#only posting this in case anyone would get excited about the prospect of me posting again bc thats not what's going on

[bluupxels]

if you see me reblogging stuff on my cc finds blog mind ur business

[call-me-double-trouble]

Double Trouble fankid: Charlatan’s little sibling, Masquerade!

Ohhoho, did you think Charlatan was my ONLY DT kid OC? Think again!

Like Char’s intro, this will be a long post, so all the info on Masquerade is under the cut!

Masquerade, or Quera (pronounced like “Kera”) for short joins the family when Char is 13. Unlike Char, Quera isn’t adopted. I headcanon that DT can reproduce asexually (some lizards can), and that’s how Quera happened. DT was terrified when they first laid the egg. Would it survive? What would they do if it didn’t? How would Char react? Since they weren’t even sure if it’d hatch, they told no one about the egg. They stored it somewhere safe and warm, trying not to get their hopes up in case the baby didn’t make it.

They did eventually tell Char so that he’d have time to mentally prepare. They were worried he’d get jealous, as he always was a little clingy, but Char actually seemed excited about the prospect of a little sibling and vowed to take care of them. They finally told the others when Quera did hatch. Baby Quera was a handful for DT and Char. They took after their moddy more than Char in the troublemaking department, and their favorite thing to do was biting Char (much to his dismay). However, there was one big difference between DT and Quera—despite how much DT loved the sound of their own voice, Quera rarely spoke at all. She just didn’t seem to like speaking very much and preferred to communicate non-verbally when she could. They found it odd at first, but learned how to understand her gestures and didn’t force her to talk when she didn’t want to. With the lack of speaking, her sensitivity to sounds and touch, and her stims, it became apparent early on that she was autistic, but that wasn’t a problem for their family. DT and Char did their part to understand Quera’s needs and how to keep them happy. As Quera got older, they developed a habit of picking on kids twice their size and starting fights with anyone who irritated them. Char did his best to discourage this and teach Quera to communicate her feelings better.

When they found out Quera merely had an interest in fighting, they channeled that with video games at first (which she LOVED), and then training and competitive fighting when she got a little older.

Char and Quera became very close, and Char does his all to take care of her and be there for her. He protects them when need be and helps DT with parenting duties. When Quera acts up, though, Char is quick to yell, “Moddy! Come get your child!” XD

Quera discovered they were agender when they were about 8. As they put it, “Pronouns are just words. They don’t define me. Call me whatever you want.” DT primarily uses they/them, and Char often uses they and she interchangeably.

As an adult, Quera forms a gang in the Crimson Waste and keeps it secret from everyone except DT, Catra, and Finn. Char eventually discovers it as well, and though he doesn’t condone crime (he’s become a hero at this point in time), he won’t snitch on family, and he even acts as her bodyguard every now and then. Besides, Quera doesn’t carry out violent crimes, only theft. She only fights when she needs to, and that’s usually when they encounter rival gangs.

While running their secret crime ring, Quera meets their girlfriend and makes her their right-hand-woman. They’re very much a chaotic crime lesbian duo, and DT loves that for them.

Quera’s weapon of choice is a metal staff that can retract to be travel-sized and has both the ability to cast spells (Quera knows sorcery) and the ability to destroy magic sigils (wouldn’t want to get trapped like their moddy did in season 4). Quera is also known for her strong punches. They’re a lot stronger than they look, though they are still a bit buff under that leather jacket. Though, adult Char looks stronger and scarier than she does, so if they’re in the same room, people mistakenly believe Char is the one they have to worry about. Quera enjoys the element of surprise, though.

Quera can shapeshift just as well as DT can, and Char never really gets to that level. Quera can also act, and they find it easier to talk when pretending to be someone else, but they don’t quite end up doing the same espionage game DT does and never become as good an actor as them. She does prove to have a lovely singing voice, but refuses to sing for anyone other than her loved ones.

———

Thank you for reading all that! As alway, if you want to know more about my OCs, feel free to ask! Or if you want to see more drawings or fanfics starring them!

[danielfuckingricciardo]

Rise Like A Phoenix - Chapter One

Pairing - Jenson Button x Reader + Charles Leclerc x Reader + Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Word Count - 1305

Content Warning - Violence, swearing, sexual references, torture mention

Synopsis - When a German agent goes missing investigating a diplomat’s disappearance, you are asked to take the case as your old adversary is revealed to be the one to blame. However, you soon find out that you will not be working alone, and will have to complete your mission with the help of agent Charles Leclerc.

Author’s Note - So sorry this is kinda late!! I wanted to post it around five U.K. time but I ended up going out for dinner after getting a tattoo with my friend… oopsies? I might schedule the rest of the fic just in case I’m busy and forget to post, which is very likely to happen as anyone who knows me would be able to tell you. Anyway, here’s chapter one, aka the call to adventure as Joseph Campbell would call it! Enjoy!!

Chapter One - By Any Means Necessary

You were never called to Jenson’s office unless you had done something bad, or someone else had done something even worse. Considering you hadn’t committed any acts which, if you were a normal person, would certainly have landed you in jail, you assumed there was some serious shit about to go down.

You, of course, were far from a normal person. For the past two years you had been a field agent working at MI6, the United Kingdom’s secret service agency, your identity hidden from public knowledge, and a license to kill bestowed upon you in the name of homeland security. You were a spy, and a damn good one too.

Intelligence agencies from across the world had already staked their interest in your career, offering you better jobs prospects and perks, and salaries that had so many zeroes in them your jaw dropped at the sight of them. But every offer you received, Jenson always made sure to match. You were his best, his most reliable, even if sometimes you were rather unconventional in your methods and went against orders, he had made it very clear that he would do anything to keep you under his employment.

As you walk through the corridors of the MI6 building towards the ornate mahogany doors of Jenson’s office, your heels clicking and announcing your presence growing ever closer with each step, you wonder just what he wants you to do this time. Would it be an underground terror threat? A high-class drug trafficking ring? A kidnapping? Or maybe some technological hacking nonsense you couldn’t quite understand? The possibilities racing through your mind excited you greatly. The danger of it all, always having to think ahead, use your skills and brilliant mind to take down the enemy: that was your favourite part of the job. You were a spy, and you fucking loved it.

You make eye contact with Jenson’s secretary, a blonde woman who was intently rubbing some expensive looking hand cream into her skin. She offers you a smile and a nod, prompting you to enter the office. She knew, of course, that he had summoned you, and the fact that he was not engaged in some meeting that had overran or some angry sounding phone call meant that it must be serious. Someone, perhaps everyone, was in danger.

Knocking on the door, as always, before entering had become your way of signalling to your boss that it was in fact you who had arrived. Many of your colleagues tended to burst right in. Something that you had discovered to your annoyance and shame when agent Hamilton had stormed in on you while positioned between your boss’ legs beneath his desk. You had spent an hour hidden beneath his cramped desk waiting for Lewis to finally finish his rant and storm out again. After that, you had promised to only take part in such activities with your boss out of working hours, or, when the two of you were feeling particularly desperate, to always check that the door was locked first.

Meetings of that nature were always planned covertly via text. You had a few code words you’d send to one another to organise hook ups so no-one would become suspicious. That’s how you knew that this meeting was specifically work related and not some midday booty call, though you were secretly hoping thats how this meeting would end. If you were going away for a while on a mission, getting fucked on your boss’ desk would certainly be the best kind of send off.

“Enter” You hear from behind the door, and you push down the lever, revealing your boss sat at his desk, a disgruntled look on his face, a man you had never seen before stood opposite him.

“This is agent (y/l/n), she’s my finest agent, and she’ll be working the case.” Jenson says as you approach his desk, taking a quick glance at the man who stood beside you.

His brow was furrowed, a look of distress and anguish in his eyes which seemed old beyond his years. He’d clearly seen some shit in his time for a man who appeared only to be in his mid thirties.

“Ah, i’m familiar with miss (y/l/n), I’ve followed her career quite closely, and I was keen to have her come work for us, but you were obviously very keen for her to remain here.” He says, glancing over at Jenson whose face was struggling to remain expressionless.

The man extends his hand to you and you shake it firmly, nodding your head to him and offering him a small smile.

“I’m Sebastian Vettel, head of the BND in Germany. We’ve corresponded in the past but never met in person before. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” You say, smiling warmly at him, “I wish it could be under better circumstances, judging by the occasion of our meeting I can assume something is very much wrong.”

“You are sadly, correct, (y/n). Yesterday evening, an agent of the BND went missing. He had been investigating the disappearance of a German government official when his disappeared. No phone signal, no contact, even his tracking chip that was implanted in his neck went dead.” Jenson says, and your eyebrows furrow.

“Tracking chips? We should do that, sounds like a good idea, but back to the point, why have you come to me to find him? Isn’t this a case that the BND should be dealing with?” You ask.

“Well, we thought the same, until we saw this. The last thing the agent did before he went missing was to record a video. Their tech guys were able to salvage a short portion of the footage from the cloud, it was only two seconds long, but they made a positive identification match on one of the men in it and sent it straight to us. It’s him.” Jenson says, and your blood runs cold.

You clench your fists beside you as you attempt to control you breathing. After all this time, two years of being missing and presumed dead, he shows up once again to make your life hell. The man you had spent your life trying to escape, the man who had haunted your dreams every night since you had broken free, the man who had tortured and beaten you to the brink of death. He was back. Edmund Fortescue was back and he would never leave you alone.

“(Y/n)? Are you okay?” Jenson asks, and you nod firmly, unable to speak as you may simply burst into tears.

“I’m aware of your history with Fortescue, you know him better than anyone out there, and I truly believe you will be the one to take him down for good this time. We’re depending on you, (y/n), to bring back my agent and the politician he kidnapped, by any means necessary.” Sebastian says.

“I can get him. But I can’t promise you I’ll be able to take him alive. If I see him, it‘ll take every ounce of my self control to not shoot him dead that very moment.” You say through gritted teeth.

“Men like Fortescue don’t deserve your mercy, that bastard’s escaped capture more times than I can count. Do what you have to do.” Jenson says, and you nod to him.

“Call George, let’s get started. The sooner I can kill that fucker, the sooner your agent can sleep safely in his bed.” You say, and Jenson stands from his desk, giving you a reassuring nod and a smile.

Next Chapter

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

You spoke about it in a previous post but if Takemichi decided to go by the "Black Dragons" name, it would have been so funny. Koko who must annonce to Mikey that Takemichi challenged him and Mikey who is like "let me guess Toman, right?"' "hum no boss, The black dragons" (also for Waka and Benkei, fighting the black dragons would be sooo weird XD). (But Inui would be so thrilled right?)

