t help but come to the realization that you’re actually quite fond of the change.

A voice from across the alley cuts through the careful atmosphere of misguided comfort Spencer has crafted for you, and though he won’t let you turn around — actually goes so far as to squeeze his arms more tightly around your middle so that you can’t — the very sound of the man’s voice sends you dangerously close to the edge of the precipice all over again. “Are you… the fed that bitch was talking about?” His voice is hoarse, and half his words come out in broken hacks. It’s childish in the most juvenile of ways, but you can’t help the twinge of satisfaction that sparks to life in your blood. “Arrest her! She tried to kill me!”

“Actually,” Spencer mutters darkly in response, “from where I’m standing and from what that high school senior told me, she was only trying to stop you from committing assault. If anyone here is getting arrested tonight, it’s you.”

“Are you— are you fucking serious?” The blatant shock shooting his cracked voice up two octaves might have been funny, were the situation that led to it not so horribly severe. “She broke my fucking leg!”

“Thing is,” Spencer shoots back, never even missing a beat, “they do a lot worse to rapists in prison. I’d know— I’ve seen it.” The way his voice drops as the words tumble from his mouth catches your attention, but you don’t have the time to properly contemplate asking why before he’s going on. “You ask me, she went a little too easy on you. Remember that when you finally get what’s coming to you.”

And then Spencer’s calmly leading you away, maintaining a gentle yet firm grip on your waist to keep you from trying to look back. Even if you could, you don’t imagine you’d be much inclined to. You have no remorse for what you’d nearly done, and, truthfully, you’d left men in far worse states in the past. You know that; Spencer does, too. Yet, even in spite of that, even in spite of the fact that this was the second night he’d born witness to you attempting to kill a man, his touch on your body remains soft, and he curls over you like a protective blanket.

“We can’t just leave him,” you find the strength to whisper once you’ve put a healthy amount of distance between you and the alley’s opening. The street lights grow brighter the closer the two of you get to the bar, and you’d never admit it out loud, but it makes you feel that much safer. “He’ll get away. You need to… you need to go back.”

“I called the police as soon as I went to go check the bathroom,” Spencer tells you, leading you back into the safety of the bar. Suddenly surrounded by the sounds of raucous laughter and joyful whoops, it’s almost easy to forget what just occurred outside — almost. “They were on standby in case anything went wrong, but I had them hang back until I could get you out of there safely. They’re probably in the middle of cuffing him now.”

“And the girl?” you ask, so dazed that you don’t even protest or make any sort of snappy remark as Spencer gently helps you into a secluded corner booth. “She’s... you made sure she got home safe?”

“I called her a taxi and gave her my phone number,” Spencer answers, fixing you with as reassuring a stare as he can manage. “She’s going to give me a call in the morning about pressing charges. She was scared and a little banged up, but he didn’t... nothing happened. You stopped it before it could.”

You’re too weak to do anything with the knowledge but nod and sink down to the table, protectively covering your head with your arms as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe. Dark thoughts, thoughts twisted in rage and a deeply intense need to protect, continue swirling through your mind, and if you’d thought catching your breath was impossible before, it’s effectively become something of an Olympic sport now, though the reasoning for why effectively evades your understanding. What you’d been through tonight, what you’d been ready to do to that man — if he could even be called a man — isn’t anything that’s never happened before. Hell, scum like that were the very reason you’d gotten caught up with Spencer in the first place.

But… something’s different now. You can tell by the way the oxygen rattles through your lungs, the way you can’t still your shaking fingers as they clatter against the tabletop. You don’t know what it is, where it’s come from, or how to stop it, but it’s there, and you can feel it.

Fingers softly brush up against one of your wrists, startling you so forcefully from your reverie that you can’t help the cry of shock that drops from your mouth as you yank your arm back with as much urgency as if you’d been burned. Seconds pass, then ten, then thirty, and even as your subconscious mind works double time to interpret the concerned light in Spencer’s eyes in response to his touch, you remain unable to fully come back to the present.

“You need to eat something,” he tells you, casting his eyes back down to the table. It’s a testament to how much time has passed that there are now two glasses of water covered in condensation that, up until this point, you’d not even been aware were present. “It’ll help with the shock.”

“I’m not going into shock,” you mutter, squeezing your hands together and resting them in front of you. Spencer catches sight, but if he has something to say about it he keeps it to himself. “And I’m not hungry. I just want to go home.”

“And I’ll take you there,” Spencer responds, metaphorically digging his feet in. “But you need to eat something first. And drink water.”

You roll your eyes, shakily moving to stand. “I’m not—“

“Sit down.” The hard glint in his eyes, sharp and metallic as a knife, makes it clear that he isn’t asking, and against your stubborn will, you immediately do as he commands. You want to think it’s simply because you’re too tired to fight back rather than too frightened or intimidated, but then, you can’t quite be sure. At least, not until Spencer leans across the table, insistently holding your gaze in something that you think might be a warning, and it’s only now that you realize he’s been holding back his frustration in favor of seeing to your needs, just as his composure begins to slip. “I told you to wait for me at the bar.”

“Yeah, you did,” you respond with a halfhearted roll of your eyes. “You should have known better.”

“No,” Spencer shoots back, “you should have listened to me. Instead you went and broke your word, all because you had something to prove to yourself.”

You can’t help but scoff in disbelief at Spencer’s implication, momentarily startled into genuine speechlessness. Those words hurt — so much so that you really weren’t inclined to admit that they did, lest Spencer think he have more power over you than you were actually willing to give him. So instead, you pushed back the hurt and leaned into the rage. It wasn’t healthy by any means, but at this point, you’d try just about anything to cut through the debilitating numbness medicating your senses at the moment.

“I didn’t break shit!” you hiss, repressing the urge to scream. “And if you really think I did what I did because I was thinking of myself, then you’re just as bad— no, scratch that, you’re… you’re even fucking worse than the rest of them!”

And you expect Spencer to launch some scathingly cruel insult back at you, one that cuts you deeper than you’d ever known words could be capable of, because Spencer’s a genius, after all, and he’s kept up with you enough over the years that he knows how to make an insult hurt if he wants it to. To your admitted surprise, though, he doesn’t open his mouth and hurl knives your way; he doesn’t even look at you like he wants to hurt you, in the way that you’re positive you’re looking at him. Instead, he only blinks down at you, carefully analyzing the expression on your face and the fury in your words before giving you any kind of response. It’s more than you deserve, really.

But Spencer’s soul has always struck you as kind.

“You could have gotten yourself hurt tonight,” he sighs, shaking his head in what you think could be disappointment. “You realize that, don’t you? That what you did was reckless and ridiculously stupid?”

You bark a harsh laugh in response to that, shaking your head as you go on squeezing your hands together. “In case you didn’t notice, I wasn’t the one in danger. Believe me, you didn’t have anything to worry about.”

“You said he’s escalated to killing girls after assaulting them,” Spencer presses, and it’s only as you minutely glance down at the table that you realize he’s curling his hands into fists of his own. “Did you ever stop to think that if he’d managed to overpower you, that could have happened to you too?

“Well it didn’t, did it?” you snap, searching for the power to quell your sudden annoyance. You know it’s misplaced; Spencer’s only doing his best to take care of you, without saying as much in so many words. You should be happier for it; after all, hadn’t you spent years attempting to get Spencer to consider you? To leave lasting impressions on his mind? To sneak your way into his late night, private, personal thoughts? Sure, on the surface it had all been more for show than anything else, but… even if he’d never known the truth, you certainly always did. “I’m fine. Okay? Fine. I’m not going into shock—“

“You’re certainly acting like you are.”

“— I’m not having a panic attack—“

“Again, you could have fooled me.”

“— and I’m not hungry! Okay? I’m not! I just want to go home!”

And it’s lucky that Spencer had the foresight to seat the both of you as far away from the general population of the bar as possible, lest any of the unsuspecting strangers hear the two of you squabbling over something so harrowing, but even if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have cared enough to bother lowering your voice. All of these people, laughing, chatting, obliviously participating in their good times, and all the while an innocent girl had nearly been violated just a few buildings away out on the street. It wouldn’t have been their fault — really, the only person that should have been held accountable was hopefully being dragged to the police station at this very moment — but the fact that life could so casually go on while a child had to suffer the worst night of their life in silence just didn’t sit particularly well in your throat.

You inhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you brace against the inky misery staining your senses. When you open them again, blinking through the stubborn tears trying to form in the brim of your eyes, you find Spencer carefully considering your face, and all you can do is hope he doesn’t notice the way your lip wobbles.

“I just want to go home,” you say again, hardly managing to get the words out in anything above a whisper. “Please, Spencer, just… I don’t… I can’t be here right now. Please just take me home.”

It’s hard to say what exactly takes the fight out of him. It could be the way you’ve said his name, softly, desperately, pleading in a manor which you’re certain he’s never heard from you before. But then, it could also be the tears welling in your eyes, far more conspicuous a sight than you’d have liked and one Spencer had only ever been confronted with once before. Whatever it is that’s done the trick, it prompts the softening of his gaze, along with the gentle downturn of the curve of his mouth. Just out of the corner of your eye, you think you see his fingers dancing hesitantly over the table top as they steadily migrate closer to yours, and though he doesn’t try to make contact with you this time, he manages to offer you an inexplicable amount of comfort as his fingers dance in a mirror image of the motions of yours.

“Okay,” Spencer concedes, frustration fading out of his expression to allow concern to take the lead. “If that’s what you need, then okay. But— just, put this on, at least.” Before you can interpret his meaning, he’s shrugging out of his jacket and pushing it across the table, and before you can protest, he’s pressing forward stubbornly. “It’s raining outside, you’re shaking, and that dress is gorgeous but it’s not going to stop you from catching hypothermia. Just wear it until we get to the car.”

He’s not leaving you a choice, judging by the glint in his eye that makes it clear he isn’t willing to hear any back talk on the subject. You consider doing so anyway — partly because you’re not sure you’re in the mood to take orders from Spencer, no matter how emotionally distressed you are, and partly because you’re afraid the weight of his jacket on your skin and the scent of his cologne in your nose would be just a bit too intimate for you to handle in this moment — but ultimately, you do as he asks, grabbing at the dark bundle of fabric and wrapping it around yourself like a blanket of protection.

It’s… warm. And it smells good, too. Embarrassing as it is, concentrating on further inhaling the scent of it — of him — is nearly enough to instantly cause your hands to cease their trembling.

“Let’s go,” Spencer murmurs, offering his hand as he stands from the table.

Wordlessly, you take it.

––

Part Two: Something of a Dangerous Game

[snapefiction]

Someone who appreciates me Pt. 1 - Snapefiction

A/N: Hey! Thank you to everyone who supports my writing. I just recently reached 200 Followers after not even full two Months of starting this Blog and I couldn't be happier that you enjoy my writing. In hopes that you'll like this one too! x

(I tried to use gender neutral Pronouns and Descriptions at first but sadly lost the track of it so it slipped back to a fem!Reader. I'm sorry, I am trying to learn and do better next time.)

❤️ Please remember that English isn’t my native language and that my Writings will include Mistakes and maybe weird formed sentences. ❤️

Pairing: Severus Snape x Y/N, Severus Snape x fem!Reader

Setting: 3-4 Years after the Battle of Hogwarts

Warnings: Mentions of Insults

Word count: 2871

Y/N - Your Name, Y/L/N - Your Last Name, Y/W/A - Your wished Age, Y/B/M -Your Birthday Month

Someone who appreciates me - Pt. 1

,,Dear Professor, As you may know Minerva can be very consistent of certain things. One of these Certain Things seem to be the fact that we both are (if all my given Informations are correct) not currently in a relationship. I do not want to pressure you to read my letter or even answer it but i´d be very thankful if you’d at least let Minerva know about what your intentions are. Since a long time now- to be exact 7 Months and 3 days - she started to play my personal Matchmaker and I’m very sorry that you seem to be chosen by this fate that she gave us as well. So by Merlins Sake I’m going with her wish in hope Minerva may be Satisfied by it.

My Name is Y/N Y/L/N. I´ m currently working for the Ministry but will be switching to the St. -Mungos Hospital soon to continue to work as a Healer. I am Y/W/A years old and will be turning Y/W/A on Y/B/M. I live near the Diagon Alley. I despite the idea of introducing myself to someone else like I just did. It feels like I am exposing myself.

In my free time -which has gotten very rare over the years - I enjoy reading, drinking tea and going on walks. It’s not very much, actually it’s nothing, but it makes me happy. I’m a simple Woman.

Since this is the most awkward Thing I have done in a while i will end this letter down here. In hopes that you’re well and have a great day.

Yours sincerely Y/N YL/N”

Sighing he turned the Letter to look at the sealing. It must’ve sent directly from their workplace as they even used the official seal from the ministry itself for this use. He had to admit that he was lonely. Very indeed but Minerva was taking it too far by now. She tried to set him up a few times yet but he never really went with it. But now that she persuaded another Person to send him a letter directly to his workplace he was fed up. Pity grew in his stomach as he imagined what Minerva must’ve said about him to the other Person. She was always exaggerating about him, his past life and everything from the present. She  mothered and did everything to fuss over him since he was a Student at Hogwarts himself and yes, he had to admit it, he liked it sometimes. Enjoying their annual Tea each Sunday it was alright having her as a Friend. Especially after the Dark Lord passed and he finally got rid of the pressure of hiding. But her well trained skill to brew a perfect tea won’t make up that she tried to play a constant matchmaker for him. 

A deep Sigh left his throat as he sorted his Thoughts. Whatever he’d try to say would lead to a discussion about why she wants him to meet that Person so dearly. It was always a repeating scheme. Getting up from the wooden Chair which could need a replacement he took the letter in his one hand before heading to her chambers.

The Parchment burned in his Hands. Deciding on how he’d like to drop the bomb that he’d prefer to stay alone he kept walking faster. To be honest, he would never admit that towards Minerva nor anyone else and not even himself, he loved the idea of founding a family. He always imagined it as a great Joy since his own family was rather a decent disaster. But he knew what the Newspaper wrote about him after he survived, he knew what rumours go around at the Ministry, he knew how People still degraded him and how everyone secretly was checking twice if he wasn’t secretly still a death eater. He knew, felt and saw it everyday. So it just wasn’t meant to be for him to become the man he dreamt about in private. Maybe i should go back to Cokeworth, get a dog and dedicate my life to the science.

Before he could continue his daydream of vanishing from his current world he reached the door leading to Minerva´s private rooms. Knocking he already knew she was there because the heat from inside and the smell of tea already reached his nose.

After a few seconds he heard her mumbling and finally opening the shrieking door.

,,Severus, my dear. What is it?“ A warm smile formed on her face. He just tried to keep his cold face as he hoped it’d get him further in the argument that he tried to start to prove his point. Silently holding up the Parchment he pointed the wax seal directly towards her.

,,Is it from Y/N?" Her eyes shined brightly and she was already asking him inside as her hands took the letter and she moved her tall figure aside to let him in.

,,Of course it is." He mumbled while making his way over to his usual seat. Watching her reaction as she read the Letter he wished to vanish. It was simply embarrassing.

,,Oh, she can't be serious. I told her to tell you something about herself."

,,She did!" He pleaded.

,,No she didn't! She just talked about me. Oh! The two of you match perfectly. You both are very self conscious about what you are and what you deserve or in general on how to communicate." She went to the kitchen to get kettle.

,,You're just mad that we don't want to play along with your plans." Mumbling Severus knew that she heard every whisper.

,,No you're just mad that I told her about you." Rolling his eyes he watched her setting down the kettle and filling him a cup of tea.

,,I don't need a Relationship." Stating his Fact he hoped it could bury the Topic finally.

,,I know. But it wouldn't harm you as well." Taking a sip from the still brewing water tea mixture he wondered how she wasn't burning herself.

,,Can you just stop setting those things up?" Now it was her who rolled their eyes. ,,Only if you give it one first and one last try. Y/N is very kind."

,,Kindness isn't everything. Her Letter wasn't very tempting."

,,Merlin, if you start judging people over their Kindness I'll lose my mind. You aren't very charming yourself, you twit."

,,You call me a Twit?"

,,You're clearly a Twit."

,,Stinky Witch." Shrugging her shoulder she hid her smile behind her cup of tea before downing it almost completely. ,,One date and I'll stop for good."

,,Do you promise?"

,,I solemnly swear. If this won't work out then you might be a helpless case." Ignoring her spur he gave in. Again.

,,Fine." And so it came that he drank his tea and they chatted about something else. Their Friendship had their own charm. But before Severus could leave to go back to his own Rooms Minerva put the Parchment in his Hands and told him with a warm smile to write back.

It didn't work out like he planned. Actually it was the opposite. He wanted to burn the Letter and forget that it had happened but if it was the only way to get rid of any unwanted dates, matches etc. he would actually give it a chance. Unbelievable. He'd really write Y/N back.

Since it was almost midnight he decided that it was time to continue his paperwork. He couldn't fall asleep until three A.M. anyways if he was able to fall asleep in general. After answering a lot of Letters, correcting some Works and finally writing down what he had to get from his next visit at Diagonal Alley he couldn't stop his mind from wandering to his new acquaintance living there. Wasn't she repelled by his ruined reputation?

Rereading her Letter he was wondering what a type of person she was. How did she look like? What made Minerva think that they'd be a great Match? In his Mind he was starting to puzzle a picture of someone he'd expect to write to. Of what he'd expect someone nice to be and act like. To his surprise it wasn't anything close to Lily. Not at all. It was almost the completely opposite. Bewildered he laid down his feather. He almost hasn't noticed how he started to mindlessly write all the attributes down that he was hoping to find in Y/N.

Nice but not foolish. Intelligence. A dry sense of humor. Challenging. Special. Complementary. Appreciative. Pretty Eyes. A soothing voice. Someone who appreciates work. Someone who appreciates me?

Eyeing the Clock he noticed that it was already past 4 am. Again he was completely loosing his track of time. Packed by the idea of finding something of those attributes in her he grabbed a paper and his feather.

His enthusiasm quickly faded. What was he supposed to say? What did she knew about him? His wide eyes and his raised eyebrows scaled down a bit. This grew to be more complicated than he anticipated.

,,Y/N, I'm sorry that Minerva grew this Mania about you as well. I have known her for a long time by now and can confirm to you that despite all her promises she won't stop setting things up. It seems like it became one of her dearest ways of passing time.

Not knowing of what she has told you about my person I will just start formally.

My Name is Severus Snape. Currently I am still preoccupied as the head of house of Slytherin at Hogwarts. And due to latest events I won't return to teaching soon or anytime again. Most of my time I look out to keep myself busy with science studies, working and reading.

To be completely honest, I promised Minerva to write back as she promised me in return to stop setting any acquaintance with me. Also I feel uncomfortable introducing myself as well. I prefer Meetings.

Yours faithfully Severus Snape"

After his eyes read the letter multiple times he finally got himself to seal it. Watching the wax cool down he noticed how much he hoped that she could at least fulfil on of the attributes he was looking for. Hope? Don't make a fool out of yourself. She will probably loose her interest soon.

But she didn't. He sent his Letter around 4:50 am and already at 8am after he slept 2 full hours she sent her response. Not truly believing his eyes that Y/N was answering and not someone who would want to mess with him he quickly opened it. This Time the Seal was a different one. One that contained her Initials.

,,Dear Severus, Taking it from your response I anticipate that we are on first name base now? If that's so completely fine with that.

Reading your Letter I had to laugh. Minerva is simply one of a Kind and somehow I feel very reliefed that you're as uncomfortable as I am.

Maybe that's a great opportunity to admit that I already know a lot about you. Minerva is very chatty and as you probably already are aware of your Name is very well known and greatly appreciated. And by that I don't mean that that's the Reason why I decided to write you but I mean that I'm impressed by you. I actually chose to follow Minerva's will to contact you because she introduced you as a very kind, intelligent and somewhat funny Man. And despite the fact that I am happy by being alone I can't deny that the idea of meeting someone like you was interesting me. Someone who Minerva introduced as a great Friend. This may sound cheesy but you deserved to get known to my intentions.

You mentioned that you prefer Meetings. What about a Meeting at the Three Broomsticks? I bet you know a lot funny stories about Minerva which I'm not aware of yet. Name a Time and Day and I'll be there. And if it makes you more comfortable- you can decide if it's as friends or if you want to call it a date. As I already said I'm mainly interested in getting known to you.

I hope you'll have a successful Morning and i'm expecting your Owl.

Yours sincerely Y/N YL/N"

That wasn't like anything he expected. She wasn't disgusted by everything he did? She wanted to meet him? He thought that she'd politely decline and he'd get rid of all the fuss but she actually sounded nice. Should he give in?

Some time has passed since he received her letter. To be exact four days and nights. Severus told himself that he had gotten busy in hopes this could ease his guilty Feelings. But Minervas Questions wouldn’t stop and he had to make the decision he was shoving back for too long. He just wanted to end that Matchmaking Service and now it had gotten him to the point where he was too nervous to answer a simple letter after the Person openly admitted their interest in him.

Hoping for someone to take the Decision which now laid heavy on his shoulders he wandered around the corridors. His duties for the day have been already done by now and he was just looking for a task to get his mind of the Woman’s Name. He was too nervous to answer, way to nervous. It was nice to get known to someone, yes. But it was too early for him. He hasn’t recovered yet and still felt hurt from his past. Who could blame him? No one. Right? Slowly he started to feel better. Like it was a great opportunity to back off and make this another awkward Memory he had in one of his many brain cells. He won’t answer her. That’s it.

Feeling some Weight flowing off his shoulders he reached his Chambers. He should at least answer Harry. Since he had graduated two and a half years ago he still checked up on him. It simply was his promised duty to do so. Thinking of Questions to ask Harry about his new Life as a Auror and about his Girlfriends Ginny Weaslys as a Professional Quidditch Player he grabbed some Parchment and took his Feather. Dipping it into the small ink Pot he had to notice it was empty. Annoyed he took the List he had put in his drawer in his hands. Diagon Alley, was written on it. Tea, Ink, a new Book and some Parchment.

,,Dunderhead.“ He called himself as he again rolled his eyes. He had forgot to get his supplies. That one Task had slipped off his mind. Annoyed and grumpy as always he gritted his teeth while grabbing his Coat and using his Cabin to reach named Diagon Alley. Slighty coughing he scrunched his nose. As Years have passed he grew to hate using Floo Power. 

Diagon Alley was shining. Lights from every Window invited Passengers into their Shops. But Severus wasn’t the Man to just go shopping and buying random Things. He was organised. So Organised that a simple Woman who showed slight interest in him could get him off his tracks. Ironic. He worked Years as a spy and now a simple Letter did this to him.

His Feet lead his set route to the Shop where he got the Parchment and some ink and afterwards to the Teashop. The last station was the Book Shop. It was the only stage where he was spending an unknown amount of time each time he got there. Words always had a big impact on him. Of course Actions were important too but it are words who seduce him easily.