Mikey would be so thrown off though, he thought he knew Takemichi so well only to realise he couldn't predict this. Mikey probably thinks of Inui and curses him. I also think Koko would be secretly happy for Inui in this case. He'd be happy his friend actually was able to complete his dream of continuing the black dragons on. Well at least until he realises that means he has to face Inui again.

Waka and Benkei would probably feel a mixture of emotions, they would probably instantly be reminded of their old days. But would also likely be somewhat annoyed, they were already annoyed at Shion for ruining the black dragons name. So I think they would be apprehensive about it, maybe worried the name would be ruined either further.

But the absolute best reaction would be Shion though, can you imagine just how excited he would be by this prospect? This would 100% be an excuse for him to bring up his old black dragons days. Like imagine they turn up to the fight and we get to this bit

Mikey and Sanzu are about to start doing their trash talk routine when Shion just cuts in front of them. Before loudly going into a speech about how he's the 9th generation black dragons leader. He starts boasting about his random accomplishments and telling stories about his leader days while everyone stares at him blankly. He finishes by asking if anyone wants his autograph.

[astaroth1357]

The Obey Me Cast on a Camping Trip (Part Two: The Undateables)

This post is split in two due to length (I had too much fun again…) For the Brothers, please click HERE!

Intro:

Another day, another team building activity between the demons and the exchange students. It was Diavolo’s idea to go on a camping trip to the human world (because of course it was), and there were very… mixed responses. That sentiment wasn’t helped when he refused Lucifer’s insistent pleas to just purchase cabins for everyone to stay in. Oh no, the Demon Lord wanted to rough it out in the wilderness, and now everyone else was getting dragged along with him…

Wonder how that turned out?

Diavolo

He was soooo excited to get to experience camping! He had been asking the MC about human camping trips for about a week before making the announcement and he was pumped!!

Barbatos chauffeured him to the campsite in his own car (of course) but he insisted on taking every roadside, touristy stop they came across which doubled the drive time considerably…

He wanted to help everybody set up the camp but Barbatos and Lucifer were having none of it… So he took pictures and offered moral support instead! Good work everyone! 😁

He had his own tent about the size of a small house (ngl it took Barbs and Lucifer about a half hour to set the whole thing up). Barbs even somehow managed to pack a collapsible desk in there for him so he could still work… greeeat…. 🙄

Diavolo wanted to try everything. Literally everything. The man even traded his uniform out for full on outdoors gear, right down to one of those floppy fishing hats with the tackle stuck to it.

Politely insistently asks that Lucifer does things with him. The MC could come along as well (and in many cases Luci begs them to do so) but he wants to get some bonding time in with his best friend!

Unfortunately for Lucifer, Diavolo would get sidetracked quite a lot… Which is how he ended up having to physically steer his Lord out of harm's way more than once…

At one point while hiking, Diavolo was so distracted by taking pictures that he nearly walked right into the path of a passing bear and her cubs. Lucifer had to tackle him down into some bushes until they went away... His brothers teased him mercilessly when they heard about...

Dia also loved the camping food quite a bit. He's never gotten the chance to cook his own food before, even if it's just marshmallows over a fire, so it was all a brand new experience for him! S'mores are now declared a human world delicacy.

Man had the time of his life! He'd love to do it again, hell, maybe even make it a yearly event! (Few of the brothers share his sentiment, but hey, it pays to be King 😏)

Barbatos

If his Lord orders it, then he follows. He'll just have to double check that everyone is prepared for the occasion…

Drove Diavolo there with the patience of a saint (while also, like, being the exact opposite of that). Had it been anyone else in the car, they might have told him, "No, we can't stop for pictures of every moose you see," but Barbs is as accommodating as he is loyal.

It was pretty much all on his shoulders to direct the others when setting up camp. Lucifer would claim it was his, but let’s be completely honest here, Lucifer can't order Barbs to do shit. 

Naturally, he had his own tent close to his Lord, more modest in comparison, but big enough to hold a majority of the belongings and gear Diavolo had requested.

He also managed to bring a almost fully functioning kitchen setup for him using magic, minus a working oven by Diavolo's instruction. If he wanted a heat source, he had to use the campfire and he found the challenge intriguing…

For once in his extended life, Barbs had to do some trial and error in the kitchen. As it would turn out, fireside cooking can be a little difficult to master, but by the end of the trip he could still somehow dish out four course meals without so much as a sweat (according to the MC the secret was tinfoil and cast-iron cookware… who knew?)

When he isn’t prepping their next meal (which let’s be honest, with Beel on the trip that’s a constant activity) he’s guarding the food from Beel and Solomon…

The sorcerer wanted to help, but Barbs has already learned the hard way that if he so much as pokes a dish its flavor is ruined… It’s enough to make him wonder if it was a curse laid on him at some point…

Watching Barbatos deny Solomon becomes a pretty funny routine in and of itself. He’s not above just smacking the man’s hand away with a wooden spoon if it gets too close. Barbs doesn’t play in his kitchen. Back off. 😠

Barbatos is happy with the trip so long as the young Lord enjoyed himself. If that’s the case, and it was, then he’d happily do it again if asked… not that he’d have much of a choice anyway.

Simeon

Simeon was familiar with the concept of camping, he’d written about it in his stories, but he’d never actually done it himself… He had hoped it'd be an interesting experience! And uh… it was that from the very start… 

Purgatory Hall got its own car and Solomon was put in charge of driving… But no one mentioned that he drives like a complete maniac. Speed limits, stoplights, even the ROAD ITSELF be damned. Solomon drives in a straight line from point A to point B and if there’s anything in the way he’ll just use magic to get around it…

It’s safe to say that by the time he and the others got to the campsite (which was significantly quicker than the rest) the angels weren’t in the emotional state to pitch tents… He and Luke just waited for the others to catch up while praying and praising the solid ground beneath their feet…

He shared his tent with Luke and didn’t mind at all. It was probably for the best anyway because the little angel was scared of human world predators like bears and wolves coming for him in the night… Poor boy…

Simeon took to hiking quite a bit. Going out and exploring the area around the campsite made him feel invigorated! The forests were beautiful and it gave him ideas for a bit of a guilty pleasure he's been debating on writing, "The Tale of the Lonely Prince." 🤭

It was on one of those trips that Simeon discovered human world creatures love him. Pretty much all of the wildlife gravitates towards him like he's a Disney Princess.

At one point he came back to camp riding on a moose with birds chirping on his new friend's antlers. He offered to take the MC out for a ride, but the brothers threw a fit about it…

He WAS able to get a couple more wrangled for Diavolo, who naturally dragged Lucifer along (though he clearly didn't want to touch the thing). 

The three ended up getting into a mooseback race because Diavolo wouldn't let Lucifer take the lead. He was glad to see Luci enjoy himself for a change! (It helped a lot that he won of course 🙄😏)

All and all, Simeon had a great time. Maybe he should ask the MC to show him more human places… But he's never getting in a car again. Pardon his language, but fuck those things!!!

Luke

He doesn't know what's worse… being out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of demons or the absolute insanity that was the "drive" down… 😣

He spent the entirety of Solomon's Magical Ride of Nightmares clinging to Simeon or the armrests for dear life. He swore his entire life flashed before his eyes, can angels even have heart attacks???

Stayed right next to Simeon when they finally pulled themselves together enough to leave the car. He was so happy that Michael didn't see any of that… Who knew human transportation was so horrifying…???

His saving grace (literally) was getting to share his tent with Simeon… After Solomon told him that bears sometimes get curious and ransacked campsites, he clung onto the older angel like a protective charm.

...Whiiiich he wasn't too off about actually after he saw Simeon playing (yes PLAYING) with the human wildlife… Simeon had to introduce him to some of the nicer animals for him to eventually get over his fear and venture out past the campsite.

Luke loved to swim in the lake or river with MC and the others. The MC found a sturdy branch where they set up a rope swing and the little guy amused himself for hours!

Sometimes he'd watch Barbatos prep and cook using the campfire… He didn't even know you could make lasagna in a Dutch oven…

At one point the MC convinced him to go with them and the twins on a particularly long hike…

He got tired halfway through and Beel offered him a piggyback ride, but of course he'd NEVER let himself be that close to a demon!! (Just kidding, poor boy was so tired he climbed onto Beel's back and held on the a kola until they got back. Then he jumped off to save face)

He had a better time than he thought he would, but still doesn't want to go camping with demons ever again. (He and Simeon also begged Lucifer to drive them back instead of Solomon so the brothers' van was pretty much a clown car on the return trip).

Solomon

Solomon hasn't been camping (for enjoyment) in quite a while, so when the prospect came up to do it with the MC and the other students he was intrigued...

When Simeon asked he knew how to drive, he said yes. He knows how to start a car, put it into motion, steer, and then come to a stop. That's all driving is really. 🤷‍♀️ You can't blame him for not memorizing all the rules, he's been traveling by portal for decades!

Was pretty confused why his angel friends fled the car so quickly... He got them there in one piece, after all. 😕🤷‍♀️ He put up their tents himself since they were too busy thanking their father then made a magic barrier around the site for protection purposes.

He and the MC both have their own tents, of course his is enchanted to be a lot bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, but he's only let the MC in on that little secret in case they want to visit… 😏

When everyone else finally arrived, Solomon was happy to help the MC introduce the wonders of the human wilderness to their companions! Including the breathtaking vistas, beautiful flora, bitter temperatures, man-eating predators, waters filled with disease… Hm? Oh, Luke won't leave the tent now…? Whoopsie.

Solomon kept himself occupied on the trip the best way he knew how… relentless trolling (particularly of Asmo and Barbs because they're used to his shit).

He'd alternate between poking fun at Asmo for the almost ritual length routines he was going through to try and save his looks to genuinely trying to encourage him and downplay the severity of the downgrade...

Meanwhile he was bound and determined to serve at least one of his own dishes during the trip (but Barbatos had banned him from the "kitchen," the food tent, and even the spoons...)

Diavolo, nice guy that he is, eventually made Barbs relent and let Solomon cook for ONE night… It went as well as to be expected. (They sent Solomon to grab more supplies then everybody took turns washing their mouths out with lake water... Diavolo apologized profusely, he had no idea...).

Solomon was confused why the angels would rather squeeze themselves in with the brothers than ride with him back but he wasn’t upset about it. That meant he could make a few extra stops without anyone complaining! He knows a guy in New Orleans he’s been meaning to see again… Luke and Simeon can wait a little for their stuff, right?

Click HERE for Part One. Check out my Masterlist for more!

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The Reward of Suffering (Part Six)

previous chapter

Summary: Spencer comes face to face with a ghost from the past.

A/N: Hey... how y’all doin? Long time no see, huh? Sorry about that - hopefully this extra long update will make up for my absence. This has definitely been my favorite part thus far, and I had so much fun writing it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it. You guys know the drill by now: SPOILERS for season 12. Also, shoutout to @zhuzhubii​ for posting the absolute best set of gifs right in time for this update - you’re the coolest.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, mentions of rape, mentions of mental illness, kidnapping, choking

Word Count: 10.3k

           With every clack of my heels on the concrete floors, the nervous feeling in my gut grows into full blown nausea. It’s been nearly two months since I last walked these halls, but somehow it feels like a lifetime has passed. Considering everything that transpired in the last forty-eight hours, it makes sense that I feel that way.

           I hadn’t been on the team when Lindsey Vaughn first came into the picture ten years ago, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t familiar. At the time, I thought nothing of the kind neighbor that I sometimes passed in the stairwell on my way to Spencer’s apartment. I mean, why would I? I had no reason to be suspicious. Our interactions never went beyond the usual pleasantries – polite smiles and the occasional greeting – and I never gave her a second thought.

           Maybe if I had, Cassie wouldn’t be dead, and Spencer’s mother wouldn’t be missing.

           I shake my head at the thought. Now isn’t the time to ruminate on what ifs. I would have plenty of time to blame myself when all of this is over. Instead of torturing myself, I focus on trying to steady my breathing as I come to a stop just before I reach the interview room of the Milburn Correctional Facility.

           I know what lies beyond that door, and I’m equal parts excited and worried. Excited, because I’d finally be able to see Spencer after two long months of daydreaming about when I’d finally hold him in my arms again. Of course, it was very possible that Spencer wouldn’t want to see me. After all, I promised to keep his mother safe, and instead of doing that, I let myself get swept up in moving in to my apartment, and now Diana was God knows where.

           I was so sure that he wouldn’t want to see me that I’d initially suggested that Emily be the one to go to the prison and get him. My idea was met with a sad smile and a pat on the shoulder.

           “I think that if it was anyone but you standing there when they open that door, it’d break his heart.”

           Her reassurances did little to assuage my nerves. I spent the entire ride here running over every possible scenario that I could imagine, scrambling to form some kind of game plan. But now that I was here, any semblance of preparedness left me the second the guard reached for the door handle.

           “You ready, ma’am?”

           Yes.

           No.

           I don’t trust my voice, so I settle on nodding my head. The door opens with a groan, rusty hinges creaking in protest, and with shaky legs and a heart that threatens to beat out of my chest, I step into the doorway.

           It’s like the world stops turning on its axis when his eyes meet mine. Those familiar pools of caramel stare back at me with such an intensity that I force myself to look away, petrified at the prospect of seeing disappointment in them. 

           I trail my eyes over his frame, drinking in every inch of him - every bruise and every scrape feeling like a dagger to my heart. My eyes linger on the bandage adorning his left arm, before trailing down to the one on his leg. Emily had warned me about happened, about Spencer injuring himself in order to secure his safety. It was smart of him - that I knew - but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t horrified. 

           His hair has gotten longer, and his curls hang limply around his face. The usually clean-shaven Spencer I once knew was a thing of the past - replaced now by a more disheveled, scruffier version.

           Clean-shaven or not, he still looks just as breathtaking as always. 

           I hesitantly raise my eyes up to his again. He’s staring at me still, mouth parted in shock. He doesn’t look angry, just confused, and that fills me with a tiny sliver of hope.

           “Hi, Spence,” I murmur, voice thick with emotion. It’s not until I speak that I realize I’m crying, and I hastily wipe at my cheeks with my shirtsleeve.

           The dazed look in Spencer’s eyes washes away when he hears my voice and he blinks hard.

           “What… H-How are you…?” he trails off, eyes moving up and down my body.

           It feels so fucking good to hear his voice again, and I find myself unable to hold back a sob.

           “M’ here to take you home,” I choke out.

           It’s like all the tension in Spencer’s body is expelled at once and his shoulders slump in relief. I open my mouth to elaborate, to explain how Emily had managed to pull this off, but I’m stunned into silence when Spencer’s body collides with mine. I hadn’t even had time to process that he was moving before his arms snake around me, tugging me forward until there’s no space in between our bodies. Spencer’s hands collect fistfuls of my shirt, clinging desperately to the fabric as he nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck.

           Once I get over the initial shock, I’m hugging him back, arms locked around his torso in a vicelike grip. He doesn’t smell the same – the usual fragrance of cinnamon and vanilla is long gone, replaced with that of some generic detergent – but the way his broad shoulders feel underneath my palms is something so familiar that I can’t help but smile against his chest.

           This is still my Spencer.

           Spencer lets out a shaky breath against my skin and I let out an involuntary shudder at the feeling.

           “Missed you so fucking much,” Spencer whispers. “I-I can’t believe you’re here. Thought I was imagining it.” Spencer takes a shaky breath in, nuzzling further into my neck. His next words are muffled from the way his lips press against my skin, but I’m still able to make out the quiet ‘I’m sorry’.

           “You’re sorry?” I hiccup, eyebrows scrunching up in disbelief. I attempt to pull away so that I can look at him, but Spencer only tightens his grip on me. Something about it makes my chest feel incredibly warm, but I push that feeling aside for now. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I should’ve done more – I should’ve visited more often. I let myself get busy, and if I’d just been more careful, then your m-mom… she wouldn’t be-”

           “Stop that,” Spencer interrupts, and this time he’s the one that pulls away. He holds me at arm’s length and those beautiful brown eyes lock with mine. “This is absolutely not your fault.”

           Spencer’s hands come up to cup either side of my face and his thumbs wipe away at the tears on my cheeks. “You’ve done so much for me – for her. I’m sorry that I took you off the list. Things were getting so bad here, and if something would have happened to you…” Spencer pauses, closing his eyes and leaning down until his forehead rests against mine. “It was never because I didn’t want to see you, I promise. And… And your letter - I can’t even begin to explain how much that helped. I’m sorry that I couldn’t write back. I didn’t know what to say. Especially not after…”

           He doesn’t elaborate, but I’m able to fill in the blanks myself. I bring my hand up and rest it on top of his.

           “S’okay, Spence. I know,” I whisper. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I understand.”

           Spencer hums and a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

           “Time to get you out of here, Doc.” I remove his hand from my face and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s go get your mom back.”

           Spencer opens his eyes and for the first time in two months I’m on the receiving end of my favorite smile in the whole world.

           I lead him from the room, never once removing my hand from his. Now that I have him back, I don’t ever want to let go.

--

           For the second time today, the clacking of my heels against the concrete floor is the only sound that can be heard. Spencer moves silently beside me, his face pulled into a somber expression as we stalk down the long corridor. His hand brushes against mine, and I long to reach out and intertwine our fingers like I had only hours before. I suppress the urge, stealing one last, poorly concealed glance at him before I settle my gaze on the door at the end of the hall.

           In the last several hours, the entire case had been flipped upside down. We’d been wrong all along – Scratch wasn’t to blame for the shit show that had transpired over the last three months. It’d been an easy enough mistake to make. After the incident with Tara’s brother, Scratch was the obvious choice. Pair that with the fact that Spencer had been drugged and we had no reason to suspect anyone else.

           Cat Adams was the last thing on everyone’s mind when Mexico happened. It’d been over a year since Spencer outsmarted her in that restaurant, and she was very much out of sight and out of mind. She was in a maximum-security prison, for fuck’s sake. That alone should have rendered her unable to carry out a scheme this convoluted.

           But apparently that meant nothing, because Cat had somehow managed to be the mastermind behind this whole ordeal, perfectly orchestrating the entire thing from her cell in solitary confinement – using Lindsey Vaugh as her metaphorical puppet on a string. We’d sorely underestimated Cat, and our arrogance had come back to bite us all in the ass.

           A guard that stands at the end of the hall opens the door for us, and I feel an intense rush of foreboding as we step into the room. The sound of the guard closing the door behind us brings a sense of finality to the situation; there is no turning back now. Either we walk out of here knowing Diana’s whereabouts, or we miss the mark completely and loose Diana in the process.

           I cast a worried look at Spencer, whose eyes are trained on the double-sided glass. The tension has returned to his shoulders, and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides. There’s a sort of fiery determination in his eyes – a sort of menacing resolve that I’d never seen in him before.

           Spencer looks intimidating, and nothing like the Spencer that was led from the courtroom three months ago. I pull my eyes away in favor of looking through the glass.

           Reid had been able to see through Cat’s mind games the first time, but the Cat that sat on the other side of that door is a far cry from the one he encountered a year ago. If she’d looked cold and calculating before, she looks downright deranged now.

           “Are you sure you want to go in there alone?” I ask after a moment. “I could-”

           “No,” Spencer cuts me off. His tone is hard and definite, warning me not to argue. “I can’t ask you to do that. Emily shouldn’t have made you come in the first place.”

           “Emily told me to come with you because she knew that there was nothing she could do to make me stay.” I pause long enough to shoot him a weak smile. “Hope you enjoyed your three-month break from me, because I’m going to practically glued to your side from now on. You’ll be dying to get rid of me in a month’s time.”

           Spencer’s lips twitch, threatening to turn up into a smile.

           “I sincerely doubt that.”

           “We’ll see,” I breeze. “But I’m serious, Spence. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here the whole time – I’m not letting you go in there alone, and I’m not going to leave you.”

           “Promise?” Spencer asks, finally pulling his eyes away from the window in favor of looking at me. There’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and the weight of his gaze is so heavy that I worry I might buckle under it.

           I reach for his hand and hook my pinky finger around his, lifting our intertwined hands to eye level.

           “I promise.”

           Spencer’s pinky finger squeezes mine and he closes his eyes.

           “I don’t deserve you.”

           “You deserve the world, Spence.”

           For a moment I think he’s going to say something else, but then Spencer’s lips press into a tight line and he only nods in response. He releases my hand and I let it fall limply at my side. Spencer rolls his shoulders back, and that stony expression returns to his face. He reaches out and pulls open the door, and I follow closely behind him at he steps over the threshold.