That’s why he was carrying his now heavy bag through the huge aisles of Books trying to find a new object of Desire. He was very fond of almost every Herbalism, Potion and Healing Book so it had to be something new. His Position as Head of house was boring him. He needed something to do. So he decided to focus his energy on Books and as already mentioned Science.

Opening a smaragd green book he followed some lines about Muggles. Even though he never found himself very intertwined in this Topic he gave it a chance. The fact of how well written and even advanced it was was interesting him. Putting it in his little Basket he continued to decipher the Book Titles. Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst is Coming. Taking it in his Hands he way eyeing it closely.

,,I hope you aren’t expecting anything bad, Professor Snape. That's a dangerous Book.“ Caught he quickly looked to his side. A young Woman was smiling nervously at him. Confused he tried to remember her. Was she a Student? A former Death eater? Merlin, no. She was too young to be a death eater.

,,Y/N.“ Her cheeks blushed now and she lowered her glance shortly. ,,Y/N Y/L/N. I thought it might be not very polite if I wouldn’t even say hello since we somehow know each other.“ Getting lost in her eyes he quickly forgot his Plan on to stop thinking about her and not writing her back.  

to be continued. last update 30.jan.21

Taglist: @deepperplexity  , @monstreviolet , @wow-life-love4 , @lizlil , @once-upon-an-imagine , @darkthought15 , @elizabeth-baelish , @looseheartedlady , @ithinkweallsing , @simpforsnape

Let me know if you want to be added to my Taglist. :)

[nightklok]

Title: 'Cause I've been hurt so many times, I need someone who will try to soothe me, and not use me Pairing: Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Pickles the Drummer Rating: E (For one future smut scene but chapter one is T-rated) Tags: Fake dating, Additional tags on AO3 Summary: Abigail considers herself great at her job; she knows how to make a successful album and her track record shows it. Dethklok proved to be the biggest challenge yet but she learned to overcome any hurdle thrown her way. However, what she didn’t anticipate was Seth’s second wedding. Specifically, Pickles’ mother getting on his case about finding a date to the wedding. Logically, she decides to be his fake date for the wedding. Just fake a relationship for a few months until the wedding then 'mutually' break it off; should be easy enough. It’s just the most renowned music producer and most popular musician fake dating. Surely no feelings or trouble will rise out of this.

Chapter One on Ao3 Here! Chapter one is also under the cut

Abigail had learned quickly that working with Dethklok was oftentimes like walking through those Halloween hay mazes blindfolded. Years upon years of working with pretentious celebrities, tight deadlines, and challenges that were thrown her way would never prepare her for working with them. For a group of five who lived together and knew each other the best, it didn’t always mean that they thought the same way and one would think they finally learned what worked best for them after years of working. But for some reason, they continuously went with the same method that never worked out because it seemed like the best to them. And clearly, it wasn’t.

She was no stranger to challenges so when Dethklok proved to be one, she did her usual process of breaking through to them. And that was asking questions to the right people. Charles stated it was just how they were. Knubbler said they were a bunch of dumb jackoffs so she had to hold the least amount of expectations for them...and lower it. Melmord had offered her weed because it would be the only way she could ever handle working with them. Twinkletits had suggested unresolved trauma and perhaps banana stickers would solve it.

She would find soon enough that everyone was right in their own suggestions but it didn’t mean she followed through with any of them. It didn’t take long to figure out that scheduling private sessions with each individual band member was a lot better compared to them being together only to yell at each other. Within a few days of the focus being more on private sessions, the difference being made was incredible. They seemed to thrive better under one-on-one time and having the group meetings at the end of the day so they could go over their progress had helped incredibly.

The only problem that she couldn’t solve was their old habits. Most of the time the sessions were either forgotten or recordings had to take a week or longer just to make sure the sound was perfect. They were still five people with different ideas of how the album could be better; it would be hard to find common ground and even harder to get them to be responsible under her schedule.

It didn’t mean every member was a thorn in her side though. Pickles and Skwisgaar were some of the more responsible ones compared to the rest. They’d sometimes forget to show up but that was expected.

Skwisgaar did have a certain way of speaking about music she couldn’t quite understand but she found herself slowly understanding him the more they recorded his sessions. It became like learning a new language but less on the fun part. Luckily, he was never one to speak much regardless; music did the talking for him and that was a good enough language for them to understand.

And Pickles, despite his years of experience under the spotlight, wasn’t the pretentious celebrity she expected him to be when they recorded together. He did his work without much complaint, left when she was satisfied and his first-week recording for a song would be the last as there generally wasn’t much left for him to retake. He normally trusted her judgment and any criticisms offered were never given for the sake of belittling her. It came from a place of experience and knowledge and it became something she quickly respected him for. He still occasionally missed his recordings, however, but with how time felt so rapid in getting things in order, she didn’t notice he actually began showing up more often.

He couldn’t show up one day due to a last-minute scheduling conflict that day and since he had a valid excuse, she didn’t expect him to show up at all. Deciding to not let those hours go to waste, she spent it contacting Knubbler for a quick meeting. He sent her the tracks he finished for her to listen to and she offered her critique. They were tossing track after track at one another to see what sticks and eventually something did. After sending him the latest track to fix-up by the end of their meeting, she checked her email to go more into the boring parts of her job.

She loved her job without a doubt but it didn’t mean there were some parts she actually dreaded doing. Emails were one of them; business language, having to wait up to a day for a response, and everything else just to show she was a professional despite her name being tied to so many influential things. Maybe she was famous enough to sign off her emails with a ‘k thx’ but didn't quite know if it was even worth the impending backlash soon after. She was known for her professionalism, not lack of.

But the album wouldn’t be finished for quite a while so she simply had to make do with what she could. Regardless, the marketing director wanted to listen to one of the demo songs. The day was winding down, she just had to spend an extra hour or two in the recording studio, then she could grab food, take a long bath and watch a movie until she fell asleep.

The motivation of food and a chance to relax was enough to look through her emails once more as she played the finished track. She didn’t hear the knock on the door but she did hear the door opening but didn’t turn around. She had expected it to be a klokateer doing some late cleaning.

“Abigail?” A voice all too familiar filled the silence. As she turned around, Pickles closed the door behind him quietly as if to not disturb her (even though he already did). He seemed a bit sheepish as he put his hands in his pockets to play off a calm attitude, “I just wanted to know if you still needed me.”

“Well, it’s not the first time you didn’t show up to a session, Pickles.” She answered a little too bluntly. It came off harsher and she had almost expected him to be offended by it but he shrugged instead, “Charles told me you wouldn’t have been able to come today, anyway.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s true I have bailed out on a few sessions, but I was planning on showing up to today’s session. I promise.”

She folded her arms, leaning back against the chair. It was new territory having Pickles actually show up when he wasn’t meant to. It didn’t seem like he was there for anything else too, “And you really mean that?”

He casually held up his right hand in a three-finger salute, “Scout’s honor...if I was a Boy Scout, that is.  But I’m here now. That should be enough proof, right?” He grinned at her before he walked to the recording booth, “I got this beat stuck in my head I wanna get out of my system. Won’t take too much of your time.”

She glanced at the clock; it was still early enough to record a few takes and he did seem excited to record. Might as well give some time to humor him, “Alright, you get one hour to impress me.”

“I’ll make it count,” He finished her sentence as he closed the door. Taking the drumsticks and headphones, he took a seat in front of the drum kit and quickly prepared, “This is for uhhh...what did we call 8?”

“ Uncensor My Songs On The Radio You Fucking Tool. ”

“Yeah, that’s it! Anyway, I think I figured out why it doesn’t fit on my end. Can you play from the beginning?”

“Sure, get ready in five seconds” It took just a few clicks to get to the song he wanted. She let the metronome play for just a few seconds for him to get the beat before hitting the record button as soon as the song played.

As soon as the song played, Pickles began without hesitation. The sound was much different compared to his other takes...and it fit perfectly as he had said. She waited though; listened to every hit and snare intensely for a mistake to come and screw his take over. But that moment never happened and before she knew it the song was over.

“How did I do?” He grinned at her as he wiped his sweaty forehead with his arm, “Not bad for one take, right?”

Impressive. “Not bad at all. I think this might be just the parts we needed to get the song to be finally done,” She answered as she hit the record button to pause the recording. She made sure to save the file and backed up the file into her work email. (Charles had requested she make backup copies of each recording without the boys’ knowledge when she began working. Just in case).

She watched as Pickles removed his headphones but quickly stopped him, “It’s great but I think another take would be good to have, right?”

“Oh C’mon! Isn’t it great as it is?!” He pleaded. He was foolish to think he could impress her with just one take.

“I’m not denying that it’s great but I’m sure you would be able to do another take if you got it all memorized, right?” She answered. The tone of her voice just shifted slightly enough to indicate a challenge and that’s all that Pickles needed to hear from her.

“Don’t think I can do it, huh?” He smiled back at her as he put the headphones back on.  It was a challenge he could easily win, after all, but she was never one to even let him believe it would be easy. The rush of it and the feeling of adrenaline starting to kick in made it all the more tempting,  “Well get the song playing again. I won’t stop until you’re satisfied.”

“You’re gonna end up tiring yourself out, Pickles.”

“You can let me off the hook then if you’re so worried about me.” He answered with the signature lopsided grin he gave out as freely as sweets, “I think there are some restaurants around that we can go to if you still haven’t eaten yet.”

Bargaining and banter had become something that they learned to communicate with. If there was anyone else in the room, there was no way she would be talking so loosely with him. They were alone however and would be for a long time so it became easier to shake off the layer of professionalism she had to keep up with all day. However, the remaining part of her brain that was still in work mode rejected his offer despite the temptation being far too great, “Not a chance; you walked yourself into this one...But if you wow me just early enough, I might take you up on your offer.”

“Get the song playing again and tell me when to stop.”

The truth was she was already satisfied by the third take but she did let him keep going at least two more times for good measure. By the time she said he was finished, Pickles’ legs were sore but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Five takes weren’t bad at all and he found himself confident in the progress.

“Not bad, Pickles. I think there’s something there I can take for the recording.” Abigail answered with a grin that he tiredly returned.

“Hm, not satisfied yet, or just wanna keep my ego down?”

“Maybe.” She watched him put the headphones and drumsticks away before exiting the recording studio.

“I wanna hear it though. Play the best track.” He went to the mini-fridge and offered her a beer which she declined.

“Just get me a coke. The drink, I mean. I’ll play the best track in a second,” She had already labeled the track files by a number scale and taken notes so she didn’t need to relisten. He set the can of coke beside her as he watched her take a few moments to look through the notes before finally deciding on the best track. She quickly spliced it in with the demo and hit play.

Pickles already flopped on the couch, on his second can of beer already somehow (She didn’t know if it was impressive or horrifying). He didn’t say anything while the song played, leaned back against the couch. When it ended he asked, “Is that the best one?”

“Well, I think it is. It’s the one that doesn’t even need much editing. The others are just as great too, in all honesty,” She answered as she checked her notes briefly. She could go into great detail over the tracks, maybe even explain why the tracks were a perfect fit for a song but she didn’t want to ramble. And besides, he seemed a little bit bothered, “But what do you think?”

“Hm. Not as good as I thought it would be,” He said a little sullenly, “Nate’s gonna wanna delete it. I just know it.”

“Are you sure?  I don’t think he’d want you to delete them especially when he knows you’re having a hard time with this song. They’re all pretty good but if you want to talk with Knubbler since he’ll be doing most of the editing, just give him a call tomorrow.”

“Do you even think it’s good?”

“Of course. If I wasn’t satisfied enough, I would’ve had you still record a few more takes.”

That was an answer that seemed to satisfy him at least as he didn’t say anything else in retaliation. He only asked to play the track again, and finished his second can of beer, “I guess if you think it’s fine, I’ll take your word for it. It’s probably getting late isn’t it?”

“Come in tomorrow and you can listen to it again. If you really aren’t satisfied with it, you can try again,” She offered. She checked at her watch briefly; 10:45 PM. How has it been almost two hours already?

“Yeah, I think that sounds like a plan. We can put a stop to it for now. But uh, sorry for wasting your time.”

She shrugged, “You’re not, Pickles. Don’t worry about it. I would’ve left around this time anyway.”

“Okay, if you say so.” With a shrug, he shifted his mood and stood up. He didn’t seem to sulk longer than he usually did, probably because it was already late and they were both tired, “Did you still wanna eat?”

“Don’t you usually eat with your bandmates?” Usually, mealtimes were the quickest and easiest ways to find them if she needed to. Having memorized that schedule, she knew that dinner was about a few hours ago...or a few hours from now depending on what they did that day.

“Yeah but not today; Offdensen really had us doing interviews all fuckin’ day. I don’t think I’ve eaten lunch yet and I guess you didn’t get dinner either?”

“Nope. I was planning to, anyway.” A late dinner invitation was not rare to get but it was rarer to get one by someone she wouldn’t mind having dinner with. Their relationship with each other was always professional, and he also had years of experience in the music business outside Dethklok. It always felt refreshing to talk to someone who shared the same interests as her. She put her laptop away in her briefcase once she saved all her files; her night was officially done, “Is there someone even able to make dinner at this time?”

“There should be. If not, there are probably leftovers in the fridge. Or we can order pizza, it’s completely your call.”

She slung the briefcase over her shoulder, following him to the hallway. After shutting and locking the door to the recording studio (Charles gave the only keys to her and Knubbler), she walked with him to the kitchen where the conversation of dinner slowly shifted to music and almost anything they could cram in the next two hours.

And by the end of that night, the late dinner invitations became frequent and she had accepted every single one. He always hung around by her last hour of work, even if it meant staying up late. It only meant ordering food to be delivered to them as Pickles convinced her to watch a film she hadn’t seen in years or her convincing him to watch one of her favorite guilty pleasure sitcoms.

For the most part, it was assumed she was just working with him on the album. No one really needed to know about the breaks where they shared a beer and gossiped about the celebrities they had interacted with before. As far as Knubbler and everyone knew, she was using most of the two hours to perfect his recording.

But just a few months later, the hangouts and late-night dinner invitations stopped in their tracks with no warning whatsoever.

She wondered at first if it was something she had done. But then it began affecting his work and it was clear he was distracted about something. She knew and learned enough about him that he was a perfectionist when it came to the drums; he was always a person who wanted to do his job correctly when it came to something he really did care about at the end of the day. Music was his passion, after all. And if he didn’t have passion for the things he cared about the most, then something was going on.

“Do you want to take a break, Pickles?” She asked. It was currently her fifth time asking the same question that week alone.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s keep going.” He answered as he picked up his drums and waited for her to press record.

She didn’t say anything else after that and she let him leave after a few hours. He left before she could get a word out and she would be met with the rising feeling that something bad was about to happen and recordings that not even Knubbler could salvage.

A few days later, she figured out what happened. It took a text from the staff group chat and an email that contained a video to piece the puzzle together.

“Hey, Neon Genesis Evan gail ion. It’s me, your coworker, Seth.”

She did not watch the rest of the video (sober) and instead asked about the video in the group chat. Seth was never invited to the chat for the same reason Melmord was not invited to the second wedding of Seth and whatever poor woman he got roped up with.

Just by that video and conversation, she had connected why Pickles might be upset. It had something to do with the wedding, sure, but what specifically about it? Was it that he had known the girl Seth planned to marry? She wanted to ask so many questions but limited herself to three. But even those three questions were quickly narrowed down to one, then none at all when she realized it would be harder to pry anything out of him.

But, as advised by Knubbler, it was best to keep going. He’d probably breakthrough midway through a recording session. Being someone who knew to listen to others, she listened to his advice for at least a few more days.

She waited those few days and then two more. It was clear whatever was bothering him was still going to continue bothering him until the end of time probably. She had to talk to him against their better judgments; it felt like the only option available to her.

It was a session that lasted over seven hours and she was sure both of them were getting frustrated on their own ends. No amount of coffee or whiskey could even cure the boredom and annoyance that was of a session that would lead to nowhere. It was better to just cut things short and talk about it. If not even the drums could help him feel better, how serious was the situation?

She pressed the intercom button when the song finished and she immediately hit delete. There was no way to salvage the song, “Pickles, would you mind if we talk?”

His expression was perplexed for a moment before he resigned to his fate, not giving much of a protest, “Alright,” he answered with a sigh. He set his drumsticks down as he walked out of the booth, taking a seat by the couch.

She was never all that good at talking to people about feelings in all honesty. And he seemed like a rather emotional guy, to begin with. There were a few moments of awkward silence between them as she tried to find what a good way to start the conversation would be, “I think we know that you seem distracted lately. What’s been bothering you?”

And despite all her mental preparations that he would find it hard to pry open, he actually opened up quite honestly, “Well you know about the wedding right?”

“Yeah, he invited me too.” She answered as she thought back to the weird video message Seth had sent her. She wondered if she should even make a comment about that but decided against it, “You don’t want him to get married or something?”

“I don’t care about that. He could get married as many times as he wants; He’s still getting a fucking Vitamix.  But it’s not about that,” He answered, “It’s my mom. She’s been blowing up my phone all week asking about who I’m bringing with me to Seth’s wedding. Keeps talking about how I should settle down, find someone to marry, or whatever. But I don’t have the time to date!”

She stared at him and didn’t say a single word until he caved in.

“Okay, time’s not the problem but dating while you’re this famous is fucking hard. You must’ve seen that public divorce in ‘89 right?”

She definitely remembered. She was on college radio at the time and had taken over someone’s show. It was either some debate or public opinion show and that was probably one of the more shows she had ever experienced. Did it help that she was a fan of his music back in the day? No, but she would not admit that “I kind of knew about it. It sounded like it was an awful divorce for you. But you were only nineteen, weren’t you? You shouldn't stop yourself from dating for something that happened when you were just a teen.”

“Nineteen, thirty-five, ninety, does it matter? It was as awful behind the scenes as it was in public. I’m not gonna bore you with that but basically, I’m done with dating. And she won’t see that!”

“Well...maybe one of your bandmates can be your date?” She offered.

“Nah, been there, done that, it didn’t work out. And plus, would you even fake date any of them?”

She thought for a moment, “Yeah, smart choice.”

“It’s gotta be someone she has never met before to make it more believable.”

“I see,” Abigail paused. She had waited, expecting almost, for Pickles to look at her, drop the ‘except…’, and plead for her to be his fake date but he didn’t. He only reached into the mini-fridge to pull out a beer, offering one to Abigail who accepted. She didn’t like the beer and had to hide her disgusted look as she took a sip and tried to set it down casually.

The conversation had died out like that. She kept on sipping the beer and hoping he would say something. But he didn’t and it became clear that she had to be the one to speak up. There was only one possible solution to it and it felt like the most obvious., “If you can’t find anyone else, I can be your date.” She offered.

Pickles looked at her like she had asked him to play the drums with his mouth, “I respect you too much to get you involved with my family. They’re like...leeches that suck the fuckin’ life out of you! This is a me problem, you don’t need to fix that. ”

“Well...it’s affecting your drumming too.” she pointed out as she looked at him, “And trust me, I know what I’m getting into. I can handle it, Pickles. I work for Dethklok and I’ve certainly been through a lot more than just a wedding party. I appreciate your concern, but let me help.”

“Abigail...” He almost pleaded.

“I owe you, remember?”

He clearly did remember, “but-”

“He invited me anyway, Pickles. I’m still going out of work obligations; I promise this won’t bother me at all.”

“But you know it’s gonna have to be a lot more than just going to my brother’s wedding right? My mom will want to meet you and who knows what other folks are gonna try and meet you too.”

That was one thing more terrifying than the branding ceremony. Was it even worth it to complete the album?, “Then basically we’d just be faking a relationship until the ceremony?”

“I guess yeah...and that’s...three months from now? You really don’t-”

“As I said, I know what I’m getting into. I want to help you and if we have to do this for a week, months, or a year, it’s okay with me.”

Pickles said nothing for the longest time. He held the half-empty can of beer, nulling over his options that probably didn’t help with him being slightly intoxicated, “You won’t hate me right?”

It caught her off guard almost but she remained on track, “Of course not. I promise,” If she hated him, that would mean there would be no more all-nighters together but she wouldn’t admit that.

“Okay. Just so you know you can back out of this anytime, I won’t be offended if you do.” He said finally and that had sealed the deal, “But we need to keep this a secret which I know is probably obvious enough. If the guys find out, they’ll never stop teasing us about it.”

“But if all we really need to do is just please your parents, I don’t think that will be a problem. Don’t worry about me, Pickles; it’ll be fine. I promise that I will back out if I don’t want to do this anymore.”

It was clear he was unsure still and she didn’t know how much more convincing he would really need. But perhaps that was something to let sit and process; and hopefully, in time, he’d warm up to the idea enough to feel like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

There was nothing else she could really do at this point she knew. It was a quick resolution but a slow payoff and she had done what she could for the day, "How about you take the rest of the day off? If you wanna give recording the song a shot tomorrow, we can."

“Alright,” He threw out the half-finished beer can, beer spilled from the can, some of it splashing into the sides of the trash can and leaving a potent smell of beer. She made a reminder to herself to have a klokateer replace the trash can later. But it would be quickly forgotten when he spoke up again, “I uh, appreciate it, Abigail. I really do."

"It's not a problem at all. I hope you know that you can always turn to me if you need anything?"

"I do, yeah, and uh the same right back," He paused for a moment, "I'll take you out to dinner sometime if you want. It's the least I can do."

"That would be nice but I don't need a big fancy dinner. I'm fine eating here, and watching a movie." She answered. She wanted to speak more but her phone began ringing and she saw that it was from Charles, "I should probably take this."

"Oh yeah, go ahead. And uh, if you wanna grab some dinner again you know where to find me. I'm sorry I bailed out on you this week, I'll make it up to you." He quickly left before she could speak.

All alone in the studio, she took a moment to compose herself. Refusing to give herself even more time to let what she had gotten herself into sink in, she answered the phone.

It was only three months but somehow this new task felt like it would end up being the hardest task yet. But, she had an album to finish. It was just part of the job, right?

[sometimesiwritebadly]

Forever Thoughts (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

Summary: You accidentally overhear Spencer’s thoughts as he plans for your engagement.

Warnings: Some language. 

Notes: you’re welcome for this pure fluff. this is part of my soulmate series if y’all haven’t read the other parts!! 

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

After a year and a half, you and Spencer’s relationship couldn’t be any better. You’ve been through so much together; learning how to control your soulmate connection, meeting each other’s family, working at the BAU together, and worst of all, when you had been kidnapped by a serial killer. The day you woke up in the hospital, Spencer had promised he’d never leave your side again. True to his word, Spencer was rarely more than a room away from you. That’s why you were surprised when Spencer said he had to run errands this morning, instead of wanting to spend your whole day off together.

“Errands? What errands?” You groggily asked. Spencer was already out of bed and dressed, but you had only woken up a few minutes ago.

“We’re deathly low on groceries, I have a care package to mail to my mom, plus Morgan asked me to help with something at the house he’s renovating.” 

“Well when will you be back? We hardly ever get days off, and I wanna spend it with you.” As you spoke, you got out of bed, and pulled Spencer close to you.

“I’ll be back around lunchtime. 1 at the latest.” He promised, kissing you before you could complain. “I love you.” He thought as he deepened the kiss, despite your morning breath.

“I love you more.”

“Not possible.” With that finally thought, he pulled away, before heading out for his day.

~~~

You spent your morning alone in the apartment trying to get stuff done. You cleaned, did yours and Spencer’s laundry, took out the trash; everything that you guys didn’t have a lot of time for during cases. You and Spencer checked in with each other every hour or so, just to make sure everything is ok. As you began preparing lunch for you and Spencer for when he’d arrived home, however, you heard some thoughts that you were sure Spencer hadn’t meant for you to hear.

“Multiply the approximate diameter of her ring finger by pi, she should be a 7½…”

“That diamond is too big. Is that even a thing? Too big of a diamond?”

“Round diamonds are the most popular, but Garcia is always talking about princess cut diamonds…”

Usually, you and Spencer are pretty good at only sharing thoughts you actually wanted the other person to hear, but occasionally, especially if one or both of you were stressed out, some thoughts would fall through the cracks.

When you realized what you were hearing, you got so distracted you nearly let the chicken you were cooking burn. You weren’t even mad about nearly ruining the meal, because, holy shit, Spencer is going to propose to you.

~~~

The next week was absolute hell. Not because of a case, although you had been flown out to Missouri, but because of what you had learned on your day off. You tried your best to stay calm, not wanting Spencer to know that you knew he was going to propose, but every time the two of you were alone, your heart would start racing. Spencer caught on a few times, wondering what had you so worked up, but you were able to play it off on the case you guys were working on that week. 

You’re 100% certain that Spencer had no idea you had overheard his thoughts about the ring. He hadn’t mentioned anything about it to you, and you hadn’t heard anymore thoughts about the ring or the proposal. If he had told any of the team about his plans, none of them let on that something was up; one of the downsides of working with profilers. They’re all good at hiding things.

Right now, the team is on the way back home from the case, which had ended relatively well. They’d caught the unsub, and saved 2 of the people he’d kidnapped. Spencer was knocked out on the other side of the plane, Hotch was filling out paperwork, and Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss were playing an intense game of poker. JJ sat next to you reading a book you’d recommended to her. You had your own book open, but you couldn’t focus on it. Instead, your leg was incessantly tapping as you looked out a window.

“Ok, what’s wrong?” You head snapped over to JJ, who had closed her book to look at you. You winced, and looked down at your hands. 

“Can you keep a secret?” You whispered, not wanting the others to hear. Luckily, Hotch was completely focused on work, and Morgan and Prentiss were way too busy accusing Rossi of cheating to notice you and JJ. JJ moved closer to you, leaning in.

“What’s up? Is there something going on with you and Spence?”

“Do you ever hear Will’s thoughts, even when he doesn’t want you to?”

“Sure,” JJ said, a bit confused about how this had anything to do with your weird attitude, “When he’s stressed out, sometimes a few thoughts peak through. Why, what’d you overhear?”

You let out a deep breath, then spoke, “Spencer bought an engagement ring, and he doesn’t know that I know.” JJ’s eyes and smile widened immediately, clearly relieved that there was nothing wrong.

“That’s amazing! Why’re you so stres-” She stopped herself, before her voice got serious again, “You’re not gonna say no, are you?”

“No! Of course not, I love him! I just can’t stand keeping this a secret anymore!” JJ laughed lightly at your response, causing you to glare at her. “It’s not funny! If he doesn’t pop the question soon I’m gonna go insane!” You said, jokingly hitting her when her giggling didn’t stop.

“I’m sorry! You and Spence are just both so stressed out about this, even though you both know you’ll say yes-” JJ suddenly realized what she said, and your eyes widened at her slip up.

“You know!?” You sat up, leaning towards  JJ.

“We all do, Mrs. Genius.” You looked towards Morgan, only to find the rest of the team staring back at you. Across the plane, Spencer was still sound asleep.

“What? What do you know, when is he gonna do it?” You asked, only to be met with silence. JJ reopened her book, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi picked up their playing cards, and Hotch went back to his paperwork with a light smile ghosting his face. “Are you serious? You guys won’t tell me anything?” After another moment of silence, you huffed in annoyance, before picking up your own book again.

~~~

Finally, the plane landed back in Quantico. The team refused to tell you anything about Spencer’s plans, and once Spencer woke up from his nap, you had to stop asking. Normally, you and Spencer would head straight home, but Spencer had his favorite book in the office and wanted to get it before you left. So, the two of you went into the FBI building, which was empty due to the late hour. When the elevator opened to the floor, however, your breath was taken away.

Spencer turned to look at you as you took in everything. The place was decked out; balloons, string lights, and all over the walls, pictures of you and Spencer.

“C’mon.” He thought, before taking your hand and pulling you out of the elevator. You let him walk you into the bullpen, still taking in everything he’d put together. 

“When did you have time to do all this?” You asked, not understanding how he’d put it together while you were on a case.

“Let’s just say we owe Penelope and Kevin dinner sometime.” He answered, making you giggle lightly. Finally, Spencer stopped right next to his desk. He took a deep breath, and took both of your hands into his hands. You could already feel the tears forming in your eyes.

“I was sitting right here the first time I saw you. Y/N Y/L/N. My soulmate.” His voice cracked slightly, as a tear streamed down his own face. “The first thing I thought was , ‘Wow.’ because I was so taken with you. Before I even knew your name, I knew that you were it for me. That’s why I wanted to bring you here, to where our relationship first sparked…” He put his hand into his pocket, and pulled out the small ring box. “To ask you to continue to let me love you, everyday, for the rest of our lives.” He bent down onto his knee. At this point, tears were freely falling from your eyes, and you were smiling wider than you ever have before. “Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Your answer came immediately, and Spencer immediately stood back up to kiss you. Your hands found his face as you kissed him happily. When you pulled away, Spencer wiped the tears from your face with a smile. Then, he pulled the ring from the box and slipped it onto your finger. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible.”

“Congratulations!” You turned your head to see the rest of the team watching cheering, and Penelope running to you and enveloping you in a hug. Your mind flashed back to the very first time she’d hugged you; the same day you met Spencer. You and Spencer hugged every member of the team, and you happily showed off your ring to the ladies.

As the team celebrated you and your fiancé, you could be nothing but excited to spend the rest of your life with Spencer Reid.

~~~

tags: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @la-vie-en-amour1

[champion-leon-imagines]

Chronicles of Galar - Prologue 1: Taiko Hirebayashi

Some Info beforehand. This is going a pretty long fic with several chapters. But the chapters are somewhat different than normal fanfictions. Because they are just in chronological order but some of them are not actually connected to each other and some may have a greater timeskip than others. Imagine it like a readable diary of your adventures with just the mention worthy adventures added. But be careful, because this story is like a HELL OF A TOOTHROTTING-FLUFF fic. The main pairing is of course You x Leon. A side Pairing is Taiko(OC) x Raihan and a mentioned Pairing is Leiko(OC) x Piers Although, you won’t have to deal much with Leiko. But Taiko will get a bigger role since she becomes your best friend. Oh and if you wanna look for the Fic and it’s parts, make sure to follow the tag: Chronicles of Galar. Now enough Chatting, here is the introduction of the first character: My lovely tsun Taiko! And don’t forget: This is NOT proof read. English is NOT my first language. So please be gentle with mistakes.

[Prologue: Taiko Hirebayashi]

[9 years before  the timeline in sword / shield]

“Taiko, honey. Don't run too far away from the camp. The wild area is teeming with Pokemon. ”, a woman, around her late 20s to early 30s with purple hair that was tied in a pigtail, spoke in a warning tone. She wore glasses and petted a Flareon, her loyal partner Pokemon. "Yes, mommy.", a 9-year old girl with fiery red hair replied cheekily. "And stop using this word, please. Did you learn that here in Galar? Please just call me mother. ”, she corrected her daughter. Ever since the holiday in Galar began, the child seemed to have increasingly adopted the linguistic peculiarities of the inhabitants of this region. "Okay, mother.", Taiko muttered and rolled her eyes in slight annoyance. She didn't thought it was that bad, because she loved everything in Galar. Much more than at her home in Ecruteak City, in Johto. Her mother was one of the dancing geishas at Ho-Oh's temple, which was why Taiko was promised an Eevee for her 10th birthday as a starter Pokemon. Like all geishas, ​​she should learn the art of meditation dance one day, in order to command the awe of the holy phoenix pokemon. But now they were here, in Galar, enjoying a few days of vacation.

Taiko quickly got bored, however. In her tent, she started to felt shut in. Her toys were only entertaining for a short period of time. She wanted to explore the wild area and see Pokemon! No matter how much her mother told her not to.

The young redhead sneaked out of the tent, while her parents were talking to an employee of the Pokemon Rangers, because a wild Dynamax Pokemon attacked the Lake of outrage nearby. Therefore, a warning was issued to all traveling coaches and tourists to stay away from this lake in any case.

If that didn't sound like an adventure ..

Without even thinking about it, the girl simply ran through the wild area. Lake of outrage was relatively in the middle of the area and her parents' camp was quite far to the south, at a popular campground for out-of-towners. Because there were only weak Pokemon running around, which did not pose any danger to hikers.

So Taiko just had to walk south, right? ... But she didn't knew where the south was.

The extroverted redhead remembered her days in the scouts camp, which had taken place near Cianwood City. She remembered that moss grows  on the northern side of trees because they are often in the shade due to the rays of the sun on the other side and the moss can spread there. So Taiko examined the surrounding trees and based on the position of the moss, she quickly knew where north was. She nodded proudly and then strutted north, full of energy.

Meanwhile in another part of the wild area.

“Pokeball, go!” an 11 year old boy with dark skin, casual clothes and a red headband that hid most of his hair, shouted. The pokeball hit a small, white spherical pokemon, which was vaguely reminiscent of a slug. The dragon pokemon Goomy. The ball wobbled three times before stopping and trapping the Pokemon. "YES!" the boy smirked and put himself in a victory pose, which, of course, nobody could see because he was alone. Shortly afterwards, he took his Rotom smartphone out of his pocket and took a picture of himself and his latest catch. Then he opened a social media page that was similar to Facebook.

'Look, I caught a Goomy! The dragon tamer Raihan has struck again! : D Soon nobody can stop me, so take a good look @Leon! I will be champion before you!'

With a grin, Raihan tapped 'Publish' and waited for the many likes from his friends and “fans”, as he liked to call his followers. It took less than 5 minutes before his best friend and rival had already made a like and comment.

'Wow, congratulations @Raihan! This Pokemon is totally rare! Unfortunately I haven't seen one yet. But don't be too early! Who will be champion first is still to be decided! '

Raihan grinned and replied, in his cheeky way. 'You have to find the stadium for our decisive fight first! XD I have enough time to train my Pokemon. '

The young man put his smartphone back in his pocket, he knew that Leon never accepted his provocations and therefore it was a waste of time to wait for an answer. “Come on, Vibrava. Let's see if we can find more cool Pokemon! ”He said to his partner Pokemon. The green, dragonfly-like Pokemon nodded eagerly and flew over the area, while Raihan grinned and followed his companion. He just loved looking for Pokemon in the wild area.

Back to Taiko. The young redhead was already regretting her spontaneous ideas and had to admit: she was lost.

This part of the wild area was so heavily overgrown by dense forest that hardly any sunlight penetrated through the thicket and consequently the moss grew on all sides of the trees. So it was impossible for her to determine in which direction she had to go.

"...MUM? DAD? DO YOU HEAR ME? ”And then she gave up and called desperately for her parents. Why the hell was she always so .. stubborn and had to give in to her curiosity?

The girl fell on her knees and began to cry. She was just too spontaneous and didn't think about the consequences. Now she was here in an unknown area, far away from her parents and who knows what else was lurking in the dark thicket?

A bush near her began to jiggle and that frightened the little girl. She stopped her emotional outburst and looked frightened at the bush. She crawled a few feet back from her almost sitting position and shivered as the rustling increased. Taiko swallowed lightly, trying not to make a sound to attract the attention of this unknown creature in the bush.

Suddenly a small, white rabbit pokemon rolled out with some somersaults. It had a kind of red fur in the shape of a plaster on its nose and its long ears wiggled and twitched as it straightened up and looked around. Taiko looked at the little Pokemon, which noticed her now too. It looked back. Neither of them moved for a few moments until Taiko blinked several times.

"How cute ..", she beamed and crawled forward on all fours. The little Pokemon stopped and tilted its head slightly as it watched the humans movements. "Scor? Scorbunny!" the little creature said. Taiko knew that Pokemon could only say their name, so now she knew the species. So that was a Scorbunny! She had never seen it before. Was it a regional Pokemon from Galar?

"Mmm, I think I have some candy somewhere …" the redhead mumbled. At least the situation calmed her down enough to forget about her outbreak minutes before ... She searched her pockets and actually found some fruit gums made from red haban berries. A very sweet type of berry that was perfect for sweets. Taiko smiled and offered the Pokemon some fruit gums. "Little one? You're are hungry, aren't you? ”She asked.

Scorbunny bounced closer and sniffed the girl's hand. Probably a first approach as to whether it could trust the person. As it took a fruit gum on its paws, it sniffed the gelatine again and stuffed it into its mouth. Taiko giggled as the Scorbunny gleefully chewed the fruit gum and then happily hopped up. "Scor! Scor Scor Bun?"

Taiko didn't knew what the Pokemon was trying to tell her, but from it's hopping around and staring at the fruit gums, it was obvious. It wanted more candy. The redhead smiled and gave Scorbunny a few more fruit gums. This time the Pokemon was braver and patted Taiko's hand with its paws before pounding on the fruit gums. Taiko had to laugh gently when Scorbunny let 5 fruit gums disappear into it's mouth at once and chewed contentedly. "You remind me of me." Taiko giggled.

Scorbunny finished snacking and as a token of gratitude, leaned it with its head on her arm and cuddled up to her. Taiko blinked slightly in surprise. Who could have guessed that wild Pokémon would approach humans so quickly? So obviously love goes through the stomach. Taiko smiled again and ruffled Scorbunnys fur behind it's ears. The Pokemon let out a satisfied purr and closed its eyes.

After a while, the Pokemon hopped onto her lap. This action surprised Taiko and she put both hands around the Pokemon. "It's so trusting .. it definitely belongs to someone ..", the redhead sighed, disappointed. She would have liked to keep the Scorbunny to herself. The two lingered like this for a few minutes until Taiko noticed that she was still in a quandary. She still didn't know how to get back to her parents. And the Pokemon was certainly not a sign back.

Slowly, the girl got up and let Scorbunny on the floor. “Go, your trainer is probably already worried about you.“ Taiko smiled and gave it a few last fruit gums before she continued on her way.

For the next 10 minutes she already missed Scorbunny .. She sighed softly to herself and stopped to lean against a tree. "Scorbunny ..." Taiko's eyes widened when she heard the Pokemon's call and turned around. Scorbunny was a few meters away from her. Taiko didn't even think for a second that it might be another Pokemon. It MUST be the same ..

When the Pokemon saw the girl kneel down, it ran into her arms and snuggled against the redhead's chest. Taiko straightened up and hugged the Pokemon. "You probably missed me too ..?", She asked and as if Scorbunny wanted to answer, it's nose nudged her fist when she raised her hand in front of it. Taiko smiled. "Then let's find a way back together." Scorbunny nodded and climbed onto her shoulder, where it made itself comfortable.

Taiko went on for a while, she didn't know how long, but it was already getting dark. Her parents were probably worried ... Then suddenly a huge lake was before her. Scorbunny sniffed the new surroundings and then tensed up with a menacing growl. The redhead swallowed at this cautious behavior. "The Lake of Outrage ...", she realized then. She wanted to run in the other direction when suddenly a giant Pangoro blocked her way. Apparently she had invaded it's territory because it looked angry. And aggressive.

The redhead stepped back, startled, and tripped over a thick branch. She fell on her bum and held her aching foot after she fell on it with her weight and cried out in pain. Pangoro seemed angry at the noise and stepped closer. It's dangerous threatening gesture made the girl's blood run cold. Scorbunny growled loudly and jumped in front of the girl as if it wanted to fight Pangoro.

"No..! This is an evolved Pokemon ...! It's too strong .. ” Taiko warned, but Scorbunny tried to attack with a double kick and jumped on the evolved Panda Pokemon. Pangoro held up Scorbunnys leg with one paw and tossed it back so that it landed in the mud next to the girl. "Scorbunny!" Taiko shouted distraught and took Scorbunny in her arms when Pangoro came closer and raised his paw for a blow. The redhead closed her eyes tightly and tears ran down her cheeks. "I don't want to die yet ..."

"Vibrava, dragon rush!", a boy's voice penetrated her ears and Taiko looked up when something enveloped in a blue aura slammed into the menacing Panda Pokemon from above in full speed. Pangoro was staggered by the recoil and  Raihan jumped in front of Taiko, ordering his Vibrava to make further attacks. "Super power, now!"Raihan ordered, causing Vibrava to launch a wave of attacks on the Pangoro. The fighting Pokemon appeared to be extremely robust and put up with all attacks. "Damn it, well then we have no other choice. Vibrava, use sandstorm! "Raihan shouted. Then he turned to the girl behind him. "Cover your mouth and nose!"

Taiko nodded and pushed the scarf, that her mother had given her over, half over her face. Vibrava created a dense sandstorm that made the entire area so opaque that you couldn't see anything. It was only when Taiko felt someone put a hand on her shoulder that she recognized the outlines of the boy, who helped her. "Let's get out of here before the storm subsides," he said. Taiko tried to get up, but a strong pain in her leg made her fall back to the ground.

"Ouch .."

"Hey, are you okay?" Raihan asked, holding her to keep her from falling again.

"I must have broken my leg when I tripped earlier .. I can't step .." the redhead sighed in frustration. Raihan blinked for a moment and saw his Vibrava land on his shoulder. He knew the sandstorm wouldn't hold up the enemy Pokemon much longer. An idea occurred to him without further ado and he turned his back on the girl while he knelt down. “Climb on my back. I'll carry you. ", He said.

"T-I can't ask that of you ..", Taiko mumbled and shook her head vigorously.

“Come on, my tent is not far from here and the storm won't hold back Pangogo for long. We have to get out of here. ”, the young trainer explained and Taiko probably had no other choice. She sighed and climbed onto his back, the Scorbunny clinging on her shirt and holding onto her as the boy carried her away from the lake.

It really didn't take long, a maximum of 10 minutes, until the boy reached his tent and gently laid the young girl on his sleeping bag.

"Here we are. Uhm. What's your name anyway? ”The boy then asked with a smile.

"T-Taiko and what's your name?"

"Raihan. Are you a Gym Challenger too? " Raihan asked and saw how the Scorbunny had snuggled up with her and was sleeping. The redhead shook her head. “I'm not from here and I'm only 9 .. My parents and I are only here for vacation. I live in Johto. “, She then explained.

“Then why were you alone at Lake of outrage? It's not an approved campsite at all. On the contrary, it is strictly forbidden for travelers to enter here.“

"Uhm .. well .. I was curious because I was bored in the tent and .. then I somehow got lost ..", the redhead explained, embarrassed, and tugged on a strand of red hair. Raihan just looked at her before he laughed. This reaction offended Taiko now that she thought he was making fun of her situation.

"Hey, that's not funny, I was really scared!" She said with a pout and turned away with slightly flushed cheeks. Raihan wiped a tear of laughter from his face and grinned slightly before winking at her. "Sorry, I didn't laugh at you. Just .. I've done so much nonsense too. When I was 5, my father was camping here with me too and I saw a Trapinch and followed it to Lake of outrage too. My father had to save me from a wild Gyarados in the water. And I was just thinking that I was having a deja vu when I saved you, ”he admitted with a laugh.

Taiko blinked slightly.

"Uhm ..", she just wasn't quite sure what to say to that. "Thank you for the rescue ..", she said quietly, but still slightly offended, and turned her head away from him.

"You are welcome. But let's take care of your leg first. ", Raihan said and got a first aid kit from the corner of his stuff. Taiko lingered as quiet as a mouse, a rarity with her otherwise extroverted personality, when Raihan exposed the leg by lifting her pants up the affected leg and pulling down her socks to inspect the damage. “That looks bad. No wonder you can't walk. ", He said and took a rag that he moistened with a kind of disinfectant spray. "That could burn a bit now," he warned her.

The redhead bit her lip and squeaked softly as he placed the rag on the wound on her leg. Raihan smiled and praised her for how bravely she got through this action. She even had to laugh a little when he confessed that he had screamed like crazy when he was injured and his father wanted to treat him with the stuff too. She didn't know why, but somehow Taiko didn't feel so helpless anymore.

She watched spellbound as he expertly cleaned the wound and treated it with a bandage. "You don't seem to be doing this for the first time," she said then. Raihan blinked and then looked up at her as he kneeled in front of her to put his foot on his lap.

"Yeah. I have a clumsy best friend. His injury rate is pretty high when he's got lost. I don't even know how often I've been bandaged his falls and grazes. ", Raihan said thoughtfully and Taiko giggled. “Sounds like me. I am also at risk of injury. A miracle it was only the leg. ", She sighed. Raihan smiled and put her leg down again.

“You would certainly get along well. He exudes the same positive energy as you. ", Raihan said, whereupon Taiko went a little red in the face. However, she didn't know why. "I exude positive energy?" She asked.

"Sure, of course. You can see that just by how Scorbunny has taken you to its heart! I thought to myself that it wasn't yours when you said you were only 9 and not from here. So it's a wild Pokemon, but it behaves like you've been training it for years. ", The boy remarked, whereupon the girl's cheeks turned even darker. "Uhm .. I'll take that as a compliment .." she whispered, slightly embarrassed. "It was one." Raihan winked and was amused by the shy behavior of the girl. At the lake she had behaved differently. Then there was a short silence between the two of them until Raihan reached for his smartphone. For once, he wasn't interested in his social media activities. “Which campsite are you at? In the east or in the south? ”He asked.

"Uhm .. south?"

"All right." Raihan smiled and started dialing a number.

"Who are you calling?"

“Mr. Pascal. He is practically the lessor of the campsite. Your parents surely miss you. So I'll give him our coordinates so that someone can come and pick you up. Because I can't carry you the way to the campsite. ”At this comment the redhead blushed again and turned away slightly. “Your last name would still be helpful to find your parents more easily. "..Hirabayashi."