           It’s as if I’m invisible; Cat doesn’t even spare me a glance when I enter the room. Her eyes, narrowed and sparkling with amusement, hone in on Spencer immediately.

           “Spencie,” she greets, smiling deviously up at him.

           “Where’s my mother?” Spencer asks, completely devoid of emotion.

           “I missed you.”

           “What did you and Lindsey do to her? How did you-”

           Cat raises a hand, effectively cutting him off. She points a finger at him, and the smile that she previously wore is replaced by a grimace.

           “Now, stop. You don’t get to walk in here and hiss at me like I’m the criminal. No – we’re going to do this my way.” Cat kicks the chair that sits on the opposite side of the table and Spencer reaches out to grab it. “Have a seat.”

           Spencer complies and Cat’s smile returns.

           “How was prison? Did you like it?”

           “No.”

           Cat hums.

           “It’s not fun, is it?”

           “Unlike you, I didn’t deserve to be there,” Spencer retorts.

           Cat leans forward, crossing her arms before resting them on the metal table.

           “How did you stay sane? A brain like yours needs stimulation in such a gray place.”

           “I worked in the laundry room and I played chess.”

           “That’s three, maybe four hours, tops. What about the other twenty?”

           “I read.”

           Cat shakes her head. “That’s still not enough. You have to… go someplace.” She taps the side of her head. “Up here. Or else you go crazy. Do you want to see where I go? I’ll show you.” Cat crooks a finger at Spencer, and I tense at the gesture. The idea of that psychotic bitch getting any closer to him makes my skin crawl. I clench my fists together and the feeling of my nails digging into my palms is enough to ground me.

           Spencer leans forward, mimicking Cat’s relaxed position. She reaches a hand out towards him, and before I can think better of it, I speak up.

           “Hands off,” I warn.

           Cat halts her movements and fixes me with an irritated expression, looking me up and down distastefully before turning her attention back to Spencer.

           “Close your eyes,” she instructs him. Spencer complies. “Good. Now keep them closed. Sit back and relax. When you open your eyes, I want you to look at me like I’m the first woman you’ve seen after being in prison for three months.”

           I clench my jaw at that. Something stirs in my chest – something foreign and possessive that has me bristling. I tense, watching closely as Spencer opens his eyes and smiles that beautiful smile at Cat. My stomach turns painfully at the sight.

           “Hello, Cat,” Spencer greets her, and all the contempt his tone previously held is gone – replaced with a neutrality that bordered on happiness.

           Cat lets out a pleased laugh.

           “You’re here!” she exclaims, throwing her arms out as she gestures about the room. “You’re really here.”

           “There is nowhere else I would rather be,” Spencer replies, sounding startlingly genuine.

           This is all an act, I remind myself. Spencer’s just playing a part. None of this is real.

           Cat crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him.

           “You’re good at this. You’re so good at this that I almost believe that you don’t want to kill me.”

           “I don’t want to kill you,” Spencer says with a shake of his head.

           “No?”

           “No.”

           Cat narrows her eyes at him.

           “What if I let your mother die?” she inquires. “Then would you kill me? Or would you just…” Cat trails of as she leans forward. “… Hurt me? Would you pin me down and leave bruises that don’t go away?”

           I swallow hard against the bile that threatens to crawl its way up my throat. Spencer might not want to kill her, but I do.

           “Is that what you want?”

           Cat shrugs her shoulders.

           “I guess I just want to know if you would – if you could.”

           Spencer gives a small shake of his head.

           “No.”

           “No?” Cat taunts, cocking her head to the side.

           “It’s not the kind of man I am.”

           Cat’s face drops and her eyes narrow into slits.

           “Do me a favor and tell your little chaperone over there to step aside, because we’re going to play another game. And this time, we’re going to find out exactly what kind of man you are.”

           Spencer’s eyes flit to me and he nods towards the door. I open my mouth to argue, but the pleading look in his eyes has me clamping it shut. It’s okay, his eyes seem to tell me. I know you promised, but I’ll be fine.

Cat waves at me as I reluctantly move towards the door. When the door clicks shut behind me, Spencer takes it as his invitation to continue.

           “Let’s play,” his voice sounds through the speaker to my left.

           “Let’s!” Cat exclaims before resting her head in her hand.

           “So, is it the same game as last time?” Spencer inquires. “I answer every question you ask honestly?”

           “No,” Cat sighs out. “This time you get to ask the questions.”

           Spencer raises an eyebrow at her. “About what?”

           “Well, I know a secret about you. And you can ask me as many questions as you like to figure it out. But you only get one guess as to what it is. If you guess correctly, I take your phone, I call our friend Lindsey, and I tell her to release your dear mother unharmed. If you don’t…” Cat trails off, before mimicking bringing a gun up to her mouth and firing.

           Crazy fucking bitch.

           “Is there a clock?”

           “There’s always a clock.” Cat holds out her hand, eyes flicking down to Spencer’s watch. “Give it to me.”

           I cringe when Spencer hesitates – I know what he must be thinking. That’s Gideon’s watch. The only thing he has left of him. I’d never seen Spencer without it in the two years I’ve known him.

           Spencer reluctantly slips the watch off of his wrist and hands it over.

           Cat smirks and slides the watch onto her arm.

           “Now, you’ll have four hours.”

           “Do you want to give me a hint before we start?”

           Cat chuckles. “Do I look like a girl that gives hints?”            “Actually, you do.”

           Cat takes pause, looking Spencer up and down before speaking.

           “Okay, how about this; it’s a secret you’ll never admit to.”

--

           “I know what the secret is.”

           Cat quirks an eyebrow up at Spencer.

           “You do?”

           He nods. “Why else would you put me through all this?”

           “Ooh, phrasing it in the form of a question that way it doesn’t count as a guess. Very smart, Doctor.”

           “I’m gonna walk you through a scenario, and your face is going to tell me how close I am,” Spencer murmurs, an amused smile on his lips. He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. “From the moment I arrested you, you watched and waited for the right time to take your revenge. When you learned I was going to Mexico, you took it. You and Lindsey framed me for murder so I’d be put in a prison and treated like a criminal, and then you kidnapped my mother so I would know how it feels to have a parent manipulated, because you want to prove that you and I are the same. Am I right?”

           Cat feigns a yawn in response.

           “Mm. Sorry, I couldn’t hold that in any longer. What were you saying?”

           “Psychopaths tend to get bored easily.”

           “You’re right. Let’s speed this up,” Cat sighs with a roll of her eyes. She pushes away from the table, standing up and walking over to Spencer’s side of the table. I fight the urge to barge in when I see her take a seat on his lap. Cat runs a hand down Spencer’s chest before she continues. “Shall we? What do you think about all the pain you’ve suffered in your life? What would I capitalize on, do you think? Is it… the death of your mentor, SSA Jason Gideon?”

           I can see the way Spencer’s jaw clenches and it makes my heart lurch painfully in my chest.

           “No, because we caught the man who killed him.”

           “What about Agent Morgan and your guilt over not visiting his little boy?” Cat whispers in his ear as her hands fiddle with the collar of his suit.

           “I was in prison.”

           “Yeah, but you had time before that. Why didn’t you go?” she presses as she grazes her nails down the length of his throat. I see red when her hand loosely circles around his neck. Spencer absolutely loathes being touched by anyone other than those closest to him, and I’ve no doubt that he’s horribly uncomfortable.

           “Truthfully, I got distracted. I was trying to figure out a way to help my mom. She didn’t have time. Morgan, Savannah, and little Bobby did. So, there’s absolutely no shame in admitting that. Morgan would understand.”

           “I agree. That’s why that’s not the secret,” Cat divulges, brushing her nose against the side of his face before pulling away and standing up. I let out the breath that I’d apparently been holding and allow myself a moment to run a shaky hand through my hair. If I was getting this frazzled from being a bystander to this conversation, I can only imagine how Spencer must be feeling.

           When I look back up at the mirror, Spencer’s looking over his shoulder at me through the glass. I know he can’t see me, but I can’t help but feel guilty for losing my cool.

           “Good job, Spence,” I murmur to myself as I pull out my phone. After a few rings, Rossie answers.

           “Go ahead, Y/N. You’re on speaker.”

           “Cat has an extremely deep background on Spencer. She knows about everything – Gideon’s death, Derek leaving the team, his mom’s condition,” I inform them, tapping my foot nervously against the concrete.

           “She’s throwing him off-balance.”

           “Yes, but Spencer also purposefully gave the wrong name of Derek’s son and she didn’t correct him,” I point out.

           “She must’ve gotten her hands on Reid’s confidential FBI file,” Emily chimes in. “It would mention pertinent team information but it wouldn’t name Morgan’s son for confidentiality reasons.”

           “We were thinking she’s been getting help from someone inside the prison. This goes deeper than that,” Rossi sighs.

           “Call us if she says anything else of any importance,” Emily signs off. I mumble a quick goodbye before pocketing my phone and turning my attention back to the window.

           “Working deductively, the secret wouldn’t be any of the topics you’ve already volunteered, because you wouldn’t want to make it easy on me,” Spencer reasons. He clasps his hands together and sits back in his seat before raising an eyebrow in challenge.

           “Genius, truly,” Cat taunts sarcastically as she twirls the watch around her finger.

           “So, what is left that I wouldn’t want to admit?” Spencer muses, eyebrows drawn together in contemplation. Cat shrugs her shoulders at him and another moment of tense silence passes.

           “Love,” Spencer utters, and Cat’s incessant twirling of the watch comes to an abrupt halt.

           Got her.

           “Is that what this is all about – love? For my mother?” Spencer whispers, and when Cat fails to respond, he shakes his head. “No, not for her. For you. You want me to admit that I’m actually in love with you.”

           Cat purses her lips together.

           “Don’t get me wrong – I love my fairy tales as much as the next girl – but I’m not delusional,” Cat says as she crosses her arms.

           “Are you sure about that?”

           “Very sure. So sure, in fact, that I had Lindsey leave a clue for you in that little scrapbook in your apartment.”

           I scrunch my face up at that. The clue in question had been a message inscribed on the back of an old photograph;xx-xy. We’d originally deduced that the message, the female and male chromosomes, was to confirm that Lindsey was working with Scratch. But now? Now I didn’t have a clue what Cat was talking about.

           “I couldn’t have you come all the way down here and make a guess until I was positive. That is…” Cat pauses for dramatic effect, a sly smile on her lips. “… until I tested positive.” Cat punctuates her words by placing both hands on her stomach, and the action makes me raise a hand up to my mouth in shock.

           No. There’s no fucking way.

           “What, you’re pregnant?” Spencer asks, confused.

           “No, we’re pregnant.”

           I feel my knees buckle upon hearing the admission and I blindly reach for the chair to my left.

           This cannot be happening.

           “No,” Spencer says, shaking his head adamantly.

           “Oh, yes,” Cat replies. “Mazel tov.”

--

           “Here you are, ma’am.”

           I reach for the file, my movements stilted and awkward.

           “Thank you,” I mumble to the guard, who gives me a peculiar look before leaving the room. I waste no time in flipping through the file, heart pounding wildly in my chest as my eyes skim over the page until –

           Positive.

           I slam the file down on the table.

           “Fuck!” I yell out in frustration. I’m thankful then for the thick, concrete walls, because neither Spencer nor Cat show any sign of having heard my little outburst. I place both palms down on the cool metal of the table, my breaths coming out in haggard puffs as I try to rationalize it all.

           “- not possible,” Spencer’s voice coming through the speaker snaps me out of my thoughts. I cut my eyes to the window to find Spencer pacing the room. “Even if you are pregnant, the baby’s not mine.” Spencer comes to a stop behind his chair and shoves his hands in his pockets.

           “Except for the part where it is.”

           “That’s completely preposterous. You’ve been in prison,” Spencer points out as he once again takes a seat across from her.

           “So have you.”

           “And we’ve never-”

           “I know. We’ve never…” Cat trails off with a suggestive waggle of her brows. “Ask me how I did it. Come on, ask me.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes, but he indulges her nonetheless.

           “How did you do it?”

           “I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time. And I gave her very specific instruction on how to get you in the mood,” Cat admits.

           “What?” Spencer snorts cynically. “Did she pretend to be you?”

           “Why, would that have worked?”

           Spencer leans forward and shoots Cat a cruel kind of smile.

           “No.”

           For a split second Cat’s face falls, but only for a moment and then she goes right back to smiling that wretched grin.

           “Yeah, I know, I know. Believe me, I know exactly where I stand on the Spencer Reid hot or not list,” Cat sighs. “So, ask me again.”

           “How did you do it?”

           “I told her to pretend to be Y/N.”

           For a second I think that I misheard her – the blood rushing in my ears almost overpowered her admission – but the way Spencer’s entire body tenses before he looks back at the window tells me that I didn’t.

           Why me?

           Spencer gulps hard before he turns back around. I find my way to the chair nearest me and collapse into it.

           “How do you know about her?”

            Cat gives him an unimpressed look.

           “It wasn’t hard, seeing as she’s your very best friend in the whole wide world,” Cat teases as her eyes wander from Spencer to the glass behind him. She waves at me, endlessly amused, before turning her attention back to Spencer. “But that isn’t all that she is to you – is it Spencie? At least, Lindsey didn’t think so. At first, she thought the two of you were tangled up in some kind of sexy little tryst. But then I had Lindsey do a little digging, and, well, that’s when we found out about the boyfriend.”

           “Stop.”

           “Oh, it seems I’ve struck a nerve!” Cat trills gleefully. “Shall we call her in here to join us? I know she’s just on the other side of that glass. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about how pathetic little Spencer Reid pines after her like a school boy with a crush.” She pouts her bottom lip out in mock sadness. “There’s just something about unrequited love that really tugs at my heart strings.”

           Oh.

           For the second time since arriving here, my hand comes up to cover my mouth as I struggle to process Cat’s words. She can’t be right, can she? Spencer had never done anything that eluded to him seeing me as any more than a best friend. Perhaps she got it wrong. Lindsey saw me come and go and she just assumed it was something that it wasn’t. There was no way that Spencer -

           “I said stop.”

           The underlying plea in his voice is enough to make tears well in my eyes. If what Cat is saying is true, that means that Lindsey . . . 

           “All it took was Lindsey saying she was Y/N for you to crumble like a house of cards. You really made it too easy.”

           “You’re lying.”

           Cat chuckles. “Listen to you, you’re not even trying to deny it.”

           “It didn’t happen,” Spencer argues, voice so quiet that I have to strain to hear it.

           “Hey, I was thinking, if it’s a boy, we should definitely call him Spencie Jr.”

           Spencer pushes back from the table so abruptly that both Cat and I flinch, and he’s almost out the door when Cat delivers one final dig.

           “-But if it’s a girl, I think we should call her Y/N. I mean after all; she played such a huge role in in her own conception!”

           The sound of the door slamming behind him as he trudges into the room is enough to make me bolt up from my seat. Spencer comes to a stop at the center of the room, eyes wide and full of remorse as he looks over at me.

           “I-I… I’m…”

           I try my best to muster up a smile but I worry that it comes out more as a grimace.

           “Later,” I murmur, and Spencer winces before nodding his head in defeat. I walk over to the table and open up the file. “She’s not lying about being pregnant.”

           Spencer joins me at the table, eyes skimming over the document.

           “She’s three months, and the timeline matches, but that doesn’t mean-”

           Spencer yanks the file off the table and hurls it at the window, shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

           I take a step back and Spencer curses under his breath.

           “I’m sorry. It’s not you,” he sighs. “I just… need a minute.”

           I press my lips together and nod.

           “Take all the time you need. M’gonna go call Emily,” I murmur.

           Spencer closes his eyes and lets his head hang low.

           “Yeah, okay,” he whispers dejectedly, and the despair in his voice is enough to stop me in my tracks.

           “Spence?” I call out. He looks up at me from underneath his lashes, more than a little bit timid and scared. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m not leaving you.”

            I open the door and step out of the room, but it doesn’t close before I hear the quiet ‘thank you’ drift from within.  

--

           Spencer waits until the door clicks shut behind her to push away from the table and head back into the interrogation room. He couldn’t bear the thought of her overhearing any more than she already had. As far as Spencer was concerned, Cat had just singlehandedly ruined the one good thing he had going for him, and at this point, he had nothing left to lose.

           “Let’s pretend you’re telling the truth,” Spencer starts. “That means I guessed it, right? The secret, the one I don’t want to admit to? It’s my child?”

           Cat looks up at him with bored eyes and Spencer feels his unease begin to give way to rage.

           “Is that your guess?” Cat asks. “You only get one, remember?”

           Spencer takes pause, before shaking his head.

           “No. It’s too easy,” he decides.

           “Believe me, getting pregnant with your baby was not easy,” Cat mutters, and Spencer’s lips press into a tight line. The implication of it is enough to make his skin crawl. He feels violated and absolutely disgusted, but still he tries to school his impression into one of indifference. Spencer thinks about his mom, scared and confused, and that’s enough incentive to make him focus on the task at hand.

           “You misunderstand. It’s too easy emotionally,” Spencer explains in a clipped tone as he sits down. “Because I can take your child from you. The child I had absolutely no role in creating, but a child that I would care for better than you.”

           “That’s rude,” Cat seethes as she slowly lifts her head from off of the table.

           “It’s true. You can’t be a mother, Cat. I’m not trying to insult you – it’s your psychological makeup. You literally do not have the emotional skills to care for another human being. You’d lose interest in your own baby the way a six-year-old loses interest in a pet hamster. This baby is simply a means to an end, which is to keep me here and playing your game, guessing like a fool and assuming something that I never should have assumed in the first place.”

           “And what would that be?”

           “My mother’s already dead,” Spencer says, and the words taste positively foul in his mouth. “She was dead before I walked in here”

           Cat’s lips pull into a frown.

           “She’s not dead-”

           “Yes, she is,” Spencer reiterates as he rises from his chair.

           “No, because that would be cheating and I don’t cheat. You cheat!” Cat panics, voice growing louder the closer Spencer gets to the door.

           “I’m done playing,” Spencer says as he turns away, reaching for the door knob.

           “Get back here!”

           Spencer pulls the door open. “Goodbye, Cat.”

           He has one foot out the door when;

           “I’ll let you talk to her!” Cat yells out as she slams her fist down on the table.

           Spencer lifts his eyes up from their spot on the floor, and it’s with a jolt of surprise that his eyes meet Y/N’s. It feels to him like it always does when he sees her – like some great relief that floods through his entire body in an instant. He feels guilty for it, now that she knows, but that doesn’t stop him from basking in it. The feeling grows when a triumphant smile graces her lips, one that says you’ve got her, Spence. You’ve got her right where you want her.

           Spencer is positively rejuvenated by that smile.

           He reluctantly pulls his gaze away from her and focuses back on Cat. He’s come too far now to fuck it all up.

           Spencer pulls his phone from the depths of his suit pocket and hands it to Cat. He watches on as she dials the number, and his heart beats so fast that he wonders if she can hear it. The sound of the dial tone ringing fills the room, and Spencer can only hope that the call will be long enough for Penelope to trace.

           “You’re early,” a voice that’s unmistakably Lindsey’s calls out. Spencer lets out a shaky breath of relief.

           “Yeah, I know.”

           “Did he guess?”

           “No, not yet,” Cat sighs. “We need proof of life.”

           “All right, hold on,” Lindsey says, exasperated, and her words are followed by several seconds of muffled rustling and what Spencer deems as some sort of liquid being poured.

           “Spencer!”

           His heart practically bursts out of his chest as he lunges forward, yanking the phone out of Cat’s hand and bringing it up to his ear.

           “Mom - mom, are you okay?”

           “I don’t… know-”

           Spencer opens his mouth to reply when the gut-wrenching sound of an explosion rips through the tiny phone speakers, distorted and so loud that it makes Spencer’s ears ring.

           “Mom!” Spencer desperately yells into the phone, but all he gets in reply is a ‘gotta go’ from Lindsey before the line goes dead. Spencer growls out a string of swears, throwing his phone down on the table before leaning over the table.

           “What the hell was that?” he yells, and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of the door opening, but he can’t focus on anything other than his own rising panic.

           “I don’t know,” Cat replies, opening her mouth to continue but Spencer cuts her off.

           “Lindsey said you were early. Was that a signal?” he bellows.

           “Spence, come on,” Y/N tries to interject. Spencer feels her hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off before bringing his fist down on the table.

           “Was that a prearranged signal to kill my mother?!” Spencer snarls, eyes wide and teeth barred. He feels positively feral, images of his mother in all sorts of terrible states of distress flashing through his mind like some grotesque picture show. “Tell me the truth!”

           “No! I am!” Cat shouts back.