Raihan called and talked to Pascal for a few minutes until he had passed on all the informations. About the aggressiveness of the Pokemon at Lake of outrage, about the injured girl and also their whereabouts. Then he thanked him and hung up. “They can't send a rescue team out until tomorrow morning because they'd have problems finding us and transporting you. I told them that you can spend the night with me in the tent and that you are safe. ", Raihan said. "Uhm .. but you only have one sleeping bag." Taiko spoke. "But that doesn't matter .. I can sleep on the floor."

Raihan sighed.

“There is no way of letting a girl sleep on the floor. You sleep in my sleeping bag, I sleep on the floor. " He said.

"Never."

"Well, then we'll both sleep on the floor if you don't give in." Raihan shrugged his shoulders, whereupon Taiko rolled his eyes. "Then give in.", She said and shrugged her shoulders. Raihan grinned slightly and folded his arms behind his neck.

"Only if you sleep in my sleeping bag." Was the devious answer. "To what extent is that giving in for YOU?" Taiko asked now and crossed her arms in front of her chest. The two just looked at each other for a few moments before Raihan sighed in defeat. "Well, let's make a compromise.", He said, which made Taiko sit up and take notice. “It gets darn cold here at night anyway. If we cuddle up a little ... together, we can both sleep in the sleeping bag and the body heat prevents us from half-freezing to death. "

His suggestion made Taiko look shocked. He wasn't really serious, was it? She didn't know this boy at all. But now that he said it, it was actually quite fresh. "..."

"You can of course also become a living Vanillite if ​​you prefer that.", Raihan said and spread out the sleeping bag. "Okay, okay. It's only for one night. ", She gave in, whereupon Raihan had to laugh again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The next morning, Taiko's parents and some of the wild area staff members went to the location of forest that Raihan had described for them. It wasn't long before they found the tent, which was guarded by a Duraludon. “This is Raihan’s tent. It has to be. " Pascal remaked, before Taikos parents ran to the tent. "Taiko ?!"

Taiko blinked, she was still half asleep when she yawned and snuggled into something warm. This warmth moved slightly, from which the redhead woke up. She wiped away the sleep on her eyes and then saw how she was snuggled up against Raihan, her legs tangled and his arms pressed her to his chest.

The girl quickly broke away from him and Raihan woke up too. "Woah?"

The redhead ignored him and let her mother hug her tightly.

"What kind of things are you doing?" Her mother scolded her. "I'm sorry .. really .." the girl apologized and was then pulled into a hug by her father. "Never do that again," he said then. "You're hurt, aren't you? I'll carry you back. ", He said then and wanted to pick her up. "Wait, dad ..!" Taiko stopped him and then turned to Raihan. She made a beckoning hand gesture that signaled him to come closer. "Thanks again for everything, Raihan. I hope to see you again. ", She smiled and hugged him goodbye. Raihan smiled and hugged back. “Well, if you ever want to visit Galar again, you are always welcome. Until then, I'm champion and you can visit me in my palace. ”He laughed. "The champion lives in a palace?" Taiko asked and her eyes widened greatly.

"I dunno, but definitely!", Raihan laughed then, whereupon Taiko had to laugh too. "Well, see you at some point, hopefully. And take care of yourself, you risk-of-injury. ", He said teasingly.

Taiko was then carried back to the campsite and was even allowed to keep Scorbunny.

And what should she say?

5 years later, she set foot in Galar again after her divorced mother wanted to start a new life over there and Taiko seized the opportunity and followed her to see the cute boy from back then again.

[hopeymchope]

The Pre-Valentine’s Meeting: A Danganronpa Fic

Summary: Leon Kuwata calls together the men of Hope's Peak's 78th class in an attempt to learn who is expecting to receive Valentine's chocolate from which of their female classmates.

Links:

The Pre-Valentine’s Meeting on AO3

The Pre-Valentine’s Meeting on FF.Net

Or you can read it below the cut if you like.

"What's up, my dudes?" Leon Kuwata said as he strolled into the dining hall. He was addressing the longest table in the hall, where all of the other openly male members of the 78th class were currently seated.

In contrast to Leon's jovial attitude, Byakuya Togami looked deeply irritated. "We should be the ones asking that," he said irritably, "Since this meeting was at your insistence."

"This gathering is an important opportunity regardless of why Kuwata-kun requested it," Kiyotaka Ishimaru declared proudly, directing his comments towards Byakuya. "We must make the most of this chance to maximize our bonds as men!"

"I suppose I'm down with what bro said," Mondo Owada offered, "But does it gotta happen so late?"

"I'd never have guessed you're the early-to-bed type, Owada-kun," Makoto Naegi said with a light laugh.

Before Mondo could respond, Hifumi Yamada interjected: "It's only midnight! I'd normally be working until at least 2 a.m. on my latest doujin!"

"I ain't against a late night," Mondo said to Makoto. "But we gotta be real here, man — it's only Thursday."

"Exactly!" Leon replied, still standing. "It's basically already the weekend! Besides, don't tell me that your gang never got up to anything on Thursday nights."

"Not this late," Mondo told him. He smiled as he added, "Gotta save that energy so we can really tear it up on Friday night, y'know?"

"I do hold reservations about whether this will negatively impact our performance tomorrow," Taka said. "However, as there are no tests scheduled for this Friday, I believe the benefits of this male bonding time will outweigh the possible blowback!"

"Whatever, thanks for that," Leon said dismissively. "Let's get down to business," he said, pivoting to something that put much more passion in his voice. "We're a week and a half out from V-Day, and I am here to find out who among us is expecting Valentine's chocolate from which ladies!"

Makoto closed his eyes and hung his head. Mondo audbily groaned.

Yasuhiro Hagakure, on the other hand, grinned. "If that's all ya wanna know, I'll be happy to peer into the future for you!" he told Leon. "I've got a special Valentine deal going: Just 100 million yen!"

Now everyone at the table groaned. Makoto leaned over and gently told Hiro, "Ah, nobody here is gonna go for that. Sorry."

Byakuya Togami stood up. "If there's nothing else... " he muttered, then pivoted to face the door.

"Please, Togami-kun!" Taka said, reaching out with an open palm. "Without the full complement of our brethren, this male-bonding activity will be incomplete!"

Togami gave him a withering look. "I couldn't possibly care about that," he said. "I only came here to this gathering in the first place to satisfy my mild curiosity about what Kuwata considered so urgent." He moved his attention to Leon. "I admit that I didn't expect much, but you actually surprised me, Kuwata."

"How's that?" Leon said.

Byakuya smirked. "This was an even more foolish waste of time than I anticipated." He turned away once more. "Don't bother me again." With that, he walked out.

Taka looked crestfallen, but Leon didn't even visibly react to the insult. "Whatever," he said, shrugging. "He's only gonna get chocolate from Fukawa anyway."

Hifumi rubbed his chin. "Even if that's true, wouldn't her dual nature mean he'll get two gifts?"

"Dude, who even cares about that?" Leon responded. He pointed a finger at the side of his head. "Are you brain dead or something? It's not about how much chocolate you get — it's about the ladies you get it from!"

Hifumi gently adjusted his glasses with one hand. "Speak for yourself," he said back. "3D women mean nothing to me."

Mondo chuckled a little. "So nobody in our class is good enough for ya?" he prodded. "That the size of it?"

"Nothing so entitled," Hifumi said. "3D women are just too complicated, too... messy. With my 2D girls, I always know where I stand. The flags for instigating romance are always obvious, and in most cases, the ladies respond positively to those flags regardless of any other factors."

"Sure," Leon said, unconvinced. He finally sat down, slipping into a chair across from Hifumi, then leaning forward to bring himself closer. Hifumi instinctively leaned away. "Are you really gonna sit there and pretend there's not a single girl in the class who's even got you a little interested in the real thing?" Leon pressed.

Hifumi began to sweat. "We-well, I... I suppose... " He placed his forefinger across his lips and looked downward. "I mean... I guess I wouldn't mind if Chihiro Fujisaki-dono g-gave me some chocolate... "

Mondo glanced sideways and pursed his lips. "Huh," he muttered.

Leon rubbed the hair hanging off his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he looked at Hifumi skeptically. "But is that, uh... likely?"

Hifumi looked dubious, but he managed a smile. "We've enjoyed working together on some projects in the past. Perhaps some Friend Chocolate... ?"

Leon shook his head. "Man, that's the worst kind of chocolate," he said.

"Philistine!" Hifumi suddenly declared. He thrust forward one hand, pointing dramatically at Leon as he bellowed, "All chocolate is precious!"

Leon folded his arms and leaned his head back. "Don't get all high-and-mighty with me. You know damn well the kinda chocolate I wanna hear about, man!"

"Well both of you shut the hell up?!" Mondo yelled, slamming a fist on the table. Everyone jerked backwards. Hifumi let out a small yelp of surprise. Makoto flailed his arms a bit. Unphased, Mondo continued, "Your dumbass argument doesn't matter!"

After an awkward beat of silence from the group, Taka was the first one to lean back into position. Sitting beside Mondo, he sternly said, "Bro, you know that kind of language is-"

Mondo waved him off. "Yeah, I know, I know. Sorry, bro."

Leon swallowed and tried to hold his ground. "Well, it still matters to me what kind of chocolate it is."

"That's not even what I was talkin' about," Mondo grumbled, looking away.

Taka's brow furrowed. "Then what did you mean by saying that it 'doesn't matter'?"

Mondo looked at him with irritation. "Just that... look, Fujisaki... " He paused and cleared his throat, then looked down at the floor. "They ain't plannin' to give anybody anything more than Friend Chocolate, okay?!"

There was another moment of silence that was soon interrupted by a loud gasp from Hiro. "This is awful!" he shouted. "Owada-chi! How come you never told me you're a psychic, too?!"

Before Mondo could protest, Taka stepped in. "That is not what bro is saying!" Taka told Hiro confidently. "Clearly, he learned this because he and Fujisaki-kun discuss workout tips!"

Makoto looked at Mondo with an expression of surprise on his face that transitioned into something else as he narrowed his eyes. He said, "So Owada-kun, are you saying that you just... asked her?"

Mondo eyes locked with his so quickly that Makoto flinched. "Hell no!" Mondo replied. "They just said so, okay?!"

This inspired a chuckle from Leon. "Maybe she was trying to keep you from getting your hopes up," he said, smiling.

Now it was Leon's turn to be on the receiving end of Mondo's glare. "God dammit, it ain't like that!" Mondo said.

"C-can we just move on from Fujisaki-dono already?" Hifumi said as visible sweat beaded upon his face. "Leon Kuwata-dono — why don't you volunteer information on the chocolate you expect to receive? You were the one to initiate this meeting, after all."

Letting out a fake sigh, Leon grinned as he said, "I get it. Everybody wants to know what Valentine's Day looks like for a real ladies' man. And yes, I'm sure I'll be getting chocolate from many of my fans."

Mondo let out a guffaw. "Is one of those 'fans' your cousin?" he teased.

Leon rolled his eyes. "I mean... she'll probably send me some too, but no, I meant-"

"I was asking about our classmates," Hifumi interrupted, pointing at Leon. He wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the rim of his glasses. "Are any of them your 'fans'?"

At this, Leon frowned a little. "Well... I'm hoping to receive some from somebody, but I kinda think she might have her eyes on somebody else... " His gaze drifted over to Makoto.

Makoto smiled nervously, holding up his hands in defense. "Hey now... I'm not expecting chocolate from anybody." At that, the entire rest of the table burst into laughter. Makoto looked around at everyone in confusion. "What?!" he demanded. "What'd I say?!"

As he stopped chuckling, Mondo bowed his head. "Dude, you really are clueless."

Makoto threw up his hands. "About what?"

"For starters, Maizono-chan is constantly by your side," Leon pointed out.

"She's a good friend!" Makoto insisted. "And that's all!"

Taka spoke up next. "I have noticed that Ikusaba-kun speaks with you more than most of our classmates."

Makoto shook his head rapidly. "Ikusaba-san is a friend, too! She's not, like... into me or anything like that."

"You and the detective girl seem pretty close," Hifumi observed.

Makoto looked away. "Kirigiri-san is... uh, sh-she wouldn't be interested in someone like me... " he said softly.

"Like I said," Mondo remarked. "You're clueless."

"You've got it wrong!" Makoto exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He pointed one hand dramatically around the table as he said, "Just because I'm friends with these girls doesn't mean they want to be my girlfriend!"

"And what about you?" Leon pressed. "Do you want to date any of them?"

Makoto opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His face reddened, and he slowly slumped back into his seat. "I'll... deal with that on White Day," he finally murmured.

Leon leaned back and and raised an eyebrow at Makoto. "Yeah, about White Day... Do I gotta get your permission before I give any of those girls chocolate?"

Raising his forefinger to the side of his mouth, Makoto scratched at his cheek and said, "No no, you're fine!" After a momentary pause, he added, "Uh, I assume you're talking about Maizono-san?"

Leon visibly cringed. "If you know that I'm into her, does that mean Maizono-chan knows?"

Makoto nodded a couple times. "She does have really good intuition," he said, smiling sympathetically.

Hiro rubbed his head sheepishly as he told Leon, "Actually, I knew you're gunning for her, too."

"Crap," Leon said emphatically. "If you could tell, everybody must know!"

"Hey — not everybody has my psychic power!" Hiro protested.

Mondo bowed his head a bit and countered, "Kuwata's got a point, man. I mean, I already knew."

Leon put his head in his hands. "And here I was already working out a grand romantic gesture for White Day," he grumbled.

Taka clenched his fist. "You can still do that!" he declared. "It need not be a complete surprise!"

Closing one eye tight, Leon looked upwards with the other as he considered that. "It loses some impact, but... yeah, maybe." He sat upright once more to look at Taka and Mondo, who were seated beside one another. “Let's just move on," Leon said quickly. "This is about the V-Day, not White Day. So what about you two?"

Mondo and Taka exchanged look, then simultaneously turned back to Leon. "What about us?" Mondo asked.

With exasperation, Leon asked, "What girls do you think you'll get chocolate from?"

Confused, Taka and Mondo looked at each other for a long moment. Then, slowly, they began to laugh.

As the two of them burst into hysterics, Leon threw up his hands in a shrug. "Am I missing something?"

Mondo gradually stopped laughing. "Who needs chocolate from girls?" he said. Throwing an arm around Taka, he grinned as he continued, "All I need is some chocolate from my bro here, and I'm set!"

Blushing, Taka put an arm around Mondo and exclaimed, "Same here!"

Leon closed his eyes and sighed. "Well, this is turning into a real bust," he grumbled.

"Perhaps the problem is that no one can truly know what to expect," Hifumi offered.

"Yeah," Hiro agreed. "None of us are in relationships, and I mean... when it comes to girls, most of us are just as clueless as Naegi-chi!"

"Hey!" Makoto protested.

Ignoring Makoto, a dismayed Leon acknowledged Hiro's remark. "Yeah, I'm getting that impression." Looking around at the group, he said, "Maybe I should've waited to ask for everyone's White Day plans. At least then it's all up to the guys."

Taka gave a swift nod to that. "It is easiest to know future events when you are the one who controls them," he stated.

Makoto frowned at Hiro. "You know, somehow it hurts more when you call me clueless... "

Hiro shrugged at him by way of apology. "My offer still stands for anyone interested, by the way," Hiro told the table. "Step right up and get your fortune told — learn which ladies will love you today!"

A variety of negative replies emerged from the rest of the table. "Not interested." "No, thank you." "Not a chance." "N-no, sorry." "Nuh-uh."

[chibi-beaver]

I'm in a bad batch kinda mood today and decided to write some Hunter & Omega fluff/angst!

Rating: General

Warnings: none (this is pretty wholesome)

Summary: After Hunter loses his cool with Omega, he remembers what Cut and Suu told him and tries to make things right

Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, domestic fluff, parenting, father daughter relationship

There will be Bad Batch spoilers in this so don't read if you haven't watched the latest episode (episode 4)

Honestly, I'm pretty proud of this rn 😁

Story is also attached under the cut if you wanna read it here, if you like it I'd appreciate the notes here and/or kudos on ao3 😁

Edit: I forgot to add some fic tags 😳

Omega had gotten herself into yet another jam. All they had to do was get supplies on Tatooine. It certainly wasn't the nicest planet but it was in the outer rim and for the most part, off the radar of the Empire.

All Omega had to do was stay close to Hunter as they went into Mos Espa. It was supposed to be an in and out supply run but when was any supply run in and out? He should've known that something had to happen but why did it have to happen to Omega?

She had gotten herself into the hands of yet another bounty hunter. Hadn't she learned her lesson after the encounter on Pantora? Hunter thought to himself as he ran through the sandy "streets" of Mos Espa in search of Omega.

"Wrecker, Tech, Echo! I need help finding Omega!" Hunter yelled into his comm.

"I'm on it!" Wrecker replied.

"I'm finishing the ship's repairs but I've sent Echo," Tech said.

"I thought Echo was repairing the ship with you," Hunter said.

"He was, but we're almost done," Tech replied.

Hunter was relieved that he got two of his men helping him find Omega.

Hunter tripped over his feet. The grains of sand were making his feet slide everywhere. Just when things couldn't get any worse, Hunter noticed a Tusken Raider running off with something. Upon closer look, it was his blaster.

Hunter was conflicted on what to do but he eventually ran after the Tusken Raider and tackled it to the ground before ripping the gun out of his tiny hands. Some more Tusken Raiders surrounded Hunter, weapons pointed at him. Probably stolen weapons, he thought. He looked around, looking for an out. He knew if he shot one, he'd subsequently get shot by another, which could incapacitate him, but he couldn't waste any time. If their encounter with the bounty hunter on Pantora taught him anything, he knew that they were cunning and fearless. They would do anything to keep their hands on Omega and would harm anyone who got in their way. Almost like what he would do for Omega. He just wished that she would stop getting into trouble.

Suddenly, they all ran off at the sound of something. Hunter was unsure of the source of the sound until his comm went off.

"You can thank me later, Tuskens hate Krayt Dragons," Tech said.

"How did you know I was-"

"I got my repairs done and I started watching the camera feeds around Mos Espa and noticed some Tuskens bothering you in the background of one," Tech replied.

"Now I'm glad you record the sound of every animal you've heard of," Hunter said, relief permeating his voice.

"I can see the bounty hunter!" Wrecker said into the comm.

"Transmit me your coordinates!" Hunter said.

"How do I do that!?" Wrecker asked.

"I got this, you focus on finding Omega," Tech said as he transmitted Wrecker's coordinates to Hunter and Echo.

Hunter immediately ran to them, meeting up with Echo on the way. Just as they got there, Wrecker got knocked out by Bounty Hunter who seemed to use the weapon he knocked Wrecker out with as a hat.

"I got Wrecker, go find Omega!" Echo said as he tried to help Wrecker.

Hunter obliged to what Echo said as he continued running after the bounty hunter. He was led to a dead-end street where he saw an anooba cornering Omega. Hunter took out his blaster and shot the anooba in the leg, causing him to yelp. Omega was distressed by the sound, as was the bounty hunter who retaliated by throwing his hat like a frisbee at Hunter. Hunter ducked just in time and avoided being hit by the hat. The bounty hunter then took out a weapon of his own and began shooting at Hunter with it. Hunter continued running towards the bounty hunter, to tackle him. It was successful until the anooba came back to tackle Hunter, causing him to drop his blaster.

Omega slowly made her way towards the blaster, but the anooba must have smelt her because he got off of Hunter and jumped on Omega. Hunter took the opportunity to pick up his blaster and pointed it at the bounty hunter's head, just as Echo and Wrecker arrived at the scene. Cornering the bounty hunter. He called his anooba off of Omega as he searched for a way out.

"What do you want with Omega?" Hunter asked, keeping the blaster pointed at the bounty hunter's head. He started speaking in an unknown language.

"Where's Tech when you need him?" Echo muttered as he turned on his comm but didn't say anything.

Hunter repeated the question as Omega approached Wrecker and stood behind his leg, she was trembling.

"He's trying to say that he was put off to it by an unknown client, it's just a job to him, a good-paying job at that," Tech whispered as he listened in.

The bounty hunter didn't answer the question as the anooba brought back his hat. The bounty hunter took the hat and hit Hunter with it before running to make his escape, pushing Echo and Wrecker out of the way.

"What were you thinking?!" Hunter said frustratedly to Omega.

"I-I'm sorry," Omega said.

"I thought you would've learned not to talk to strangers or touch strange animals after Pantora!" Hunter continued.

Omega said nothing in return as she stayed at Wrecker's side.

"You could've gotten yourself killed again! These situations are why I wanted to send you with Cut and Suu! So that you could be safe!" Hunter said. He saw the sad expression on Omega's face immediately after he said that. She looked like she was going to cry.

"Lay off her!" Wrecker said as he took Omega's hand and started back to the ship with Echo.

Hunter quickly began to regret what he had said. The regret kept itself on his mind as he walked back to the ship.

When he got back to the ship, Omega was in her room with the curtain closed.

"Let's get off this desert world," Tech said as he plotted a course for Idaflor. Maybe this time they would actually make it there without needing to repair the ship or to get supplies.

Hunter began to grow concerned as hours passed and Omega had still not left her room. Usually, she wouldn't stay in her room long. Her curious mind always kept her on the go, even though she had seen the inside of the ship countless times. Even if she wasn't feeling curious, she would usually leave to use the fresher. Tech looked back from the pilot's seat at Hunter

"What's wrong?" Tech asked.

"Nothing that you can fix," Hunter said, glancing at Omega's room.

"Well, that's a lie because I know a way to fix most things," Tech said.

"Yea, you can fix ships but you know about as much as I do about parenting," Hunter replied.

"Ah, it's about Omega. Hmmm, well maybe you should talk to her, perhaps discussing whatever happened might help things," Tech said.

Hunter didn't reply. Rather he sat back into his chair while Tech turned back to whatever device he was building. He remembered Tech telling him what it was but he had forgotten. As Hunter thought about what he could do, his mind went back to Cut and Suu.

"Easy, she's not a soldier."

Cut said that to him the first time he lashed out at Omega.

"You're safe, that's all that matters."

Hunter reminded himself that Omega was on the ship with them and not in the hands of that bounty hunter but at the same time, she shouldn't have touched that anooba. They didn't know the animal, it could've been diseased, or as it was in this case, connected to someone dangerous.

"Children will always find ways of getting into trouble, Hunter. It's what they do. Protecting them is what we do".

Hunter thought more about what he had said on Tatooine. Even if some of it was warranted, he shouldn't have brought up Cut and Suu. It was a bit of a sore spot for Omega, knowing that Hunter was going to pawn her off on Cut and Suu, even if he thought it was for her own good.

Hunter decided to approach Omega's room. He climbed up a couple steps of the ladder.

"Omega?" Hunter said.

"Go away!" Omega said.

"I just want to talk," Hunter said. "No yelling this time. I'm not mad." Hunter continued in a gentler tone.

"Fine," Omega said.

Hunter pulled the curtain to side slightly. She was sitting in her room with Lula held in one of her arms as she looked out the window at the whizzing of hyperspace.

Hunter sat in the small face, doing his best to fit. Wrecker clearly designed this space for someone of Omega's size. He eventually sat horizontally in the room, with one leg hanging outside of the space for his own comfort.

"You're gonna get rid of me again, aren't you?" Omega said.

"What? No. You said you wanted to be with us, I promised you that if you wanted to be with us then you will be with us."

"But I screwed up again," Omega said.

"You said it yourself once, you have a lot to learn. But so do I and I realize I was a bit too harsh today. I'm sorry."

"I can't help that I'm curious sometimes," Omega said, thinking back on how it was her who wanted to pet the anooba.

"I know, but sometimes it's better to watch from afar," Hunter said.

Omega didn't say anything in response. Rather she clutched the Lula.

"I'm not going to get rid of you. We want you here just as much as you want to be here. I'm sorry for bringing up Cut and Suu and I'm just glad you're okay," Hunter said.

To Hunter's surprise, Omega moved closer to him and put her arms around his shoulders, hugging him. Hunter was initially taken aback but he soon returned the hug. When they eventually pulled away from one another, Omega smiled.

"Now let's agree to put what happened today behind us," Hunter said.

"Ok," Omega replied.

Hunter made his way back down the ladder and extended a hand out to Omega,

"wanna come down and hang out with us or explore the ship or do whatever you want?" Hunter asked.

"Sure!" Omega said as she came out of her room and started asked Tech various questions about the ship and the controls. Hunter watched and smiled at seeing Omega feeling a bit better.

[lassluna]

CS January Joy Day 31: A Happy Ending (well, that depends on where you stop the story)

Emma Swan was a criminal. A thief. A forger sentenced to four years for bond forgery. Killian Jones was the agent sent to catch her. And catch her he did, but after an escape attempt, an exploded PO Box and a deal an unusual partnership is formed, one that will give them both all that they ever wanted or lead to mutual destruction. White Collar AU

Ao3 FFN

AN:I am very thankful to @csjanuaryjoy​ for finally getting me to write this. It's been a wild year and hopefully this next one will bring a bit more joy. Thank you @teamhook​ and @ultraluckycatnd​ for beta reading for me. 

“How did it start?”

It started like most stories if she’s being honest, which she rarely is. 

 It started with a stolen car, stolen watches, so much stealing, so much theft, so many lies that she had forgotten where Emma, the lost orphan girl, ended and where ‘The Swan’, grifter, forger, liar, thief began. Her reputation grew, as did her steady collection of wealth.

It started with a boy and a girl, lost and alone and unwanted in the world and turned into some wannabe Bonnie and Clyde duo who just wanted to be seen, to be heard, and to take back what the world took for them.

They lied, cheated, and stole for the sake of it. And they were good at it. There’s something about being alone and unwanted that just made it easier to pretend. Sometimes a lawyer, other times a high profile gambler rubbing elbows with mobsters and politicians alike. One time she pretended to be Leila Lucas, princess of a far off land in order to get close to some crown jewels. They pretended that these lives, these rich, luxurious important lives were theirs. They pretended that they deserved these things because they could take them. 

And take them they did. The car, the watches, the bonds, the jewels, the paintings, they took them all. 

Emma loved the paintings, the art, the beauty. She loved looking at things that gave people feelings. It made her feel a little less alone.

Neal loved the money, the thrill, the ways the world bent to their will, the way it rushed through their veins. 

It started with young love. It started good, and they were happy.

//

“How did it end?”

It ended like most stories, or at least it seemed like that to him. 

He was a simple FBI agent, chasing her, tracking her, trying to prove to the world the crimes she commited. Part of him always thought that was what she’d wanted. She wanted her crimes to be seen, noticed. She wanted to be known, not disappear into the shadows.

He understood that, he was trying to prove himself too. Killian was a good FBI agent with a shitty childhood and an even worse family history. But he wanted to be great. He wanted to escape the shadows and prove that he was better than those who came before.

He just wanted to do his job. He wanted to catch her. He wanted to catch 'The Swan'. He spent years hunting her. He was supposed to be just one more FBI agent who tried to catch a break and then went on to the easier, flasher cases. 

But not Killian. He had no intention of giving up. Because The Swan was special. She was as elusive as they come, never staying in one place too long, always running, running, running.

There were two of them he knew, but it was always her. She was the one planning things out, making the big moves, making the forgeries, being seen. Never him. He knew that once they got her, his crime spree would end. She was the one that they had proof for. She was the brains and the brawns behind their every operation.  

But the problem was that as the years went by, as he got closer to catching her, he learned a lot about Swan. He learned how she likes her hot chocolate: with cinnamon. He learned she also had a shitty childhood; an orphan at birth, bounced around to one foster home after another. He learned she hated violence. Her jobs were smart and with little to no chance of anyone ever getting hurt. 

And she got to know him too, if the gifts and the birthday cards proved anything. ‘Know thy enemy’ as they say. But no one ever said to send your enemy flirty postcards, uber eat deliveries of your favorite take out places on stake outs, or gifts to your younger sister on her birthday.

He doesn’t remember when it happened, but they had an appreciation for each other. 

Smart, his little sister said once when he was home for a few days before he had to go back out to chase her. You always liked smart. 

It ended like most stories, a betrayal and a trap. He knew it was a trap and let her fall right into it. Neal Cassidy, her partner in crime traded away ‘The Swan’ like she was nothing. Honor among thieves seemed to have skipped him in that lesson.

The look on her face when she was caught, trapped, was painful to him. Her eyes were green fury as the truth became obvious to her. Her eyes looked at Neal who was leaving out the back, and then on him.

"It's about time we met properly," he told her as the uniform officer arrested her. “Agent Jones of the New York FBI White Collar division.” She didn't respond to him. He never expected her to. 

It ended with a defeated bird who flew too close to the sun. 

// 

“Then what happened?”

Then began nearly four years later with Killian Jones, being pulled away from his current case for a jailbreak. ‘The Swan’ had escaped 3 weeks short of her 4 year sentence. It had been years since he even heard her name. Her capture had been his shining moment, it had made his career.

 Her escape had been flawless. Her long hair, chopped off, a guard uniform ordered with the warden’s own credit card. 

She was in the wind with no hope of being found.

“Road blocks, wanted posters, people posted at the train stations and airports,” the marshals told him, but Killian knew her, knew Emma. 

They wouldn’t catch her with the traditional methods. 

She didn’t escape for the traditional reasons. 

She had been a model prisoner, kept her head down and out of trouble, so why leave now? It had taken months of planning. So he went back, when did she start planning her escape? When did things change? 

She got visits from him, from Neal. The vile excuse of a man who got her caught in the first place. He knew better than to judge someone for going back to familiar patterns. Especially trapped in prison. 

But his visits stopped nearly a month ago. The man went from visiting weekly with a smile and a magazine to nothing.

So Killian looked at that tape, the final visit from the conman who got away with it. He wasn't surprised by what he saw. His last visit was final. He had all the body language of it. A pained smile, looking shifty and nervous. Emma had stood, slamming her fist on the glass; he'd seen tears on her cheeks when the guards dragged her back, back towards her cell. She’d screamed and pleaded.

But Neal left anyway.

“Ariel,” he said to the younger agent. She was a bright new recruit, his favorite of the probies. “Get me anything you have on Neal Cassidy and all his known aliases.” Ariel was very good at finding exactly what he needed in moments like this. A cold blooded shark in a sea of misinformation.  

 They find her in an empty apartment, cradling a dreamcatcher in her hand. She looks the same as the last time he’d seen her. Heartbroken. They were in Neal's apartment. The one he rented a few weeks after her trial. 

(Killian remembered seeing him there, full of sorries and excuses. Word on the street was that no one wanted to work with him after that. Honor among thieves was apparently much more important than the man thought.)

“How many are here?” she asks as he enters. Her back towards a pillar in the middle of the room.

“Between the FBI, the Marshals, NYPD...everyone,” he chuckled. He’d told them they hadn’t needed to corner off the streets like this. Emma had never been violent. “They’re going to give you another four years for this, you know that right?”

Emma laughed a humorless laugh. “I was two days late,” she admits, obviously not caring one bit about what he said.

“And that’s all he left you?”

“It means goodbye,” Emma admitted. He gave her a small smile, knowing nothing he can say will help. “I can’t believe they dragged you here for this after all this time.” He wasn’t that surprised. Catching her the first time had been his defining moment; if he failed the second time, they could write it off as a fluke. 

“It’s been a long time, Swan.” She smirked at the name. “But can’t blame them. I was the only one who caught you, none of the others even got close.” She looked at him quizzically. 

He was dusty, fresh from an exploded PO box that his latest case--nicknamed The Dutchman-- had left specifically for him. There were strange threads left on his clothing that none of the Harvard grad FBI agents could tell him anything about. It was something that had agitated him greatly before he’d been pulled here, to find her. 

“This guy’s good,” he told her, watching her look him over. “Maybe even better than you. I’ve been hunting him for a few months now and-” She moved quickly, standing and plucking one of the threads off his jacket blazer. It shined strangely as it caught the light. Killian could hear the marshals, or maybe S.W.A.T. pounding through the doors a few floors beneath them.

“What’s it worth if I can tell you what this is?” she asked, handing it to him. 

“What-”

“I can tell you what these are right now in exchange,” she said quickly. He could practically see the thoughts and plans race in her mind. Time was running out.  “In exchange for a meeting,” she concluded.

“A meeting?” he asked.

“A meeting in one week. Deal?” she asked. They were coming. Killian nodded. Despite his misgivings, it was only a meeting.

“That’s the new security fiber to the Canadian $100 bill,” she said, just in time for the other agents to drag her away. Her smile is bright and mischievous as she refuses to break their gaze until the last possible moment. “I’ll see you in a week!” 

//

“And I was right. It was. According to Agent Jones, it nearly created an international incident.” 

“Did you catch him?”

“We did.” 

It hadn’t been easy, not for Emma now wearing an ankle monitor to keep her in check--a fact that made her insides squirm at the thought of being tethered-- where anything going bad meant she had to go back to prison with no hope of finding Neal.

It made her heart race in that familiar way of when she was a child and got placed. When one wrong move meant they'd send her back. 

“He did a good job disappearing,” Ruby told her in the shadows of Granny’s guest house. Because her friend knew that her first priority was finding Neal.

(She’d run into the old woman at a thrift store looking for some new clothes to wear after seeing the seedy motel Killian had tried to put her in. 

She’d met a kindred spirit in the older woman, a thief after her own heart so to speak. Emma would never forget the look on Killian’s face when he saw her new view. He’d turned to the older woman, “You know she has a criminal record right?” he’d asked her.

Granny had taken it in stride, leaning forward with a smirk. “So did my wife.” she said with a wink.)

"Keep looking, Ruby. I need to find him," she told her friend, her oldest friend. She’d been her partner in crime once, when working with Neal had come with extra stress and baggage. With Ruby things were simpler, easier. Ruby was in the information business. She knew what was being run and where. She knew all the local fences, all the local forgers. If Neal was in the city, Ruby would be able to find him. 

Ruby nodded, but she looked worried. She glanced at the anklet in apprehension. Then back at her. All the tell tale signs that Ruby wanted to say something but worried for her reaction. 

“You know you don’t need him right?” she blurted out. “You’re so much better than him Emma, more talent for this stuff in your pinky then he has in his whole body. He was nothing without you and everyone knew it,” she said, practically bristling with every word. “He betrayed you, why go through so much to find him?” Emma felt her fists clench, along with anger, fury, loss. 

Neal Cassidy was a loaded question where she didn’t have an answer. 

But she pushed it down. She pushed it down deep. A smile appeared on her face. There was so much. So much she didn’t know, so much no one knew. 

Emma couldn’t risk it.

“It’s complicated Ruby,” she said finally. “But in the meantime, what do you know about The Dutchman?”

It had been difficult, Emma had noticed a particular signature in some forged Canadian bond. It was one that Emma recognized. Lilly Prescott. She was a well known forger that was very good at staying well under the radar. The FBI had never even heard of her which was a testament to her ability. 

Emma had tried to work with her once. Her work was good and her planning was even better. But the woman couldn’t help but take things that didn’t belong to her, couldn’t help but press Emma’s buttons in all the worse ways.

It had taken seeing her tongue down Neal’s throat to learn two things: that they couldn’t work together and that it was time to grow up.

And grow up she did when they walked into a church Lilly had been restoring. The little wench had leered at her and Killian. “Emma Swan,” she’d said with a cheeky grin when she caught them comparing her work with that of the signature. “I don’t exactly feel comfortable having a known art thief around my work.” 

“Allegedly,” Emma corrected her. She’d never been caught for her art theft. A point of pride if she’s being honest. Just a few forged bonds.

She says glancing at Killian. “Who’s your friend.”

“Just a friend,” Killian assured Lilly as they shook hands.

“Emma doesn’t have any friends,” Lilly pointed out. “Unless you count Neal of course. But with friends like that, who needs enemies?” she laughed.

The name turned in her stomach, like something good that turned rotten, like a vice grip on her that she still couldn’t shake.

Not until she found him.

“Of course,” Killian agreed, glancing her way. I know she’s trying to get under your skin, his gaze told her as she pushed her walls firmer in place. If Killian could see that this woman could affect her, it worried her what else he could see.

“You wouldn’t know anything about a thief known as The Dutchman would you?” Emma asked innocently. Because if there was one thing Emma knew, it was that Lilly hated being outdone. “I hear his work is second only to...oh you know.” She smirked at her. “Allegedly of course.” 

“Of course,” Lilly said, an edge to her words. It’s all Emma needed to hear. Because she knows she did it. That’s what she tells Killian after they’re asked to leave the church.

“I know she did it Killian.” his hand on her arm halted her pacing. “Did you see the look on her face?”

He did, she knew he did. “I believe you Swan, but we need proof,” Killian insisted. “That’s how this works.”

Proof came with Emma breaking into Lily’s warehouse and Killian coming and arresting them both. She’d cut her anklet after all, seizing all Lily’s things that were in plain sight.

It turned out reading all those law books in prison counted for something. 

//

“And then your partnership was born.”

And it was good, if Killian was honest, it was better than he ever expected when Emma had proposed this deal. She showed up every day for work. She often showed up in ridiculously expensive suits with a fedora on her head. He’d groaned when he first saw it, earning an elbow in his side and a “You just don’t understand fashion.”

(Trouble, like the woman who occasionally gave Emma tips about the criminals they were hunting, the woman who introduced herself rather reluctantly as a Missy Wolfe when Killian had showed up unannounced, who looked him over with a predatory glare and called him a ‘suit’. 

“She doesn’t trust cops.” Emma had explained later. “She’s harmless, I promise.”

But she sure did know how to drink all Killian’s beer that’s for sure.)

Every day they would use her knowledge of the criminal underworld to find white collar criminals. After several weeks, they had a 92% closure rate and an even higher recovery rate.

But there was still this thing hanging above them. Between them. A secret they both knew about but refused to talk about.  

And his name was Neal Cassidy. 

Killian could tell she was looking for him no matter how many times he told her not to. Neal was her weakness, the one thing that caused the normally level headed woman to lose her bloody mind. This was a good thing for her. Emma Swan would rot behind bars and this way at least she was doing good. 

Emma Swan liked doing good. He could tell, even when she refused to admit it.

She brought him his picture one day while they’re on their way to speak to a witness, the picture was from an atm in Tallahassee. “Please.” She begged. “I need to find him, to see him. Come with me please, send an agent, the marshals, send me in full shackles and prison oranges I don’t care.” 

He had never seen her so desperate, not when he caught her, not when she asked him for this...arrangement. “Swan...what we have here...it’s good. It’s a second chance for you, why risk it for him? He put you here. Why risk it all for him?”

She didn’t respond, hands tightened into fists as she looked down. Killian swore he saw something in her expression something that would explain how this intelligent woman being so infatuated with-

“You’re right.” She says, her voice level. Eyes hard like steel. “There is no reason for me to be chasing Neal Cassidy.” She hissed the words.

Killian doesn’t have her super power, but he knows there’s more to the story than she’s letting on. “If there’s something you’re not telling me-” But she shook her head. 

“You said it’s not happening, and what does it matter what I want.” She says shifting on her feet, shifting the anklet like she always does when she feels particularly trapped. “I’m just your CI. A convict without a choice in any of this.” 

He stops her right there. “Swan, when have I ever treated you like you don’t have a choice in this? If you don’t like what we ask of you, if you think it’s too riky all you have to do is say the word and-”

“-And I go to prison.” She snapped. “I go back there and rot.” Her temper was flaring and Killian stepped back, fearing getting burned. 

“When have I ever threatened you with that?” He asked sincerely. “When have I ever told you that unless you go undercover with this mobster, or that corporate trader that you’d be shipped back?” He says. 

Emma doesn’t respond, head dipping slightly. “What about the other agents? That’s what they said would happen.” She admitted in a small voice. “And really, the jobs we do, they’re fine. I don’t feel endangered.” She assured him simply. 

“Emma, I swear to you, your safety and happiness is just as important as these jobs. You are not just a criminal.” He says sternly. He steps closer to her, wanting her to look at him and hear him. Seeing her cowed and unnerved unsettled him. “Try something new darling, it’s called trust.”

“Trust doesn’t exactly come easy to me.” Emma admitted. “There’s really no way I can get to Tallahassee?” She asked once more.

Killian sighed.

The moment they finished the job, he sent a message to Ariel. 

 “Get me anything you can on Neal Cassidy’s recent activity and do it discreetly.” He says. 

“Why?” She asked. It was why he valued the younger agent as much as he does, she knows when to put her head down and do as he asks, but she also knows when to press him for details.

“Emma’s not going to stop pursuing Neal.” He told her. “I want to know what she finds out, finding Neal ourselves is the best way to know what she’s up to.”  

She handed him a file on the man the next morning, a file Killian took back home with him at the end of the night. He couldn’t risk Emma catching him snooping on her ex. He felt silly hiding it, but the thought of her knowing he was doing so filled him with dread.

“Maybe you should tell her you’re jealous.” Belle informed him as she came home from class, seeing him consumed with the file at their kitchen table. His little sister always seemed to come home from her classes at just the right moment to see him when he’s consumed with a case. 

“I’m not jealous Belle.” He says quickly, closing the file. “I’m being thorough.”

He is. There was something there, his gut feels it. There’s something about this man that Emma was hiding from him. 

“After all the cat and mouse you’ve done with her, I bet she’d tell you if you asked.” Belle informs him. But Killian disagreed, he knows she won't be truthful with him if he asked. It’ll be an evasive answer framed to have him pointed in the opposite direction. It was how she worked while on the run. This is the only way. 

“How do you know?” Killian asked. “You’ve never even met her.” He reminded her. 

“And who’s fault is that?”

//

“Then the Diamond heist.”

“Then the Diamond heist”

It had happened quickly. A diamond heist that had been done with such perfection Emma was generally impressed. They had video surveillance in the vault and nowhere else. It was as if they just vanished, and considering that New York had extensive video surveillance it was impressive. 

It was a job she would do once upon a time. Just the kind of take that was exciting enough to catch her attention. But that was in the past. 

Emma was determined to keep her head down when it came to jobs. She had a bigger problem on her hands. Someone had Neal, or at least was putting pressure on him. He’d signaled her from an ATM camera in Tallahassee. 

Their plan had always been Tallahassee, a city in the middle of Florida of all places. No one would expect anyone who had stolen millions of dollars of artifacts to retire there of all places. It was perfect. They were going to have the life they always wanted growing up.

(It just so happened that Emma had told him that’s where she had her stash at. 

A lie. A trap. Bait he had fallen for now after all this time. Never once did he leave his apartment in New York, only now did that stone come loose. It had to mean something.)

But not everyone knew that Emma was done with that life. Not even her most trusted confidant --and partner in more than one crime--Ruby believed her.

“Of course I didn’t do it.” She’d hissed into the phone when the brunette asked her excitedly. “But do you know who did?”

“None of my contacts know anything, sorry Em. I’ll keep an ear out.” She answered. Emma can hear the sounds of birds on the other end. She knew better than to ask. “That’s why I thought it was you.”

It wasn’t long after that that the forged diamond is shown to have a small swan etched into it. One that matched the ones she left in her forged bonds. It became very clear very fast that she was being framed. 

“Killian, you need to know I didn’t do this.” She insisted, backing away from them in the parking lot after having been confronted. “You have to believe me.” Her eyes looked for him. She needed to know he believed her. 

It didn’t matter who else did, just him. Because if Killian didn’t have her back then who would?

“Killian?” She asked when he didn't meet her gaze. He did eventually. He looked saddened. “You know I was set up right?” 

Killian didn’t respond. It made her furious. It reminded her of the real situation here. She was just the criminal and he was just her handler. Any semblance of a partnership was just a figment of her imagination.

“Swan...” He said softly. “If what you’re saying is true, I swear to you I will get to the bottom of it.” I believe you. “But until then...Emma Swan you are under arrest...”

Back to prison. Back to the cell. Back to being helpless while Neal is off with-

She couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not when someone was trying to frame her. The same person who was holding Neal, she was sure of it.

So Emma did what she did best. She ran. 

She ran and ran and ran. She’d spent every day on her walks to the office coming up with escape routes through a city she knows too well. The agents depend too much on the anklet to catch her. 

The tracker is tamper proof but no one ever said it was foolproof. All it takes is a sharp knife and a toss over the edge of one of the many footbridges in Manhattan for it to be a useless blinking distraction. 

Every bone in her body tells her to run as fast and as far as she can. It wouldn’t take much to get out of the city, some cash from one of Ruby’s stashes and a visit to some supplies for a new ID. All she would have to do is say the word and Ruby would run with her. She was good like that, always ready to get into all sorts of trouble for her. 

But if she did, if she ran then she would be as good as guilty of this crime. She would never get a chance to prove her innocence. She would never get her chance to find Neal.

She had to find Neal. 

I believe you. Killian had tried to tell her that. Maybe it was time to try that thing called trust...

It’s how she meets Belle because while Killian is off coordinating with the Marshals, she’s drinking tea with the sweet brunette she had sent an 18th birthday gift to a few years back. 

Killian Jones’s little sister was as fierce as her brother. Belle asked her if she’d done the crime she’d been accused of.

No.

And she had leveled her with a steel glare. “Then Killian will prove it.” She’d said with such certainty, such conviction that she understood a bit about Killian’s stubbornness. It was genetic. “You just need to trust him.”

Emma did. Emma really did, more than she trusted anyone. He was honest, a good man. He was fierce keeping her out of the line of danger when at all possible and he cared for her. Moments like this reminded Emma of why everything had gone so wrong.

I’m tired of running.