           “Tell me the truth!”

           “I am!” Cat spits out, eyes flashing angrily. “You wanna know the truth? Your mother is an Alzheimer’s-ridden moron who’s getting dumber by the day and if she’s dead, it’s your fault!”

           Something comes over Spencer then, and in an instant, he’s shoving the table out of the way and pushing Cat against the wall. His hands find purchase on her throat, not dissimilar to how hers had on his hours before, but instead of dragging his fingers against her neck, Spencer’s clamping down on it as hard as he can, taking great pleasure in the way she gasps for air as his hands tighten. Everything around him fades away until all that he can focus on is that way that her pulse feels under his hands – the way it starts off strong, before tapering, slower and slower until he can barely even palpate it anymore.

           “I’m going to kill you,” Spencer hears himself whisper as he presses down hard on her windpipe. “M’gonna fucking kill you.”

           Cat’s eyes are fluttering closed now, and Spencer shouldn’t enjoy the way the light in her eyes starts to dim. He shouldn’t but he does – in fact, it prompts him to press harder and harder and –

           A harsh yank pulls Spencer away from Cat, and as soon as his hands begin to loosen Cat splutters in an attempt to catch her breath.

           “Spencer, she is pregnant,” Y/N yells in his ear, and just like that his tunnel vison fades away and Spencer feels the adrenaline leave his body. He only realizes that his hands are still on Cat’s throat when Y/N yanks at his arms again. “Fucking let her go, Spencer!”

           His entire body goes limp and he allows himself to be drug away from Cat and out of the room. Spencer’s heart still pounds and his blood is still roaring in his ears, but the satisfaction has given away to shame. He steals a glance at cat as he’s being pulled from the room, and despite her ruffled appearance, she’s grinning at him – smiling as if to say see? I told you that you were just like me.

           Spencer stumbles into the other room, steadying himself on the wall to keep from faceplanting onto the cold hard floor. Now that the adrenaline has expelled itself from his body, he’s left shaky and panting and ashamed.

           The feeling of Y/N’s eyes on him as he braces himself on the wall only exacerbates his mortification. What will she think of me now? Will she think me to be some kind of monster? Spencer wouldn’t blame her - he’s held that same opinion of himself for months now.

           Spencer stands there, face turned downwards as he catches his breath, and when he can take the weight of her gaze no longer, he darts out of the room and down the corridor.

           Being alone is preferable to being a disappointment, Spencer thinks as he flees the room.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to find him sitting in the floor, knees to his chest with his face downturned. Spencer hears her before he sees her, and he prepares himself for the yelling that’s surely to come.

           She surprises him when she slides her back down the wall until she’s sitting beside him, legs sprawled out in front of her. He doesn’t look up – fearful of what he might see when he looks into those beautiful eyes of hers. There had been love there, before all of this happened. Not the kind of love that was reflected in his own, but it was love just the same and Spencer thinks that it might kill him to see that love replaced with disgust. So he doesn’t look. Instead, Spencer just sits there, slumped over and pathetic, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that his hands are shaking.

           “Richmond County police just reported a gas station explosion. One victim – male. Whatever Lindsey did, we have to assume that your mom’s still alive,” Y/N murmurs. Spencer lets out a shaky breath and his grip on his knees tightens. It’s good news, and he’s grateful, but it does nothing for the overwhelming guilt that’s eating away at him.

           “Hey,” she whispers when he doesn’t reply. “Can you look at me, Spence? Wanna see those pretty brown eyes. Please?”

           Spencer chokes down the sob that threatens to come out. He shakes his head. 

           “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened in there. That… That’s not me. At least, I don’t want it to be,” Spencer whispers. “Emily should’ve sent someone else with me. I never wanted you to see me like that.”

           Her small, incredibly soft hand comes to rest on his own and Spencer closes his eyes at the feeling. Y/N flips his hand over and intertwines their fingers and Spencer can’t help but think that’s she’s showing him way more kindness than he could ever deserve. But he’s selfish, unable to deny himself of the feeling of her hand in his, so he clings onto her hand for dear life.

           “I’m so scared that this is who I am now,” Spencer mumbles, prompting her grip on his hand to tighten.

           “No, Spence. Don’t say that,” she chastises him. “You’re the best guy I know. Everyone has a breaking point – Cat just knows how to bring you to yours, is all.”

           “You… You don’t know…” Spencer trails off, still unwilling to look her in the eye.

           “I do know, Spence. I may not have been able to visit, but I asked about you every day,” she says as she shuffles closer to him. Spencer can smell her perfume now, subtle and sweet and comforting. “I know that two inmates, Frazier and Duerson, killed your friend in front of you. I know that they wanted you to move heroin for them, and I also know that if you didn’t, you would’ve been next. Anyone in your spot would’ve done the same.”

           “You wouldn’t have.”

           “Hell yes, I would have,” Y/N persists, and Spencer can’t help but to look up at her from behind where his unruly curls fall into his face. “I would have, Spence. If someone was threatening my life, you bet your ass I would have done the same thing. It doesn’t make you a bad person – doing whatever it takes to survive does not make you a bad person.”

           She must pick up on the hesitancy that lingers in Spencer’s eyes, because she decides to continue.

           “You know who does think like that? That – that in you doing what you had to do in order to survive somehow makes you a psychopath?” Y/N pauses long enough to point her thumb towards the direction of the interview room. “She does.”

           Spencer watches the realization wash over her face, and for a split second he’s terribly confused. It isn’t until a ghost of a smile pulls at her lips that he catches on, and when he does, he has to stop himself from doing something terribly stupid like kissing her.

           “She does,” Y/N reiterates when she sees that Spencer finally caught on. “Because she knows.”

           “That’s the secret,” Spencer thinks aloud. He pushes himself to his feet and begins to pace down the corridor. “The one that I don’t want to admit about myself.”

           “Hold up, Spence. Let’s talk through this, because she will not lose to you twice. She already said that this wasn’t about the two of you being the same.”

           Spencer scratches the back of his next, nodding to himself.

           “Then she’s all about the game. She thinks that I cheated the last time because I lied about her dad, so it’s integral that she beats me by following the rules.”

           “But, Spence, she’s the one that makes the rules. She can change them to ensure that she wins.”

           “-Which means that I’m locked in-”

           “Like she is.”

           “She needs me locked in, playing by her rules, a game I can’t win, so she-” Spencer pauses then, and an actual, honest to God smile creeps its way across his face – the kind of smile that was only reserved for Y/N. “I got it.”

           Spencer doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t need to. He can tell with one look that she understands, because somehow, she always does. Spencer offers her a hand and hoists her to her feet. 

          Spencer almost laughs as the two of them step back into the room. Of course, she would be the one to figure it out. It seems like she’s always saving him, these days.

--

           “Guess that’s one way to get you to put your hands on me.”

           Spencer feels a twinge of guilt, but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he holds a hand out to Cat.

           “Dance with me.”

           Cat lifts an eyebrow at him.

           “Why?”

           “Because I don’t want the people watching to hear what I’m about to say.”

           Cat is still suspicious, but she takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet anyways. Spencer puts his arms around her and the two of them begin to sway back and forth. Spencer suppresses the urge to pull away when her hand lowers and intertwines with his own. It’s rough and calloused and cold – a direct contradiction of Y/N’s – and Spencer positively loathes it.

           “You had eyes on me while I was in prison, didn’t you?”

           “Spencie, don’t ruin the moment,” Cat groans.

           “I don’t want to, but I’m on the clock. Answer my question, am I right?”            Cat places her head on Spencer’s chest, her hair smelling of some generic bar of soap, and Spencer wishes more than anything that he was smelling the familiar notes of honeysuckle and vanilla instead.

           “Yes, you’re right. I wanted to make sure things were just as uncomfortable for you as they were for me.”

           “That’s how you timed everything so perfectly. Like sending my mom and Lindsey to visit me when I thought I was at my lowest.”

           This piques Cat’s interest and she lifts her head up until her eyes meet Spencer’s.

           “Thought? You’re sure you weren’t?”

           “No, I wasn’t. Because I didn’t feel bad – I felt scared at how much I enjoyed poisoning the other prisoners. I had a hundred ways of getting myself out of that situation, and I picked the one that would cause them the most pain.”

           “Well, look at that,” Cat hums. “You might end up saving your mother’s life after all.”

           A moment of silence passes as Spencer contemplates his next move. Before he can get the words out, Cat breaks the silence.

           “They won’t get there in time. They must be on their way, right? Your team is too good to wait around, but you know me. I always have a contingency plan,” Cat murmurs, hands dipping under Reid’s suit jacket. She rubs her palms across his chest in slow circles and Spencer tries hard not to squirm. “They’re walking into a trap, and the only way out is if you give me your phone and you guess – right now.”

           Cat removes her hands from Spencer’s chest, crossing her arms and fixing him with a pointed look. Spencer reaches down and pulls the phone from his pocket, passing it to Cat who wastes no time in taking a seat at the table once more.

           Spencer’s skin tingles, half from anticipation, half from fear. They’ve come too far for him to misstep. He thinks of his mother – of how the next two minutes will determine her fate, and Spencer clenches his hands into fists at his sides.

           Here comes the moment of truth.

           “When we first sat down, you said you were going to show me what kind of man I am. And you have.”

           “Every time I dial a number, you’re getting warmer.”

           “At first, I was furious, because the secret had to be the baby inside you. How could it be anything else? But then I realized that somehow, you knew I liked hurting those men.” Cat dials another number, prompting Spencer to continue. “Now, I know it’s both things.”

           “So, which is it, Spencie? Come on, don’t fumble it now. You’re at the one-yard line.”

           “You’re not pregnant with my child. You got pregnant with Wilkins to put me in as compromised a position as possible. But it should be mine – I wish it were mine. Because you and I… we deserve each other. That is the real secret.”

           By the time Spencer finishes speaking, tears are steady falling down Cat’s cheeks. With a shaky hand she presses the call button, and Spencer watches on with bated breath as the phone rings.

           “Kill her.”

          When Cat receives no reply, she pushes out of her seat and begins to pace around the room. “Lindsey, I said kill her.”

           “You bitch,” Lindsey curses, sounding positively heartbroken in the way only a jilted loved could. “You’re pregnant?”

            “Lindsey, sweetheart, it’s complicated, okay?”

           “No, it’s not,” Lindsey whispers, and then the sound of the dial tone is all that’s left.

           Not a second later, Y/N bursts through the door; the figurative light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

           “We’re clear.”

           Spencer snatches his phone from Cat’s hand before turning to face Y/N.

           “Is my mom okay?”

           “Yeah. She’s fine.”

           “We do deserve each other, by the way,” Cat calls out, prompting Spencer to pivot and face her. She slides back into the seat and shrugs her shoulders. “You guessed right.”

           Spencer falters for a moment, but then a voice in his head is reminding him that he deserves the world. And that voice sounds a lot like Y/N.

           “You lied, by the way. You were going to kill my mother regardless.”

          “Yeah, I think you really liked hurting those men. Once you cross that line, you can’t ever go back. And you’ll never get her to love you, either. You and I are too fucked up to be loved.”

           Spencer takes two steps forward before he bends down, reaching out and clutching Cat’s forearm in a tight grip. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his watch off her wrist and back on to his own.

           “Watch me,” Spencer whispers, and without so much as a parting glance at the broken women sitting at the table, Spencer walks towards the light.

--

           The elevator ride up to the bullpen is a quiet one, not unlike the jet ride before it. I had about a million questions that I was dying to ask, but I thought it best to let Spencer stew in silence. The poor guy had been through enough in the last twenty-four hours – he didn’t need me hounding him on top of all of that. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure where to start in the first place.

           So, Spence – how was prison?

           I heard you got the shit kicked out of you. How interesting, so did I! Wanna trade war stories?

           I hate to put you on the spot like this, but was that little tidbit about you being hopelessly in love with me true? Just curious.

           As wonderful as all of those conversation starters were, I didn’t really think that now was the time to breech any of the aforementioned subjects. So, instead, Spencer and I communicated in stolen glances and shy smiles, and that more than sufficed for the time being. We had all the time in the world to talk later - there was no need to rush.

           I can practically feel Spencer shaking with anticipation when the elevator ride comes to a close, and the two of us share one last, longing glance before the doors open and Spencer steps out and into the arms of his mother.

           There’s not a dry eye in the house when Spencer and his mother reunite, and it takes Emily ushering us all away to keep us all from devolving into sniveling messes right in front of the elevator. We all scatter about the bullpen, and after a quick trip to the bathroom I meander to Emily’s office.

           “Derek Morgan – you are a sight for sore eyes,” I whistle as I walk into the room, not stopping until I’m pressed up against two-hundred pounds of rock-hard abs.

           “Ah, little bit. I sure have missed you,” Derek laughs as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

           “To what do we owe the pleasure? I’d be hard pressed to believe that you just decided to drop in at three o’clock in the morning.”

           Derek lets out a sigh and the smile drops from his face.

           “I wish I was just here to say hello, but we may have bigger problems. I got a text from Penelope saying that Reid was out of prison and that he wanted to see me. And that he was staying in an FBI safehouse where he was putting his mother up for the night.”

           I cast a glance at Emily, who shakes her head.

           “I didn’t approve of that,” she explains, and just like that, a weary feeling settles over everyone in the room.

           “I think we all know what this sounds like,” Derek says.

           “A trap.”

--

           “I know we’re all tired, but we may have a new lead on Scratch.”

           “Somebody did a bang-up job of cloning my cellphone to send Morgan a text luring him to a nonexistent safehouse. And whoever that somebody is has mad skills,” Penelope explains.

           “The kind of skills Scratch has,” Stephen mutters, earning a round of murmured agreeances.

           “Were you able to trace where the hack came from?” Luke inquires, earning an affronted glare from Penelope. She shakes her head at him before turning to Derek, who’s watching on with a shit-eating grin on his face.

           “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

           Derek chuckles and gives Luke a pointed look.

           “Alvez, you’ll always get a location with this one.” Derek reaches forward and rubs Penelope’s shoulder, and it’s impossible to miss the way Luke’s eyes zero in on it.

           “Down boy,” I whisper at him. “Green isn’t your color.”

           “Shut up.”

           I roll my eyes good-naturedly before turning my attention back to Emily.

           “Obviously, Morgan can’t come with us. He’s a civilian now.”

           “We’ll miss you out there,” JJ chimes in.

           “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it out there in the field with you guys. I think about it every day. But between my old friends and my new friends, you guys are gonna go out there, you’re gonna handle your business, you’re gonna make people feel safe, and then you’re gonna go home. And that’s all that matters.”

           “Civilian life has turned you into a sap,” I tease.

           “Is it just me, or has this one gotten mouthier since I left?”

           Penelope pats him on the arm.

           “Someone had to fill the silence.”

           After everyone has the opportunity to tell Derek their goodbyes, it’s a mad dash to get everything we need to roll out. I pull my hair into a ponytail and shuck off my blazer, only to replace it with my Kevlar. I’m in the middle of securing the last strap as I hurry down the hall when I come in harsh contact with the front of someone’s chest.

           But it’s not just someone – it’s Spencer.

           “I thought you left already?”

           Spencer lets out a strained chuckle.

           “Uh, yeah. I was on the way out when Penelope texted and said Derek was here. Mom’s sitting with Anderson while I go talk to him.”

           I nod in understanding.

           “Good ole Anderson,” I manage to say, trying hard not to cringe at my awkward choice of words.

           “Yeah,” Spencer mutters, shuffling his feet as he looks anywhere other than my face. “There’s a case, I’m assuming?” he says, gesturing to my vest.

           “We think we have a lead on Scratch, actually.”

           Now, that gets Spencer’s attention. His eyes finally settle on me, and his brows furrow.

           “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I need to go with you-” Spencer makes a move to brush past me, put I stop him with a hand on his chest.

           “Back it up, Spence. There’s absolutely no way Prentiss will sign off on that, and even if she did, I’m still saying no.”

           “And I’m supposed to listen to you?” Spencer tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch as he fights back a smile.

           “Mm. What I say goes, and I say that you need to go home and not even think about work for at least a month. You certainly could use the break.”

           “A whole month, huh?”

           I nod, looking up at him with a faux serious expression.

           “I better not see you around here for at least that long, or there will be repercussions.”

           Spencer finally does smile at that, and I can practically see the way he’s mulling over his next move in his head.

           “Does… Does that prohibition extend only to the work place?”

           I tilt my head to the side.

           “I’m lost.”

           Spencer scrunches his nose up and his eyes dart across the hall before eventually settling back on me.

           “It’s just that, well, I don’t really know where this leaves us. Will I still see you outside of work, or is that all messed up now?”

           “Why would that be messed up?”

           Spencer closes his eyes and he lets out a haggard breath.

           “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

           Even though he can’t see me, I smile up at him anyways.

           “On any other day I absolutely would, but things are a little… hectic right now. How about we put a pin in this conversation until things slow down a bit?”

           Spencer slowly opens his eyes and they roam over my face, searching.

           “You’re not uncomfortable? Considering everything that, uh, she said about me? Especially the part that pertained to you?” Spencer asks, meek and unsure.

           I shake my head.

           “I think you’ll find that I am very much the opposite of uncomfortable,” I reply. We stand there for a moment longer, just basking in the fact that after three long, miserable months, we’re finally together again.

           Spencer opens his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by Emily calling my name from further down the hall.

           “Duty calls,” I chuckle, pulling away from Spencer. “Tell you mom I said hi, and I’ll be by to visit once you have time to get settled in,” I call over my shoulder.

           I make it a good ten feet down the hall before Spencer’s tugging at my hand and pulling me flush against his chest. He hesitates for a moment, and a flash of uncertainty clouds his eyes, but then he’s pushing it down and pressing his lips to mine.

           Spencer’s lips are slightly chapped, but so, so warm as they move against mine. My response is instantaneous – I don’t hesitate for a second before I’m kissing back. The kiss is slow and tentative, as gentle and tender as it is intoxicating. It’s everything that a kiss should be and it ignites a fire in me that has me grasping at Spencer’s shirt, desperate for more. The hand that isn’t cupping the side of my face presses firmly against the small of my back, urging me forward until absolutely no space is left between us.

           Every drag of his lips against mine acts as gasoline to a flame, and I can’t help but think that Ray Bradbury said it best. It is a pleasure to burn.

           I’m the first to pull away, but it isn’t because I want to. What I want is to stay just like this – entangled in Spencer Reid – until not an inch of our bodies lay unexplored by the other. But when Emily calls out my name yet again, I force myself to stop.

           “I really need to go,” I murmur regretfully, and Spencer nods.

           “Yeah, I know.”

           But that doesn’t stop him from going in for one last, delicious kiss. This time when we break away, it’s his doing. I don’t have the self restraint to pull away twice.

           “Pinky promise you’ll come back to me in one piece?” Spencer says as he lifts his pinky finger up in offering. I link mine with his, and I smile a dopey grin at him.

           “Of course, I will,” I reply. “After all, you and I are due for one hell of a conversation.”

           I shoot him a wink before I’m running down the hall and slipping into the elevator just before the doors close. My teammates all shoot me curious looks, but I pretend like I don’t see and I lean against the wall, trying and failing to slow the rapid beating of my heart.

           It’s Stephen who approaches me when we all file out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

           “Spencer Reid wouldn’t have anything to do with that love-sick look on your face, would he?”

           I attempt to school my expression, but one pointed look from Stephen has me devolving into a fit of giggles like I’m a goddamn school girl.

           “Possibly.”

           “Possibly my ass. When we get done with this case, I expect a full explanation,” Stephen chuckles as he climbs in the back of the SUV.

           “You gossip like a teenager, Walker,” I tease as I climb in after him.

           “What can I say? You kids keep me young.”

           I let out a loud laugh at that.

           “Best shrink a girl could ask for.”

-

-

-

If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.

           - Unknown

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[chaos-burst]

Hey! :) I’ve wanted to play d&d for a while now, and after getting into critical role i finally decided to convince my friends to play with me. None of us have played before, so im both exited and a bit nervous since i’ll be the dm. We don’t know anyone who plays, and i’m not very comfortable with palying with strangers, so we’ll be diving right in together! Do you or your followers have any tips or good resources to recommend for new players and/or dms? Any tips would be greatly appreciated! :D

Hey there!

I’m very flattered that you would ask me for DMing tips, but I just have to preface this saying that I am a first time DM myself and I am currently on session 13 of my campaign. But I can see if I can list some things that I found useful building my first campaign :) And I totally feel you not being comfortable with strangers, I play with a group of friends and we were all first time players when we started!

Let’s start with resources! (I will put the links in a reblog bc tumblr is a dick about posts with external links in them. Sry for the hassle!)