“I’m going to call him.” Belle says, not a question. “If you don’t think you can, if you really think Killian won’t have your back after everything, you have until then to leave.” Emma doesn’t move. Not when Belle is talking to Killian about her classes, about having found a stray bird in their patio. (Code for her she assumes)

That’s when she sees the blinking in the cable box and she knows. She knows that this is all a lot bigger than the two of them.

Killian was positively furious when he arrived, all red faced and fuming. “Bloody hell Swan!” Killian hisses when he storms in. “Why did you come here?” Emma didn’t know, not really. Just an instinct and her instinct was telling her to come here. That he would know what to do. “If you were going to run, why come here?! You involved my sister!”

Emma swallows back her words, fear taking a hold in her chest.

“Killian. Give her a chance.” Belle said, taking a place inbetween. “Just listen.” He did.

“I’ve been tracking Neal.” Emma admitted. “Someone...someone has him.“ she takes out the photo she’d shown him. The whole photo, she had been too afraid to show it to him earlier, the hand on his arm, the shine of something pressed against his ribs. Something that looked very similar to a revolver. “They want something I stole but I can’t-I don’t know what it is. I had a friend of mine poke around and I think I got too close.” She explains. “Because they framed me. It has to be connected, Killian.” 

There was no other explanation, stirring this fight or flight instinct in her bones. But she has to hold firm, she has to trust in Killian. Because here she was, all her cards on the table. 

“Maybe, but this is not how to do things.” He says sternly. “Running isn’t going to get you anywhere but caught or-” Killian swallows back his words. “That marshal really has it in for you Swan.”

(The marshall in question was one Walshe Greene, appearing the moment they returned to the office wanting to speak to her about the fact that some of her anklet’s tracking data had gotten corrupted. 

Data that just so happened to coincide with the robbery. He’d been dickish and entitled, coming into her space when she didn’t crumble under his thinly veiled threats.

Threats she didn’t tell Killian about.) 

She pointed over to his deconstructed cable box. “Not just me.” She hissed his way. A bug was in his house, in his home. The home he shared with his sister. “Both of us.”

  She sees his barely concealed furry, the shock and fear on Belle’s face. “Whatever is coming, it’s coming for both of us.”

//

“She was cleared of that.”

“She was. Then you seemed to find her rather quickly, despite telling Marshal Greene that he would catch her with wanted posters and roadblocks.”

“I have exceptional luck.”

Things shifted from there. Instead of working this case on one end and Emma from another, Killian felt her walls fracture ever so slightly, and perhaps the guard he put up around her also came down ever so slightly. Perhaps too much. 

(Once they found one bug in his home, Belle was insistent that someone come over and deep clean their place of any form of listening devices. It wasn’t long after the case got wrapped up that Emma called over an ‘exterminator’. 

“Missy Wolfe.” She introduced herself to Belle, a smirk on her face. “But you sweetie can call me Red.” Belle had raised an eyebrow at her. 

“When Emma mentioned she knew someone, I expected you to be...”

“Less gorgeous?” She’d said with a grin. “And when our mutual friend had said the suit had a cute sister I definitely imagined someone like you.” A surge of protectiveness surged within him at the way that Red was looking at his sister.

“I think you’re here to do a job” He reminded her. 

“I am quite a skilled multitasker.” )

 She showed him her lead to whoever was after them. A message in the video surveillance, of their breakup and Neal messaging her in morse code by tapping at his side. Dream It meant the dream catcher which led her to a meeting in Grand Central Terminal at the end of the week.

Killian had been there when he called her. Seen her panicked face when she heard his voice. “Give him what he wants.” Neal had said. 

“What is it he wants?” She’d asked.

“Give him everything. It’s the only way I can come home, the only way for us to be together.” He said. Killian could feel her heart break when she said the words.

“I can’t Neal. It’s the only leverage I have.”  She looked up and Emma ran. She ran because she saw him. She saw her lover that she can’t reach, can’t catch, can’t have. Killian makes him out for a moment but he’s gone. He’s gone by the time they get to where he was, a roof of a building looking down at them. 

Emma collapsed in a sob and he was barely in time to catch her. Barely in time for him to hold her. She cried into his chest, something rare and primal and aching. 

“I just want him back.” she sobbed and his heart ached for her. He understood the feeling of losing someone you love, of not being able to be with them. He holds her, hand running through her hair, her blonde locks that are growing in from the cut she’d done months before. His head finds a place on the top of her head as he tries his best to comfort her. 

Emma came back to herself after a moment, pulling away, rubbing her sadness from her face as easily as putting on a mask.

“We are late for a case aren’t we?”

They are. But there’s something about the vulnerability of Emma in that moment that conflicted with the flirty beautiful woman in front of him that distressed him. Perhaps it’s the ease that her walls come back up. 

Or maybe, they aren’t walls, maybe it’s a loosely fitted cork, because their next case involves a kidnapped child and a pair of parents so obsessed with the reading of their dead aunt’s will to even know when the little girl had been taken. 

Questions like if the will had been forged, or if the inheritance was filled with counterfeits had become meaningless without the child. A fact that exploded out of Emma at the father who was planning on leaving the country with ‘his’ inheritance before the FBI could interfere. The man had crumbled before her blunt display of emotions, her fury and her grief.

“She deserves better than to be just another pawn in whatever game the two of you are playing.” She hissed. “It’s not about money, take it for someone who’s had a hell of a lot. There’s more to life than numbers on a check and if anything happens to that kid you’re going to learn that the hard way too.”

He understood. He understood then, and he understood later. 

“Case hit home for you didn’t it?” He asked afterwards over a beer once the child was reunited with  parents that may have learned a thing about family from Emma. An old bookie of the husband had tried to pressure him into complying. 

“Little kids are cute, what can I say.” She said evasively while taking the offered beer. That was another sign Emma was still hurting, she hated beer. “She deserves better.” That she did. “You did too.” He smirks, knowing that she knew him better than most. Yet he wondered exactly how much she did know.

“And how much exactly do you know about my childhood?”

“I know that you loved your father, you idolized him. You had his knack for numbers.” She said. “I know he used you as a diversion when the feds came in and busted down your door. He left you and your mom with nothing.” She swallowed and he could see her picking her words carefully. That meant she knew more than most. “I know you learned that he had at least two other families, an elder brother in DC. and a younger sister in Georgia who appeared at your door when you had just lost your mom. You took her in no questions asked.” Killian remembers the day he met his elder brother. The man had been older and took one look at him and wanted nothing to do with him. Killian was just another reminder of what Brennan Jones had done. He also remembers the day several years later when a teenaged Belle had knocked on his door. He took one look at her and remembered what Brennan had done, but he swore to accept her no matter how much the reminder hurt. 

“So you know quite a bit, Swan.” He responded. “I also know a bit myself.” He countered. 

“Of course you do.” She laughed, “I bet you even know my shoe size.”

“8.5 or sometimes 9 if the shoe runs small.” He said with a smirk. “You left a pair in that hotel in Rio.” A pair of bright red pumps that matched a bright red dress. “Why do you care so much?” Or maybe it’s the beer talking, talking too much if he’s honest. “Neal betrayed you, he left you, why do you care so much about saving him?”

The laughter dies from her face, something heavy takes its place. “Seeing my position a little too similar to your own?” She deflected. “Someone who got left behind just like you?”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you deserve so much better Swan.”

“What exactly do I deserve Agent Jones.” She said, leaning forward. “I’m a criminal.” That she is. But he doesn’t think about that when he leans forward and cups her cheek. He doesn’t think about that when he brushes strands of blonde hair out of her face, nor when he smiles and-

//

"Has Agent Jones ever behaved unprofessionally?"

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional. 

He had to be, with a family history like his. Even Emma’s heard of it through her underground contacts. She’s heard of the legendary Brennan Jones who masterminded a theft like no other, millions of dollars gone in a blink of an eye.

She’d heard through the office gossip about him. About how no one trusted him when he was recruited right out of college, his superiors always made things difficult. Never trusting that he wasn’t just like his father. 

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional, that’s what made Emma enjoy the chase so much. Because she knew it was a true battle of wits, not like the muscle head marshals. Killian was smart and honorable. If he was going to catch her, it would be done the right way.He was just like her.

 But the way he looks at her sometimes is so not professional in all of the best ways. 

Sometimes he looks fuming, mostly when she’s pushed the limits a bit too far, gets in over her head, and just makes it out by the skin of her teeth. But always looks relieved when she makes it out.

Sometimes he looks like she holds the sun and the moon because she’s figured out some con or trick someone pulls. It always comes with a “You’re brilliant Swan.” when no one else is listening. She always shoots back a knowing smirk, tucks a loose strand of blonde behind her ear and replies with “I know.” It always makes him roll his eyes but his expression never wavers. 

And that one time, after a particularly draining case, after that little girl with parents who didn’t give a damn about her had been rescued and she thought...she thought he was going to kiss her and...

And Emma may have to admit to herself that she wanted him to. 

But with Neal, and the FBI frowning upon CI handler relationships, not that a kiss meant a relationship...God Emma was confused. They hadn’t kissed and perhaps she had misread the situation completely. Because he’d practically scrambled away when it happened.

He’d ran out the door with some made up excuse on his lips, a deep blush on his face. 

Maybe it was all in her head, maybe she was the one being unprofessional. But she can’t help the way he makes her feel more than her past, more than what she can do. 

With Neal it had always felt like it was them against the world.

With Killian she thinks maybe they can just exist in the world, maye make it a little better in the process.

What makes it worse was a conversation she hears between Ariel and Killian days after their almost kiss. Days after she spends a night dreaming of what could be. 

Emma hadn’t meant to be eavesdropping, but she had a lead on their new case and was heading into his open office when she heard them talking in tense low voices.

“What was your talk with Neal like?” The younger agent asked him. It makes her stop in her tracks, makes her heartbeat wildly.

He shot Ariel a glare and told her to keep her voice down. But he hadn’t refuted her claim. 

He doesn’t tell her about it later when she finds a more convenient time to talk to her about the case. 

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Emma asked Ruby later in her apartment over a tall glass of wine. Because she desperately needs the alcohol to calm down her racing thoughts.

“Emma...Does it ever occur to you that maybe...maybe Killian is involved?” She contemplated, sitting across from Emma with her own equally tall glass of wine.

“Involved?” 

“Killian is in the prime position if you think about it.” She muses. “You under his thumb, maybe Neal in his back pocket. Maybe it was him all along.” Emma shook her head because no. It couldn’t be.

Killian Jones was the embodiment of professional.

“Then why is he keeping his meeting with Neal a secret when you’ve been upfront with him? After all, his own father is a master of crime, maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

//

“So she trusted you?”

“Yes.”

Emma Swan does trust him. 

Killian remembered that case they had a few months back, Emma had gone and broken into a shady hospital without backup or a warrant. The case had involved Granny’s granddaughter not getting a kidney and she’d gone rouge. 

Something he warned her against a half dozen times by this point. 

She’d broken in and gotten caught and drugged up to the gills. Killian had had to get in and break her out without anyone realizing. He’d even stolen the security tapes.

“I trust you Killian...out of everyone in my life, Neal, Ruby...you are the only one I truly trust.”

Emma did trust him. She trusted him with her free smile when she was feeling particularly excited out on a job. She trusted him with her fury when things were hard and she felt truly trapped by their arrangement. She trusted him with her tears when she thought about Neal. She didn’t often say much but he just knows. 

He knows her.

Emma trusted him to know her and Killian knew it’s not something freely given. 

But then out of nowhere that guarded expression on her face returns. Any move he made seems to be met with passive aggressive responses and half truths. She had her barely contained fury back beneath her eyes. 

It reminded him of a young agent who was furious when he learned that all the older agents were laughing behind his back. When he learned that they would never take him seriously because he was damaged. He was a joke. 

Emma Swan was no joke.

It unsettled him, he can’t figure out what changed. 

Or perhaps he was reading too much into her responses, after all, he was keeping a rather large secret from her. Because despite not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to break her trust, he feared this new information would be too much for her. Too much temptation. 

Because there was nothing more tempting to Emma than information about Neal Cassidy. 

It had taken some favors and a considerable amount of FBI weight throwing to secure the meeting, but he’d had it. Killian had had a meeting with Neal Cassidy. 

He knew what they wanted from Emma.  

(“A music box, she stole it in Germany just before...about a year before you caught her. They won’t let me go...they won’t let us be together without it.” He’d assured him.

“How do we know any of this is real?” He asked him. “How do we know this isn’t some game to get in her head?”

Neal gave him a disbelieving smirk. “I guess you don’t know. But considering you don’t know the whole story, I have to say that I have the advantage.”

“I find that whenever the supposed hostage talks about having the advantage they are rarely telling the truth.” He replies firmly.

“Ask Emma about the job we ran in October. If she tells you the truth then you’ll know exactly why Emma has to hand over the music box”)

He knew what they wanted from Emma, but he wasn’t sure if telling her would be smart. He honestly wasn’t sure if she could handle it.

That is, until in the middle of a job, a sting operation Emma had snapped. She’d nearly turned him in, her eyes had turned steely and she hissed that she knew. 

“I know you have Neal, that this whole thing is a game, a trap, a trick.” she seethed. It had completely caught him off guard. 

“What?!” He’d demanded, but the mark was listening, hell all his agents were listening. They couldn’t do this here. “If you have ever trusted me, you’ll give me a chance to explain myself otherwise get back to the case.” He’d said sharply. He met her steely glare with her own and nodded once.

I trust you.

She’d proven it later that day when their mark had locked in an airlock and they only had one canister of air. She’d shoved it into his grasp. “I trust you.” She’d whispered out loud this time. Please don’t play me for a fool.

He hadn’t, of course. They’d found their way out and sitting there in front of a multimillion dollar mansion swarmed with agents and bundled in shock blankets, he’d told her.

“I met Neal.” He admitted her. Her eyes are wide, but she’s not surprised. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think you could handle it.” But he was wrong, so wrong. 

“You had no right to keep that from me.” She replied sharply. “But I understand why you did.” her expression softened. “I know how I must look to you: a love sick fool chasing after a man who hurt me. Risking everything for him...”She trailed off before fixing him a firm gaze. “What did he tell you?”

“He told me what he wanted. A music box.”

“A music box.” Emma repeated. She laughed at her words. Laughed like he’d told her the most ridiculous joke in the world. “Then let’s go get the music box.”

//

“And where was the music box?” 

“Under our noses the whole time.”

 “Bloody hell Swan!” He’d cursed. “How?” 

It had been one of her most daring moves. She’s not sure why she decided to do it, but after she thought of it...the idea was just too intoxicating. It was a challenge, a dare and perfect. So perfect.

Getting the music box had been difficult, a job that didn’t really interest Neal. It was a little too flashy without enough reward. Thankfully a fence of hers had been able to take his place on the job.

 (A fact that Neal was not happy about.) 

Graham had been good, and it had gone off nearly flawlessly. She’d given him a cut of the profit she would make when she sold the music box--and a slap for a stolen kiss that Neal still doesn’t know about--except she never did get around to selling the damn thing.

She’d meant to, really. But this was right in the beginning of Agent Jones pursuit of her and she’d thought he was cute and enjoyed teasing him with her gifts. 

So Emma had set to work. A good forger can make something worthless look real, but only a great forger could make a priceless artifact seem like a fake knock off.

So that’s what she did. No one ever knew, they didn’t even suspect it. 

“My sister!” Killian exclaims again. “What did I tell you about involving her?” Emma shrugs. 

“To be fair I had already long sent it to her by the time you gave me that warning.” She told him simply, picking up the item. “I assume it came back clean when you sent it to the lab?” It was smaller than she remembered, a fake gloss painted on to mask it’s trace components.

“They traced it to a manufacturer in China and Belle liked how it sounded. Bloody hell, what would we have done if she had tossed it like I wanted to do?” She’d found a similar looking one and stole the packaging. Emma shrugged. 

“I didn’t exactly anticipate for some rogue agent to kidnap Neal for this thing. I didn’t even steal it for anything other than morbid curiosity.” She admitted. “Now that we have it, when can we get the meeting?” She asks.

Killian sighs. “I’ve put word out, hopefully Neal will contact me and we can set a time.”

“Or.” Emma adds. “We can contact the person pulling the strings behind this, behind everything.” She snaps. 

“We don’t know for sure.” Killian says with a calming gesture.

“You really think Walshe has nothing to do with this?” Emma snaps. “After coming into town just in time to frame me for the diamond heist?”

Killian doesn’t respond. Emma takes the music box tightly in her hands. “This has to end. It has to end now.” 

“Swan-” But she steps out of his grip. “We need to do this the right way, catch him red handed, not just hand him what he wants, when will it end?”

Oh it’ll end. The stakes were too high for Emma not to see to it that this cat and mouse game end now.

Plans circulated in her head, how to get out with the music box, how to make the exchange before Killian could talk her into a more by the book plan. Sometimes things couldn’t go by the book. Sometimes the ugly gritty way was the only way.

Killian’s phone rang loudly at his side. He picks it up, giving Emma a look. We’ll figure this out, you just need to trust me.

But something on the other end was clearly very wrong. His eyes narrowed and she could see something darker and fiercer just below the surface. “Stay there Belle.”

He could hear the younger girl talking quickly on the phone, Killian’s hand clenched. She was clearly very upset.“I’ll be right there. Do not say a single word until I get there.” He glanced at her. “We need to go now. Belle’s just been arrested.”

//

“She was arrested because the Marshalls believed a phone call she received from an unfamiliar number was our father.”

“Was it?”

“Just a spam caller”

The marshalls had wanted him out of the way, and they got it. It hadn’t taken much. They had Belle in handcuffs, her eyes were red as her classmates looked on, Walshe’s grip on her was rough and his words had been rude and vial and then he’d had the balls to mention Emma. So he’d swung and decked Walshe Green in the face. 

It felt good. But it ended with him in cuffs besides Belle. He’d watched a wide eyed Emma leave with Ariel, considering her handler was about to be put on suspension he was glad she wasn’t being taken into custody next. She’d been strangely silent through the whole ordeal.

 Emma had tried to deescalate the situation at first, but a comment Walshe had made left her frozen. Emma Swan never froze up.

“You never know, a parent’s greatest desire is to see their kid, wouldn’t you agree Emma?”

It wasn’t until afterwards. After he was back home missing his badge and gun, he realized two things. 

The Music box was gone.

This had never been about Neal.

//

“When we were originally tackling The Swan, Emma took a year gap where we couldn’t find a single hint of a job she was running. The working theory was that she was waiting for the heat of her last job to die down.”

“And now?”

“Now I realize that she went underground for a different reason.”

They met at the drop point. 

Emma felt bad for having Ruby steal the music box from Killian’s house, but it was the only way. No one was supposed to know about him. No one was ever supposed to connect her to the little boy that was born in New York Hospital in October of that year.

They were supposed to disappear and start a new life together, Tallahassee. 

Neal and her called it Tallahassee. It was the end game plan, retire and move to Florida or some island in the tropics. But Neal had never wanted to go clean, so Emma took her son and ran. 

So Neal set a trap for her. She set a trap so she couldn’t disappear with their kid. 

“When you get out.” He said, holding one of his toys, one of her son’s toys “We can be a family. It was only four years.”

Emma had hated him for four years, for robbing her of that time together, of wanting to be a father and changing his mind and then changing his mind again. 

It wasn’t until now, until Neal was faced with losing their kid, of him being abducted and held above their heads that he truly cared. Maybe, maybe it’s not too late for them.  

They met at the drop point, except there was no Neal, only Walshe. But she doesn't let that shake her resolve.

“Where is he?” She demanded. 

“Neal is around.” Walshe said cryptically. “I hear you have my box.” She didn’t deny it. 

“I’m not talking about Neal.” She said. “You’re not getting a damn thing unless I can see my son.” The man smirked wider than he had any reason to. 

“Don’t trust me?”

Emma didn’t dignify his words with a response. He gave a large sigh and opened his car door. There in the backseat, passed out in his car seat is Henry. She hadn’t seen him since he was an infant, but she knew. It was her son. Her four year old little boy looked positively exhausted but in good health. It made her gasp in relief, tears gathering in her eyes. 

He’s gotten so big.

“Where’s my music box?”

She gave it to him without a moment’s hesitation. Her only focus was pulling that boy into her arms and never letting go. She was never letting him go again. “Neal said to give you these.” Walshe added after the box is placed securely in his car. It was an envelope. She takes it with the hand not around the boy. 

Papers...She realized a whole new identity and not just for her. Neal, Emma and Henry Nolan. A normal happy little family. It was good, extensive. 

A happy ending after all. Four years ago this is all she’d ever wanted. 

“There’s a jet waiting for you, it’ll take you wherever you want. The three of you can disappear.” Walshe explained. 

“Why?” Emma asks. “Why go through all of this? Kidnapping my son, using him to get to Neal to get to me? Just for that.” Because it wasn’t worth that much, not enough for all this.

“Because my employer wants it.” Walshe said cryptically. But he doesn’t elaborate, he doesn’t need to. It says all she needs to know.

There’s someone behind the curtain. 

“You better get going. Neal is waiting for you.” The address was written in the envelope, so she settled Henry in his car seat in her car and then she headed out. 

But not before she sent Belle the most expensive collection of sketch books and paints money can buy, art school wasn’t cheap and she had talent. Real talent.

Not before she called Granny and thanked her for everything.  

Not before she called Ruby and told her about Henry. The papers...

(“I don’t know why you didn’t trust me to tell me the truth Emma.” She’d said. “But for what it’s worth I’m glad you are finally getting the life that you want. But you know what I always say-”

“A happy ending.” Emma breathed. “Is all about where you stop the story.”

She could feel Ruby’s grin through the phone. “From the moment we met, I knew your story was going to be exciting, but my question is, is this where you want to stop the story?” ) 

But Emma didn’t have time to contemplate her words. She needed to go. They had to get out, they needed to run. This is what she always wanted.

She was 50 feet from the plane when she heard her name being called out in the terminal. 

“Swan!” It makes her stop in her tracks. She can’t help but feel her chest tighten at the sound of her name. She turned to see him. His suit is rumpled, tie missing. He looks like he ran all the way here. “Swan wait.” She did. She had to.  

“You can’t stop me Killian.” She said. “You can’t.”

He nodded. “I know, all of this was sanctioned. It’s all an op as far as anyone can tell.” He agreed. “Legally I can’t interfere.” 

Legally.

“Why are you here Killian?” Sha asked. 

“I’m here to remind you of what you’re walking away from if you get on that plane. I know what you want Swan, I’ve always known. You want to be a part of something. You are here.” She bit her lip, he was smiling at her, something delicate and desperate. He wanted her to stay so badly. 

“Neal once said that we run. We run until when we run from something we just miss it.” She recalled. 

“You don’t need to run anymore Emma. You can stay. You and your son. You can stay.” He promised. “You don’t have to look over your shoulder anymore.” 

“Why are you here Killian?” She asked again. Because it can’t be for her. It didn’t make sense. She’s a criminal, a convict, a fraud. She didn’t deserve for him to look at her like that.

“Because you sent Belle art supplies. You called Ruby and Granny. You said goodbye to everyone except for me.” He reminded her “Why?”

Why hadn’t she? 

“Because...” she trailed off. “You’re the only person who could change my mind.”

He smiled at her, close enough to cup her cheek. “Did I?” She doesn't speak. She can’t. She leans in and kisses him. Something she never dared to want. Never dared to even consider. 

It was better than she ever imagined. It was something that she would surely miss if she got on that plane. 

But is it enough? Is it enough to turn away from a definite happy ending? Or is she walking away from it?  “Killian...

Emma didn’t get a chance to contemplate the issue further.

 Because when she looks back at the plane, at Neal’s face in the window of the plane, before she has a chance the plane explodes.

//

“And you know the rest.” Killian says. “They immediately took Emma into custody. Investigators descended on the terminal, Walshe went underground and you’re here to determine if my actions warrant you taking my badge.” 

The investigators glare at him, clearly not believing some of what he’s saying. But they’ve been glaring at him since he stepped into the room. It was probably a side effect of having just interviewed Emma. 

But it doesn’t matter what they believe. All that matters is what they choose to do. They can choose to give him back his badge and gun and let him do his job. Or they won’t.

“Do you believe Ms.Swan set the bomb that killed Mr. Cassidy?”

He looks them dead in the eye. “No.” He says pointedly. “She would never do that.” Not just because she was supposed to be on that plane, not just because her son was supposed to be on that plane but because Emma wasn’t a killer.

They don’t ask him any more questions. 

He walks out the door with his badge, his gun and a warning. But there’s time to worry about that later. Right now all Killian wants to do is see her. He wants to see if she’s there. If she had left before he was done or if she was waiting for him.

And she is. She’s leaning against his door of his car a smile on her face and a-

“Another hat Swan?” He asks. Emma smirks, removing the hat and placing it on his head. 

“I think it looks pretty good.” Emma says with a smirk and a subtle bite of her lip. “What do you think?” Now it’s Killian’s turn to smirk. She looks brilliant with that hat, so he places it back on her blonde head of hair. It does little to distract from the brand new tracker on her ankle, but he appreciated the attempt. Its slimmer chases less according to the memo Emma had emailed him..

“How’s Henry?” He asks. It had been a few weeks since she met the boy, since he’d caught him and his mother from the explosive blast of the plane that killed his father.

“Adjusting.” She says, her grin fading. 

Emma wasn’t allowed to keep him, social workers didn’t feel comfortable given that she was a current convict with an unusual situation. Thankfully Ariel was a registered foster parent with a spare bedroom. Henry had immediately taken a shine to Ariel and her husband and their current foster, a six year old girl named Melody. 

It wasn’t perfect, but Emma could see him as often as she wanted while she applied to earn back rights she never should have lost. 

“What now?” Emma asks. Her hand drifts to his. Her hands are softer than he’d thought. He leans in close, not too close but closer than he should. Closer than a handler should be with his charge. But he was close enough to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s smiling. 

“Now? We have another case.” He tells her. 

“And later?” She adds. “What do you plan to do about Walshe, and Neal and-”

“I don’t know.” He says honestly. “But whatever we do, know that we’ll figure it out together.”

[akiwisfics]

Dipping Her Toes In

Summary:  A snapshot of what freedom might look like for Kirari, and the next step of her relationship with Sayaka. Notes: Response to the Hundred Devouring Artist’s Prompt, “Kirari’s first ‘I love you.’” You can find the rest of the collection here. 

---

>> “What does it mean to be in love?”

“... With love being so closely connected to meaning and fulfillment, it's valuable for each of us to define love as an action or series of actions we can take to bring us closer to the people we value...”

A glance through the article doesn’t offer many tidbits. Warnings about not appreciating partners over time, fantasy bonds, things that she never considers. In any case, it’s been some time now, and just as quickly, she clicks the tab close.  She needs something more… concrete.

>> “Scientific studies on love.”

“...During the first love-year, serotonin levels gradually return to normal, and the ‘stupid’ and ‘obsessive’ aspects of the condition moderate. That period is followed by increases in the hormone oxytocin, a neurotransmitter associated with a calmer, more mature form of love…”

The medical benefits might interest Sayaka if she brings it up; they sound like things the girl would use to justify using the word herself, but by now, she knows better: Sayaka gives in to the feeling, surrenders to its irrationality like the true beast that it is. Though it isn’t useful, perse, she does bookmark it for later. Sometimes, Sayaka gets bored with her schoolwork, and something tells her she may appreciate a small abstract like this for bedtime reading.

The girl never learns to relax.

>> “Quotes on love.”

“ At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”

Plato is a questionable source of advice, maybe. The quotes are saccharine and only fill her mouth a sickenly sour taste. They’re better suited for agonizing romance novels and pop tunes that Yumemi still sings on the radio sometimes. Perhaps a straightforward approach is necessary.

>> “Wiki-How ‘How to Confess Your Love’”

“Take a step back. Be rational for a moment, and take stock of the situation. Consider your relationship to this person, and try to predict how they will receive your words.”

Oh.

Was she supposed to confess before the relationship started? She doesn’t think Sayaka would reject her if she admits to it; not when the other girl had confessed her love… a year ago now? A year and a half? It feels longer, but she tries to block out the shades of things she doesn’t want to think about; it’s easier that way, when now she has something normal that’s hers.

But how would Sayaka react to it? It’s a thought she’s never considered, so she keeps reading.

“Make sure that you mean it. If you have never been in love before, it may be hard to understand the implications of this phrase. There are many types of love…”

What does that mean?

“Sister?”

Kirari pokes her head away from her laptop, and notes the curious look in Ririka’s eyes. She knows she hadn’t started that long ago, but it feels so much later than it is. There’s some cacophony of traffic outside their apartment window, drunk office workers bickering about the latest gossip around the office, her stomach grumbles at the sweet aroma of curry simmering in the kitchen, and Kirari feels at home. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, toes wriggling freely as she balances the laptop on her knees. Her glasses feel a bit crooked, but they have to wait another week or so before she can fix them.

But it doesn’t matter, because tonight, she has a bigger project on her hands, and she can see the way Ririka is already worrying her hands into her white apron.

“What are you doing?” her sister asks and peers over curiously at the laptop screen. Her face blanches just a tad as she scans the article.

Kirari can’t help giggling at the response. “Sayaka is coming next week. I thought

I’d do something nice, but I’m… having a bit of trouble.”

“You two are dating... right…?”

She nods, and keeps scrolling through the page. More social plays. Indirect confessions, gauging the other person. However, it just seems like Kirari skipped a few steps. She never has to worry about Sayaka not being receptive, because she must be. Yet… she keeps pulling up to that second step. The types of love. She doesn’t have many examples. She loves Ririka, for instance. Familial love. But she doesn’t know if the word sits right on her tongue the way it does anyone else.

She doesn’t recall ever saying the word before. At least not like that. She doesn’t recall saying it to her mother, her grandmother, to cousins, to pets, to Sayaka. It isn’t something that…

Ririka is stepping away, but the impulse comes to mind. “Hey, Ririka?” Kirari calls after her, enough to give her older twin some pause.

“Yes?”

Should she look at her when she says it? Would it be more natural? Kirari doesn’t quite make it, instead focusing on the small counter behind her, filled with calendars, homework, bills, and dates. Things to remember for later. The words however, come out easily enough-- even as they feel a bit weird on her tongue.

“I love you,” she says.

Ririka looks slightly disturbed. That didn’t seem right either. Is it really that odd to hear her say it?

“I think you’re supposed to say it back,” Kirari suggests.

Her twin still hesitates, as if testing the word for herself-- seeing how it tasted, if it really fit how she feels. She’s learning how to wear her heart better on her sleeve, and Kirari enjoys seeing it. They are two people now, and though love fitted them before now, it molds itself more naturally in her vocabulary.

Yes. She loves Ririka. She is her twin, her lifeline since she was a child and even now, when sometimes it still feels like the world is ready to swallow her whole and drown her in its murky depths.

“I… I love you too?” Ririka squeaks, though it comes out mostly as a question. It works for now, and truthfully, Kirari finds a bit of comfort in the fact that it’s foreign for them both. They are two people now, but something about their commonalities warm and comfort Kirari all the same. She still plays games, has dumb jokes, and sighs and grumbles whenever Kirari doesn’t think. It’s now that it’s only two of them, they can just be that.

Kirari always loved Ririka, but now especially, it doesn’t hurt to call her sister.

--

She’s known for a while, of course, but perhaps Kirari didn’t have a word for it right away. Fascination was a safer word. It sparked academic interests-- thoughts and feelings more akin to objectivism than the more dangerous realms of subjectivity and the heart. When she puts it like that now though, it feels… sterile-- a dry taste on her tongue, better suited for Terano’s voice, her speeches. Or maybe her midterm paper.

It started and ended with the tower. It always did. She knew the name she wanted for them when she fell, but it was a taste that she was familiar with long before then, a certain sweetness that watered her mouth, like fresh fruit in blistering hot summers. Her eyes had darted and memorized the resume with a rejuvenation she had never known, never felt, and from it, the first loops of a love letter began to form in her mind.

But she hadn’t known how to write a love letter, nor the word for her fascination, so instead, she constructed a tower, and let it loom over the entire school-- a beacon of her obsession and tether to this new humanity that encroached on her heart.

(She still has the deed to that piece of land. She keeps it locked tight in a small safe underneath her bed, along with other traces of the old life she left behind. The only two things she ever needs constantly are the things she has already. Ririka. Sayaka.)

(Sometimes the other things still come back. Sometimes the nightmares don’t stop. But there’s either warm arms around her in the morning, or a welcoming, defrosting smile waiting for her in the kitchen-- Ririka’s breakfast. Soft. Perfect.)

She could’ve told Sayaka after the fall, when she looked so divine in the shimmering moonlight, eyes shining and glistening. In a way, Kirari did? But it wasn’t… it wasn’t the same, was it?

Sayaka never does well with metaphors. Despite the constant reminder of this, Kirari seems to constantly forget. It’s easier to slip into those ideas and actions that she knows well-- a double-speak that was necessary in the clan, at the school. If a truth isn’t at least a half-lie, then its free information-- and information never should be free.

Sayaka is an open book, but the language is one she doesn’t understand just yet. She’s learning though, slowly. She prefers her glasses in the morning, she prefers earthy teas, and she fidgets without anything to do. Waiting is an action to her, but to have nothing planned is permission for her to fiddle. Sometimes that’s organizing and cleaning the apartment (much to Ririka’s chagrin, when it takes weeks afterward to find everything), sometimes it’s studying the big law books-- a few extra copies making a neat stack on the coffee table. Kirari isn’t sure what to do with them now that her entrance exam is done, but Sayaka keeps insisting on keeping them in case she needs the books again.

She puts things to reuse and cherishes what luxuries she can afford. It’s a skill that Kirari is learning, slowly but surely. She recycles, she’s started cooking lessons with Ririka, and though she loathes to do it, she puts more focus on what they need versus the excess and statements that she enthralled herself with growing up.

But Kirari has grown to enjoy parts of it-- beautiful aspects that were easy to forget when she was richer and more pressured. Acts of love, self-sacrifice. Coupled with rarer appearances, even the smallest of actions seem to carry a heavier weight.

It started with a picnic.  Early spring, with the white lilies in full bloom, petals fluttering in the warm breeze. Her nose itched from the pollen as she laid on a dark blanket and observed the open blue sky, cloudless and empty. The looming tower was the solitary object in her vision, the lone door they dove out of just the barest outline from so far below.  On a whim, she outstretched her hands, framing the door between her fingers. What would it have looked like from down below? Two girls in the throes of their own madness, plummeting to their supposed deaths.

“Pres-- Kirari!”

Ah. She hadn’t been used to the name yet. Kirari smiled still, letting her hands drop lazily back on the blanket and patted the empty spot next to her. “The weather really is beautiful.”

“You… you just graduated. Shouldn’t you be--”

“Who’s going to kick me out?”

Sayaka relented and piece by piece, she laid down next to her, shoulders stiff and an uncertain fidget as she observed the clear sky above them. It may have been moments, maybe hours. Kirari counted the breaths shared between them, memorized the warmth that spread where their fingers and hips brushed, and allowed herself to consider what forever would look like just like this. The thought was dizzy, unclear, always is, but it was a thought that was hers . A thought that no one could ever, ever take again.

Not even the girl that held that dream in her hands without even knowing, even as Sayaka had continued to fidget next to her, thoughts elsewhere as they always were. Now? She’s better about it, but some days--

“Are you nervous?” Sayaka had asked, though better for herself than Kirari.

“No,” she spoke evenly, “I know you’ll find me when you need me.”

“And--”

Kirari found her hand, fingers twisting and tangling in the sheet below them and tangled them with her own hand instead. She squeezed firmly, once, and tried to take in the softness along her rough pads, knowing that it would be empty come tomorrow. “I always need you.”

--

And she always does.

So Kirari tries to include her in other ways. They text more frequently now, and sometimes when Sayaka visits, they spend half the time just working on homework and studying. She tells herself it’s normal and that’s okay too. The classes don’t challenge her as much as she would like though, and sometimes her mind drifts. Kirari thinks about fish, thinks about the smaller aquarium she has in the apartment, what her and Ririka will learn how to cook tonight. There’s supposed to be a raid, and she thinks Sayaka is free for once to lend a hand. Thank goodness, but Kirari is a shit healer.

Her mind finds the article when it does wander though, and still, she has to consider everything that’s come before and now. She missed the chance to confess when the election ended, she missed it on her graduation day, and distressingly enough, Kirari missed it when they had their first anniversary just a few months ago.

It was pleasant. She had saved her money through the last couple of weeks before it to take Sayaka to an expensive restaurant downtown-- seafood. Kirari had gifted her a pendant necklace-- a heirloom she had stolen from her clan back when she was leaving it. … Still in the midst of leaving it she supposes.

Though Kirari didn’t have the funds (Sayaka would be terribly upset if she spent the money on her instead of fixing the very minor crook in her glasses of all things), she has to wonder if there is something that could create a moment for them. Not so unlike the picnic between them, a gesture so simple but still stikes at where Kirari needs it.

… Sayaka did just finish her entrance exam. The results wouldn’t be posted yet, but perhaps--

“Igarashi-san?”

It takes her a second, but Kirari is learning to get used to that too. She stands obediently, and feels relieved at the lack of curious, bewildered stares. No one blinks at her name. No one recognizes her face. She is just a classmate, a figure in the crowd. But she wonders, if she had kept the Momobami moniker, would they?

“Could you read the next two paragraphs for us please?”

Kirari speaks loudly and clearly, even as her mind continues to wander. It’s a habit she can’t break from high school, unfortunately. She can’t help it, really. Whatever they read today will be a distant memory, foggy shapes once she’s turned to bed for the evening. Instead, she remembers the way she heard that name the first time.

Sayaka doesn’t know. If she was better about herself, she would admit she’s embarrassed. But she likes the way it sounds next to her name. Kirari Igarashi. It doesn’t remind her of peaches rotting in trees, of drowning. It’s a name that’s hers, and Sayaka’s too.

One day, she’d like it to be legally hers. For now, a few forged papers for her college admissions let her live the fantasy.

--

Kirari knows the man that moved next door to them. He’s smart enough to keep gloves on his hands, hiding the brand permanently etched on his skin, but he doesn’t know enough to keep the weighty recognition out of his eyes as they cross paths in the apartment hallways.

She doesn’t bring it up to Terano when she calls her later, even as she makes plans to meet her. They know Kirari still has a foot in the doorway, just in case the clan tries something again.

The next time she sees him, Kirari waves. He ignores it.

--

They always meet in public. Kirari isn’t sure that’s for her own sake, or more for the sake of Terano’s pride. It’s a routine at this point-- Kirari dangles a particularly juicy carrot, one Terano can’t ignore as she works to repair the damage, and Kirari asks for a favor fitting the price. A public space allows Kirari escape routes, and it allows Terano to have watchers-- in case something goes wrong. Kirari counts the heads that look just slightly out of place, the ones that take a second too long to look away when she sits down.

They never meet at the same restaurant, but Kirari learns that Terano has a habit. She likes coffee, the way the beans reek and leak out of the store out into the open patio. Terano always orders it black, and uses careful sips to disguise her nervous pauses. She’s changed little in the year, now with a weary weight to her eyes that Kirari is all too familiar with.

Kirari settles with a chai tea, because sometimes the thick aroma is enough to distract her from the two very ugly things around her: coffee and bad company.

Today is no different. They’re closer to Shibuya, a dizzying circle of subway stations and commuters that dizzy Kirari some ways and fascinates her in others. Now that her aquarium is more reasonable, she occupies her time observing people like the fish. The commuters and works walk their perfectly etched paths with few variations or changes. If she tries hard enough, she can recognize a few-- those that share the same path she does. If she tries hard enough, she could tell what days they stopped to grab coffee themselves, or which ones had some skeletons in the closet that they weren’t trained as a child to keep secret like Kirari did.

But Kirari is supposed to be normal now, so she doesn’t try that hard most of the time. Terano never thinks she’s trying enough.

She sits down on cold iron chairs, swallows the bile down at the thick smell of coffee beans, souring her mouth, and offers a placid smile to Terano. Something more familiar to both of them. “Good to see you, Terano,” Kirari lies.

“Stop calling me,” Terano snipes. Always straight to the point. “Every time you call me, I keep thinking I was better off just killing you.”

Kirari chuckles and marvels at how her cousin’s eyes trail the white envelope naturally as she pulls it out of her jacket pocket. It’s much plainer than the old calligraphy that was drilled into them both, and she prefers it. “You could never pull the trigger,” she teases in return, naturally. “Do you have it?”

Terano scowls, deeper than usual, but she still digs through her suitcase. What she pulls out is an envelope with sleek black, sealed with clan kanji that she hasn’t seen in months. Something inside her sinks, but Kirari knows that’s the purpose behind it. She wishes she could shake the feeling. Instead she lets herself tread along the surface. Breathing room.

“She passed. That really shouldn’t surprise you.” And yet, Kirari releases the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Even as Terano continues, uses slim fingers to slide the cruel reminder of things she doesn’t want anymore, Kirari feels relieved. “Top score. The pre-law department has been busy trying to make sure the offer’s good. They’re worried someone might leak the score to other schools.”

And Terano hesitates. “... The name she’s attached to--”

“It’s not real anymore.” She feels the smooth paper against her own rough palms, and feels how her appetite drains with each inch that she feels. It stings, it burns -- a heat Kirari so desperately tries to ignore as she stuffs the envelope in her pocket for safekeeping. Later, she will smooth out the creases and take in each letter of approval. University of Tokyo. With her. The warmth will be better then. Light.

Terano swallows. “... Igarashi?”

Her smile blooms at the word. Terano doesn’t say it with the gravity it deserves, but in a way, Kirari appreciates it. She wants her to be hesitant. Uncertain of something that never belonged to the clan. It is hers. It is her and Sayaka’s.

“It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Her eyes trace upward, to silver hair, no doubt too bright in the open sun. Kirari likes to think that Terano is trying to observe her for the first time. Not with the chains around her neck, of that nightmare of Momobami. She grew so tired of it choking her, and though there’s still bruises, some maybe too deep to heal, she’s free.

Only once, Terano swallows her pride. “The short hair suits you.”

--

“Are you sure about this?”

Sayaka threaded her fingers through as if handling something far more precious. Perhaps like sand through her own hourglass, dreading cutting those seconds and years away with a clean shear. Kirari’s eyes slid closed as Sayaka worshipped. Sometimes she misses those mornings where Sayaka would carefully braided silver tresses, looping them with finesse that Kirari could never perfect on her own.

“I need something new,” and she looked up, offering a smile only shared between them. “I know I can trust you to pick something that suits me.”

Sayaka hummed carefully, and through her reflection in the mirror, she could see how furrowed and frustrated she looked. Eyes dark and frown deep. She knew how deeply she was thinking, and the idea of what Sayaka would come up with thrilled her. With gentle hands, Sayaka brushed her hair back, letting it pool behind the chair.

The glean in her eyes was remarkable. “I won’t disappoint you, Kirari,” Sayaka said with stark conviction, leaving a kiss to the back of her head before she began her work.

It took some time and experimentation, but Kirari loves the freedom. They have time to decide what they want. What Kirari wants. The bob cut took some getting used to, but she loves the way it fans against her cheeks when she hunches over notebooks or her laptop. She loves the way that when her and Sayaka are sleeping, Sayaka’s still finds her hands tangled in her hair.

Kirari is in love. She’s always been in love.

--

There’s an extra pair of shoes. Mary’s here. The relationship between her and Ririka confuses her. Mary is all spitfire, physical brushes and jerks. She’s careless and unapologetic with her touches. Perhaps it appeals to Ririka in some sense, that someone would be so comfortable with themselves after spending so long hiding behind a mask like a tortoise shell.

Mary is stretched out on their couch, blonde hair drawn back in a loose ponytail, tied in silk black ribbon. The hum out of her pursed lips is almost contagious as she scrolls through her phone, completely at ease in a space she would have shied away from before. Kirari likes to think that it’s Ririka’s influence, and she’s grateful too, that they seem to be happy together. She just isn’t sure how it works.

Kirari has seen them together of course. Ririka shies away from more overt affection when Mary first arrives, but she gets used to the affection, she sees her grow more into herself. Back to the agonizing babysitter in many respects. She remembers how openly Mary gaped when Ririka admonished Kirari for the first time in her company, and Kirari thinks that was when she realized how serious they were.

But she doesn’t know how they don’t find that constant dance exhausting. And that’s not even including the love mess. Ririka is just as lost by the terminology. She hardly ever makes the first move.

“Where’s Ririka?” Kirari asks in way of greeting as she crosses the threshold into the living room. Their coffee table is starting to lean in the weight of the big law books. There’s a fern plant that needs watering, and the window is open to the busy streets below. She smells noodles at the shop down the street; salty. Maybe they have the extra cash to grab a bowl this evening.

Mary doesn’t look away from her phone, disinterested as ever. “Grocery shopping. She wanted me to wait for you.”

“That’s nice.”

She puts the phone to sleep and sits up, allowing Kirari the space to sit. As Kirari takes her seat, she realizes Mary is wearing perfume and tries to bite back her smile. “I’d like to ask you something,” Kirari says as she sits there, stiffly.

“I’m gonna regret saying yes, aren’t I?”

“Has Ririka said ‘I love you’ yet?”

The way Mary chokes immediately at the question is fascinating as she lurches back, covering her mouth with her hands. The red of her cheeks fits her blond better than Ririka’s silver, but no less amusing. “ What? ” Mary croaked out.

“Has she?”

“Th-This isn’t any of your business!”

“What would you consider romantic enough for such a confession?” She turned closer to her, legs crossed, and studies the way Mary squirms underneath the questioning. There’s something lovely how uncomfortable both her and Ririka could be. “I was considering a devotion day of sorts. People like Ririka and Sayaka need someone to remind them to relax, don’t you think? Breakfast in bed, a nice walk in the park perhaps, and … how do I bring it up?”

“ Shut up, Kirari!”

“Have you said it to Ririka yet? How did you--”

“SHUT UP,” and Mary latches onto her collar tight with clammy red hands, stretching the fabric and shaking her violently. Kirari’s head thumps with the way it rocks back and forth, but really, she thinks the headache is more internal. She wishes Mary could be more honest, but perhaps they’ll learn to do that in time.

--

Some days, it hurts.

It hurts worse than any word Kirari can describe.

But for the first time in her life, she feels like she doesn’t have to be alone to deal with it.

--

Sayaka gets in late, and as they take the dizzying concrete pathways back to Kirari’s apartment, her eyes are already drooping and Kirari spends more time holding her up than actually walking there. She’s learned how to relax a bit more now that they don’t use secretary or president . It’s just them. Sayaka and Kirari. It’s a thought that bubbles pleasantly. Like champagne simmering below. When Sayaka is here, Kirari never stops smiling.

She’s grown too. Sayaka has never stopped training, and she feels muscle as she holds her weight, the weight of a taser in her pocket. Some habits never die. The same time they settled on a good haircut, Sayaka started wearing her own in a high bun with long dark banks framing her beautiful, perfect face. The scratches never completely faded, and Kirari has to stop herself from counting the scratches as she guides them.

“Did you sleep at all?” Kirari teases gently.

Sayaka stifles a yawn, but she doesn’t pull away to save face. “I wanted to make sure everything went well.”

It doesn’t surprise her, but there’s nothing disappointing about it either. Kirari is learning the language, even as it evolves and starts using words that used to be just hers. Sayaka is a book-- her favorite book. She thinks of it like one bound by old parchment and illustrations painted with beauty and dedication. A marvel of detail that frames each chapter in ways that could never be replicated again.

They collapse in bed together as soon as they make it, and Kirari welcomes the extra weight. She welcomes the warmth molded against her. She welcomes the fingers tangled in her hair and the butterfly kisses against her cheeks and lips.

Sayaka shows her love most here, and it’s moments like this that Kirari cherishes most.

--

The date hits a snag immediately when Kirari wakes up to an empty space next to her and the digital clock reading 11:30. She smells Earl Grey and eggs from the cracked door, enticing her to crawl out of the residual warmth of her bed and further into the reaches of the apartment. If she closes her eyes and concentrate, she can hear a light hum, carefully content.

She wants to listen to the melody longer, but she knows Sayaka doesn’t like the breakfast to get cold. Kirari gets up in starts and pauses, fumbling for her slightly crooked glasses and old sweatshirt and pants. She keeps her feet bare because she likes the feel of her toes against ground that’s hers. She yawns and she looks less than perfect. And that’s okay.

Sayaka’s eyes find hers as Kirari wanders into the kitchen, and something catches her by the warm smile. It curves her eyes, black hair wild and fussed from the way Kirari clings to her in her sleep. She’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts, bare legs twitching off and on in a nervous fidget. She pours the tea with a practiced perfection, steam billowing and clouding both of their glasses in the tight space.

“Good morning,” Sayaka says and the smile stretches just a wider, and all too sudden--

“I love you,” Kirari blurts. It’s not perfect, not even close to perfect. They both look like a mess, Sayaka’s dark circles under her eyes after months and months of studying and preparing. Kirari’s hair is tangled and fussed, make-up smeared across her face. But it slips out like a waterfall, one that Kirari can never hope to stop.

She doesn’t realize the tea cup slips out of Sayaka’s fingers until it cracks on the floor, and like a startled rabbit, Sayaka jumps back-- eyes owlishly wide and flabbergasted. Kirari isn’t sure if this is the reaction wants.

“... What?”

Kirari hesitates. “Is… was that a bad time?”

Sayaka cries and Kirari is never, ever sure what to do when it happens. She isn’t sure Sayaka knows what to do when she does either, because rather than responding, she starts bending down to pick up the broken ceramic. By the third piece though, her hands start shaking as the phrase hits her, and almost as if on instinct, her hands start gravitating toward her eyes to cover her tears.

Kirari takes them instead. A quick snatch up and a squeeze tight. She wishes it was to comfort the poor woman, but she wouldn’t-- “Careful. Wouldn’t want you to blind yourself, my dear Sayaka.”

“I’m sorry, I just--”

“Is it weird?”

“No! Never. I…” And her eyes well up again. “... I love you too.”

She kisses once. Forehead. Then along the curvature of one brow. She lets the small touches calm Sayaka down. The ceramic can be picked up later. The tea can be remade, and while the eggs probably couldn’t be salvaged, there’s always another time. She’ll send a better note later, especially after Kirari wakes up one morning to her glasses perfect and the tea cup replaced, but for now, she chooses to cherish the warmth between them.

It’s only one of many first steps in their lives. Kirari doesn’t mind waiting a bit longer for more.

[vannahfanfics]

Riveting Life Experiences

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: One Piece

Characters: Nami, Vivi Nefertari

Additional Tags: Modern AU, High School AU

Hey, everyone! This story was originally going to be for the One Piece School Zine, but unfortunately it could not be completed due to the pandemic. Still, I thought I would post it for everyone to enjoy!

“Thank you! Enjoy the rest of the festival!” Vivi called gleefully as their latest customer departed, snacking animatedly on the creamy chocolate-covered banana they had just purchased from her and Nami’s booth. Their chocolate-covered banana stand nestled in the junction of the east and west halls and overlooked the stairs leading down to the main rotunda. Nami, fundraiser extraordinaire, had snagged the spot to ensure maximum foot traffic. Vivi suspected that some arm-twisting and potentially frightening threats had been involved, but hey, they’d already made tons of money! Vivi wasn’t about to complain. 

Nami snickered devilishly as she leafed through the stack of cash they’d already accumulated in their first two hours of opening. 

“Nami,” Vivi laughed with cinched eyebrows, “you know you can’t keep that money, right? All the proceeds are going toward our oceanography club!” As Vivi playfully chided her best friend, the redhead flashed her a sardonic smirk. 

“Considering I am the president of the Oceanography Club, the money does technically go to me,” she corrected, now fanning herself with the fat stack of bills. “So, I am going to enjoy this, Vivi, dear.” Vivi could not help but chuckle at Nami’s affluent and opulent attitude. 

“All right, Miss President,” Vivi conceded amusedly. The blunette returned her gaze to the front of their booth, where rich chocolate-coated peeled bananas stood in plastic trays that Vivi had adorned in fun stickers to enhance the appeal. Above the colorful flowers and rainbows and a very tasteful unicorn, the candied bananas perched in all their splendor. Some of them simply sported the enamel-like hard chocolate shell, while others flaunted crushed nuts, sprinkles, marshmallow chunks, or swirls of peanut butter. Vivi’s mouth watered as she admired them. 

“Excuse me! I’d like two chocolate bananas, please!” 

Vivi jolted as she was suddenly addressed. It took her a moment to regain her bearings, so her hands fluttered uselessly across the counter while her mouth opened and shut uselessly. The girl before the stand blinked curiously at Vivi’s odd behavior, stroking a swathe of her voluminous wavy black hair. 

“That one, please,” the girl quipped simply with a point of a manicured nail at a peanut butter swirl banana. “Two,” she reminded as Vivi went to pluck one from the display. Cheeks burning, Vivi quickly did as told. 

“That’ll be five hundred Berries, please.” The girl held the two bananas by the sticks between her middle and third fingers while she fished some bills out of her uniform pocket. Vivi’s fingers quivered slightly as she took the money from the girl, who thanked her cheerfully before skipping over to a lanky, tan-skinned, dark-haired man with golden eyes lounging by one of the windows and looking totally unimpressed by the school festival. 

“Law! Law! I got us some chocolate-covered bananas.” 

“Baby 5, I didn’t want— ugh, no, don’t cry— fiiiiine…” 

Vivi continued to stand there with carnation-pink cheeks. I can’t believe I was fantasizing what they’d taste like! she thought ashamedly. Her focus should be on making their booth a great success, not consuming the merchandise. However, even as she chastised herself, Vivi’s eyes drifted back down to the scrumptious-looking treats. 

“So, Vivi,” Nami asked suddenly. Her slightly inquisitive tone jerked Vivi’s eyes away from the candy-coated bananas. Nami still fanned herself nonchalantly with the wad of cash. “What made you choose chocolate-covered bananas, of all things?” 

Vivi’s face immediately alighted with a self-conscious blush again. As she shied away from her friend’s inquisitive stare, Vivi worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She began to swing her body slowly from side to side, eyes flickering from the fruity treats to the redhead’s puzzled expression. Nami’s eyes darted up and down her form, analyzing her body language, but she waited for Vivi to speak instead of prodding her into further fluster. 

“You promise that you won’t laugh?” 

“Why would I laugh? Surely your reason for picking chocolate-covered bananas isn’t a knee-slapper,” Nami frowned with a raised eyebrow. Vivi’s cheeks brightened to a lovely shade of rose pink, prompting her to press her palms against her face. They immediately began to sweat from the sheer amount of heat rolling off her skin. 

“Well, I… Before moving here to Japan, I researched popular trends and events, and happened upon information concerning popular snacks sold at booths like these…” She trailed off as an uncomfortable wave of nervous nausea blossomed in her belly. Nami’s orange eyebrow crept higher and higher up her forehead as she began to stare at Vivi, nonplussed. 

“And…?” 

“One of them was chocolate-covered bananas.” 

Silence settled between them. Vivi squirmed under Nami’s persistent blank stare. She desperately wished that some emotion would show on Nami’s face— confusion, derision, amusement— anything. Instead, her face was a blank slate, her chocolate-brown eyes owlishly wide as the gears turned in her head. 

Finally, a smile cracked the vacantness of Nami’s ogle. 

“Vivi, why would you think I would laugh at that? That’s adorable!” the redhead squealed and lunged forward to wrap her arms loosely around Vivi’s shoulders. Vivi blushed brightly, both at her statement and the sudden half-embrace. 

“R-really?” Vivi squeaked, grabbing Nami’s forearms. Nami flashed her a friendly smile, which caused the little bubbles of anxiety in Vivi’s body to burst one by one. “Thanks… I just thought it was so silly,” she confessed with a light laugh. 

“Aw, Vivi,” Nami smiled sweetly. “I don’t think it’s silly at all. You were excited to come to a new place and learn about all the local cultures. I think that’s really cool, actually.” 

“You really think so?” Vivi asked doubtfully. Nami’s smile widened, and she raised a hand to boop her gently on the tip of her nose. Vivi snickered at the intimate gesture. 

“Yeah! So… Have you ever had a chocolate-covered banana?” Nami asked with a raised eyebrow. When Vivi shook her head, Nami slipped her arms from around Vivi’s to pluck two of the delectable banana treats from the display case. Vivi blushed as Nami presented the fruit on a stick to her. “Go on! Take it!” the redhead insisted, reading Vivi’s unsure expression. “We’ve made plenty of money today; I won’t miss the revenue from a couple of bananas,” she laughed when Vivi’s eyebrows knitted further. 

Reluctantly, Vivi took the chocolate-covered banana. She turned the wooden skewer slightly between her thumb and forefinger to inspect the treat from all angles. It was one of the marshmallow-coated ones; the soft, cylindrical structures protruded from the coat of brown candy as rocks rose from cresting waves. After a moment of considering it, she timidly leaned forward to bite off the end of the banana. She immediately released a satisfied hum. 

The milk chocolate melted as soon as it hit her tongue, spreading the rich, decadent flavor over her taste buds. The mute sweetness of the banana complimented it supremely, and the pillowy sweetness of the marshmallows perfected the harmony of flavors. Vivi couldn’t help immediately diving in for another bite before she’d even swallowed the first, eyes fluttering shut. Her lashes immediately parted again when she heard Nami chuckle. 

“It’s good, huh?” the girl said as she bit into her own banana, one with rainbow sprinkles adorning its chocolate shell. Nami released a similar hum of gratification. “Delicious! I knew I had a stroke of genius for me to ask Sanji to prepare these.” 

“I bet it didn’t take much convincing, either, considering you have him wrapped around your finger,” Vivi teased, sticking out the tip of her tongue with a playful wink. Nami smirked triumphantly. 

“Hehe, well, he is particularly susceptible to my feminine wiles,” Vivi’s counterpart snickered cheekily. As if summoned, Sanji’s voice came floating down the hallway, rising above the din of pleasant conversation and contented laughter. 

“Nami-swaaaaaaan~! Viviiiiiiiiiiii!” 

Both of the girls turned to see the blond charging through the crowd, hearts beating in his eyes and trills flying from his mouth as he zoomed from the other end of the school building. Nami leaned on the counter, resting her cheek on her hand and preparing a demure smile. Vivi rolled her eyes; Nami was preparing to swindle Sanji out of several bananas’ worth of his restaurant wages. 

Nami was the queen of the hustle, after all— but of course, Vivi was her back-up, so she too draped herself over the edge of their booth to seductively chomp on the chocolate-covered banana. She smirked as Sanji nearly fainted on the spot from the two girls smiling so charmingly at him. Though they’d only just begun, Vivi checked a successful school festival off her list of riveting life experiences. Oh, and trying chocolate-covered bananas, too.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (38)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

Soon. Soon, death will strike with its vengeful and saving scythe. Soon the blood will flow, in a golden setting. soon... Danny will kill Hoggins. After tomorrow, in the evening, to be more precise. But before that, the festival. Tomorrow, Danny will have to do everything possible to stay focused for article on the Roseville Festival. Mattew and Melina will be there to support him, but he is the one who will take the pictures. And he will have to take a lot of them. He will not really have time to enjoy it unfortunately. Especially since they will not be the only journalists on the spot, newspapers from other cities will be there too. It will be an opportunity to see new faces... and if possible, to have an exit door. Because if he can impress these journalists, maybe they'll offer Danny to come and work with them? Maybe.

The police will also be present to monitor the central square. Wilhelm too, unless he was too busy with Hoggins. But there will be at least one inspector, that's for sure. It remains to be seen who it will be. And you will be there, holding your stand, selling your pastries with your two employees. Just like Danny, you won't be able to enjoy the festival fully but it doesn't matter, you can always have a little party... in private.

Besides, Danny thinks back to last night. He appreciated that you were more playful, more enterprising with him. It amused him a lot. A sneaky smile stretched on his face; he already imagined all the little "games" that you could both play. But he will start slowly, he would not want to destroy everything. Mattew comes to rest next to him, sighing completely exhausted.

“Did you get up on the wrong foot?” asks Danny.  

“No, the boss wanted to see me for tomorrow... he told me to focus on the festival and not on the stands to eat. But if there is the pastry stand of (Y/N) I will not be able to resist! He knows it! I would like to see him in my place, I am sure he would do the same!” responds Mattew sulking.  

“Haha it's clear, but he's not wrong especially that other journalists will be there as well, we have to look good in front of them. But don't worry, I'm sure (Y/N) will still have a lot of cakes for us. And then you can taste his famous cake. I can't wait to see what it will look like in the end.”

“Besides, how does it work in your new apartment? doesn't that make you weird all this space?” replied Mattew.

“Very well, very well... it’s true that at the beginning it was strange to live together when we used to live each on our own. But we get used to it. And then... we have several opportunities to... test the resistance of the bed, if you know what I mean.” responds Danny, smiling jokingly.

Mattew looked at Danny with big eyes while Melina who was passing by at the same time started laughing. Danny also laughed as he patted the shoulder on his colleague who was still shocked. All three took a coffee break to chat a little, while enjoying the fresh air... of the air conditioner. It was a little hot today and, in the offices, even more. So, the air conditioner was welcome. They meet Nancy, the newcomer of the team. The poor woman was lost, until now she had only done odd cleaning jobs despite her diploma as a journalist. She wore small round glasses, her black hair tied in a ponytail gave her a little schoolgirl side or the cliché of shy and clumsy women. Afterwards, the poor woman was really clumsy. How many times has she dropped her coffee? too many times to remember. And it had only been a week since she was there.

“Have you heard the latest news about Hoggins? Apparently other former collaborators are ready to testify against him if there is ever a trial. From what some have said, Hoggins has been manipulating people for years and years to get them to invest in his business and mysteriously they have all sunk. He even did it with foreign collaborators. What a son of a bitch.” Said Melina.  

“He really fucked the whole world this guy it's not possible. Let him be fucked up in prison once and for all! The prisoners will take care of him! If you see what I mean...” responds Mattew.  

“The famous trick of the soap?”

“I would rather say the famous Swiss army knife trick. It's very easy to get one in without being noticed in prison... I've seen that before.” Replied Danny, sipping his coffee.  

“What? have you ever been to prison?” asks Melina shocked

“Yes. When I started my job as a journalist, me and my superior at the time went to a prison to interview a prisoner who was wrongly accused. And we took the opportunity to write about what was happening in prison. At one point I turned my head towards one of the cells, and I saw one of the prisoners pull out a knife that he had had hidden in a banana bread.”

“A great classic that. I am still amazed to see that the prison guards are not more on their guard than that...”

Danny shrugged his shoulders; he was not surprised. As it did not surprise him if these same prisoners managed to escape. But because they are idiots, they end up in prison again for the same crime. Dumbass. Danny never got caught at least. At the same time, he did everything to never get noticed or arrested. And yet he left from afar! He learned on his own... and he was lucky. And he intends to keep his chance with him... Oh, yes.  

Observing through the window, Danny noticed that the city was adorned with a thousand colours. The last banners were hung, the leaflets distributed, the posters glued. Tomorrow, Roseville would have been in existence for exactly 32 years. And Mayor Tallis is the one who runs this city... This man is truly an impressive person. And respectable. It’s perhaps the only one that is respectable in this city.  After you.

Our trio went back to work, each on their article, Danny on Hoggins' article. So, he's hated all over the world... In a sense it wouldn't be so bad if Hoggins stayed alive. it could be the scoop of the century! the case that could boost his career! Imagine how sensational a trial article could be. Especially if it's Danny who writes it. Even if he is a murderer, this is not a reason to abandon those why he spent his youth and his studies. He has to work hard, very hard even to get to this point! While Danny was working, his phone rang. A hidden number? That's not a good sign... unless it’s still these sellers who are trying to bait you with their stupid products.

“Roseville’s Gazette, Jed Olsen on the phone, what can I do for you?” said Danny.

“Hi..."Olsen".” responds a man voice.

“Hoggins. How did you get my number?”

“I have my sources as well. But you suspect that I am not calling you out of pure courtesy.”

“Gets straight to the point. What do you want?” replied Danny.  

“Leave this girl. Otherwise, you'll regret it bitterly little asshole. You don't realize who you're dealing with...” responds Hoggins.

“No, I think it's YOU who don't know who you're dealing with. And believe me I intend to make you pay for it. The prisoners will take good care of you, when the court will sentence you to jail for fraud, plus a voluntary homicide... You are cooked Hoggins. You can hide, you can lie as much as you want, you will not be able to escape your destiny. If Ghostface does not decide to kill you for copying its modus operandi. Because he attacked poor people for a few days... because of you. He can't stand being robbed of the show. Now if you excuse me... I have a job to do. Oh, and one last thing...” said Danny Before taking on a more menacing tone: “If you dare to threaten MY girlfriend again... it’s not her who will have an accident. But you.”

Danny hung up dryly, leaving Hoggins no time to say anything. This guy doesn't lack grit decidedly... he will have been a strong opponent, Danny must admit. But not enough to survive any longer. He sent an email to Wilhelm where he explained everything that was said in the conversation between him and Hoggins. Like that, it will make one more ball at the foot of this son of a bitch.  

The rest of the day went smoothly. Mr. Hembrook had summoned Danny to set up tomorrow's day. There will be a total of 4 newspapers, including them, at the festival. It will therefore be necessary to look good! It will also be necessary to take good photos, and to transcribe the speech of Mayor Tallis. Unfortunately, not everyone will be able to come tomorrow. The Gazette must therefore allow these poor people to know what the mayor said for this year's festival.

He worked another hour or two before returning to the apartment. It was quite late, and he had sent you a message to warn you to not wait for him to eat if you were too hungry and he apologized. To which you replied that it didn’t matter, and that you would put a plate aside for him. He parked, entered the building, and went up to the apartment. When he opened the front door, it was dark. no sign of life from you... Until he sees something moving on the couch. When he turned on the light, he sighed as he saw you asleep and, in your pyjama, his coat on you.

“Honey? Honey... Wake up... I'm home.” said Danny.  

“Hm... Jed? Sorry I fell asleep... I'm going to make you warm up your plate... I hope you like Udons...” you respond rubbing your eyes.

“You should go to bed instead... you barely stand. You must have had a big day. I'll take care of everything don't worry about it... I join you after eating and after a good shower.”  

You nod by yawning, which made Danny laugh. He placed a kiss on your forehead before letting you go to your room. Poor of you.... you are exhausted. He warmed up his dish of Udons and moved to his office to work. He worked for an hour, then he left his office by locked it, made the dish, took clean clothes and went to shower. He changed, and walked into the room, to find you asleep in bed, Danny's cushion in your arm like a stuffed animal. You're so cute... He gently regained his cushion, putting himself in the place of the latter in your arms. He laughed lightly when he saw your arms tighten around his waist, and he placed a kiss on your cheek before turning and stalling in bed.

He looked at his phone for about ten minutes, just to find sleep, which eventually happened. He thought back to the conversation with Hoggins. If only he knew what awaited him... if only he knew... But that would spoil the surprise. 2 Days... it's going to be a long time. But the most amusing thing will not be hoggins' death. The most fun will be your reaction. And whatever your reaction, he's ready to react. For good and for worse. A little conversation between Danny and Jed is in order.

“Everything is ready for your little massacre?” said Jed calmly.

“You don't seem to object to it this time... Jed.” Responds Danny.

“Don't claim victory too quickly, I'm not for that kind of thing... But here Hoggins touches on something precious. Or rather someone. As much for me as for you. And I'm not going to let him do it.”

“No, it's ME who's not going to let him do it. Believe me... you'll enjoy the show too.”

“What's next? What will happen?” replied Jed.  

“I don’t know. We shall see how things develop. In the meantime, we must prepare... as much for tomorrow. That for the day after tomorrow.” responds Jed.  

Yes... we have to be prepared. Because these next two days are going to be intense.

But really delicious.

***

(Phew! this week has been just as busy as the previous one! But I managed to finish this chapter! As for the RE8 fanfic I'm progressing pretty well! I may do a little teaser post to give you an overview! As for the title... I'm stuck. I have three ideas in mind and I can't make up my mind... Help me XD I hope you’ll like this chapter like the others ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all!  See ya!)