Probably a bit redundant, but nevertheless very helpful: The core rulebooks for D&D. Which is to say The Dungeon Master Guide, The Monster Manual and The Players Handbook. Bc those are expensive as fuck, check out this lovely thing (1).

Then, depending on whether you play online or live: Roll20.net (2) You can invite your players to your campaign and make maps for encounters with minis on them, you can insert music that plays in the background and it also rolls dice for you if you have to roll a big amount of dice and don’t want to do math ;)

There is an encounter builder on kobold-fightclub (3) that can help you balance encounters according to your party’s level! I have found it quite helpful and it’s also an easy way to filter monsters for a specific terrain when you know that you’ll be running through a swamp/desert/cave etc.!

I also found this this cheat sheet very helpful, esp regarding the different conditions that I can never seem to remember.

Then, ofc, one of CR’s sponsors: dndbeyond (4). Me and my friends bought a subscription bc damn is it useful to be able to click on anything on your character sheet and see what the hell it means. It also helps you track your spellslots/HP etc. during combat. 

Something I also did was watch Matt’s videos (5) on how he DMs. Altho it bears to say: Don’t compare yourself to Matt Mercer. It will only stress you out. 

You like maps? So do I! Check these out (6/7). 

You want to keep track of your npcs and important lore and places and everything? You could try worldanvil (8)! It’s like building a wiki for your own world!

And then about tips. It is probably easier to give tips when you have specific questions than it is to give general tips, but I’ll do my best! I’m sure many experienced DMs want to chime in and add to it :)

Communication is (as with most things in life) key to everything. Get together with your players for a Session 0 and just talk about what kind of game you want to run and what kind of game they want to play. There are people who like combat more than roleplay or vice versa. There are people who want to play an evil campaign or they want a lot of political intrigue or they are soft marshmallows like I am and don’t want permanent character deaths and so on and so on. Just get together and talk about what you guys want to create. Also talk about the characters with each individual player.Ask them about triggers they have, so you can avoid topics. Ask them how they feel about an NPC flirting with their character. It goes the other way around as well! Tell them about your boundaries and your expectations. One of my friends wanted to make a character with a neutral evil alignment. I told that it’s fine, as long as there’s the prospect for the character to evolve towards a neutral or good alignment, bc I have no interest in dm-ing an “evil” campaign. 

Something that might make running a campaign easier for you is if your players’ characters already know each other before the game starts. If you’re like me you will sweat bullets thinking about how to get them to work towards a common goal. If they’re already friends/rivals/lovers/colleagues/members of the same adventuring guild you will not have that problem. And they can give you some notes on how they envision the relationships to be/how they met.

You can start your adventure with one of the official adventures that are out there if you want to! You don’t have to do a whole ton of worldbuilding like I did bc I’m a crazy person and have my whole setting homebrewed. If not, you can always make life as easy as possible for yourself and start small! Build a small town with a few key NPCs, put a small assortment of possible quests there and then only roughly sketch out what you want the “outside world” to look like. I as a player love some context when I build characters, so if you want to give your players a small introduction into the campaign setting, I think that would be helpful and also helps creating characters who fit into your setting! If you want to run a campaign that has tons of dragons and poisoned oceans that cannot be crossed by mortals it would be sad if a player came to you and gave you the character sheet for a sailor.

If you do a whole campaign, I found it helpful to have a rough idea about different factions and two or three major events that shape your world. Ideas for later quests will eventually tie into big world events when the players get higher level!

Draw yourself a map. It doesn’t have to be elaborate or anything, but at some point there will be a question about “where is the next big city, we need to buy healing potions” and you will feel much safer if you just have a piece of paper (analogue or virtual) with like... a rough outline, some landmarks and some cities on it. At least that’s how it was for me!

You don’t have to reinvent the wheel. Don’t beat yourself up if your first quests are “standard” stuff like “Take care of this giant rat infestation in the cellar of the tavern.” or “My purple dragoncat has been abducted, please get him back for me.”. I started my campaign with small quests before getting to a small arc and then I want to work towards bigger arcs eventually. But for new players and a new DM I found it very helpful to keep things low stakes to not stress anyone out too much. If you fuck up the giant rat infestation, the world will not end, you know? That is nice. Also works well as a tutorial for everyone! Combat is intimidating! So many rules! Take your time to figure out how stuff works with some nice, small quests and some not-too-complex-combat encounters!

You don’t have to follow every rule. There are so many rules for everything and that can be helpful but it can also be stressful. You don’t have to do everything by the book and if you notice that some rules annoy you and your players, you can always change them as you go along! (Cats have nightvision. Sometimes the rulebooks are dumb.)

Don’t get hung up on too many details. I love worldbuilding, but I get obsessive easily. Sometimes I think my world isn’t ready enough bc I tend to think like a writer who has to have everything figured out. That is not the case with d&d! Sure, It’s good if you know stuff. But d&d is not only about planning, it’s also about improvising. And the world will grow while you play in it! Before you know it you’ll go like “I want to have an encounter with this cool ice monster. I need an icy landscape.” and then you will make one. And maybe it wasn’t there before, but who cares. Your players will be excited and you can make up the lore as you move along! 

Did I mention communication? 

If you have specific questions about certain aspects of DMing or how to start, feel free to message me anytime :) I hope this helps a little bit! I’ll reblog in a second with the links!

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 7 ~All In A Day's Work~

WARNING: MILD SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in  A Wrinkle of Time

"You have my blessings. Conditions are, there should be once a week phone-calls. Video or facetime ones or whatever you call it. And when I'm on British soil ..."

Jamie suddenly straightened up on his seat. "We'll visit, or ye can come and stay with us." 

Quentin shot up on his feet. "Very well then, welcome to the family, Fraser. Go and get your dinner ...you wouldn't want your wife ..." he coughed, his face turning red. "...I mean your girlfriend reheating what she's just lovingly made."

Jamie got up as well, ready to shut the laptop, relief and confusion at the sudden turn around washing over him in waves.  What the fuck just happened?  Too bewildered for words, "Of course," was all he could muster. 

Quentin hesitated, as if in search of the right words, his throat working overtime. When he finally spoke, Jamie couldn't help but hear the emotion in the older man's voice. "If Claire's father was alive today, he would think his daughter has made a fine choice."

His jaw dropped involuntarily. "He would?" 

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

   Claire sat at her desk in her newly built writing studio, contemplating what to do about Thomas Christie next. For the past couple of days, she'd attempted to reach the elusive blogger by all means of communication: phone calls, email, comments on his posts and private messages in his Instagram and blog account. But her efforts, to her frustration, were to no avail. She'd even asked around the village for information on his whereabouts, but each answer led to nowhere. Though he had a resident address, it's quite apparent he wasn’t in. She'd thought of asking Jamie for help but decided not to. It was her project, and she's determined she would accomplish it with her own research skills.

Sighing, she leaned back against her seat and stared at the ceiling. Her boss, John, was counting on her to convince Christie to publish with Dreamweaver Publishing, and so far, she had nothing to show. Looking out the window facing the open fields, her gaze settled on the tractor bumpily navigating a small ragged lane, the rumbling of the engine soundless. She smiled. True to his words, Jamie had more than adequately soundproofed her workspace, shutting out any distracting noise. But with no sign of life from Christie, her work had been brought to a standstill.

Ah, hell! Claire glanced at the time. It was already mid-morning, and she'd been sat there staring blankly at Christie's blog all morning. What to do, what to do? She switched tabs on her browser and looked at his Instagram account, and realised he'd just posted a photo circa a minute ago. She decided to strike while he was online and send a message. Go for it, Beauchamp! With huge calming breaths, she rolled her shoulders and began to type, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

Hello Mr Thomas Christie. My name is Claire Beauchamp from Dreamweaver Publishing Company, London. I have been trying to reach you for the last couple of days to offer you a proposal that may be of interest to you. Some time ago, we came across your blog, and after having read through the content, we've come to realise it has an enormous potential to become the ultimate guidebook to the Scottish Highlands in print. Your knowledge, passion, and enthusiasm for Scotland and your keen eye for photography have captured the public interest, our company and myself included. We'd love to assist you in reaching your highest potential and expanding an even broader following should you be interested in authoring a book. I will be in Broch Mordha for the next few days if you wish to speak to me in person, and I will be more than delighted to explain the details. Any feedback you can give me at this point would be highly appreciated. Best regards, Claire.

Thinking Christie would appreciate the option, she included her phone number and her professional email address and then clicked send. After going over her message, she randomly liked his posts and commented on a recent photo for good measure, hoping it would be enough to get his attention. Oh, please answer this time!

Satisfied for now she'd done everything she could, she decided to make a coffee. She was just about to get up when her phone rang, making her jump in the process. Oh, sweet Mother of God! She must be more on edge than she thought. Clearing her throat, she gingerly tapped the answer button on her screen.

"Hello?" she squeaked. Damn it! I sound weird. 

"Miss Beauchamp?" a deep, heavily accented voice answered. "Thomas Christie here."

"Mr Christie! You called!"

"Please, call me Tom. I'm no' much for convention and formalities. May I call ye Claire? If that's alright."

"Of course," she smiled, regaining back some semblance of composure. She'd already prepared a presentation in her head, but looking back now, it sounded like a pitch from a realtor selling a million-pound property. She reminded herself, Thomas Christie was a nature buff and liked to live an uncomplicated life, if not minimally, when travelling around Scotland in his restored Westfalia Volkswagen Camper. If she'd learned anything from his posts, it was that he wouldn't be easily persuaded with a promise of fame and monetary gain. There's no option but to start improvising.

"I heard a pretty lass was looking for me," he drawled with a hint of amusement in his voice. "I was informed ye were asking around. At first, I thought ye might have been from the council trying to get hold of me because of my unpaid council taxes. If that had been the case, I would have made an exception and come and paid my dues after seeing the photo my mate has taken of ye. Shame it wasn't a better close-up."

"Photo?"

"Aye, photo. My mate took it when ye werenae looking and sent it to me. Ye are bonnie, I must admit."

"Oh!" Holy, is he flirting? Claire wouldn't be surprised. This man's charms had drawn quite a lot of female fans to his site, and it was apparent that he's attempting to weave it on her. He probably thrived in his devotees' admiration, making him aware of his own appeal. This kind of cocksure behaviour wasn't a novelty, so she ignored the teasing but attempted to maintain a fairly laidback attitude. "Well, as you can see, I'm not from the council. And if I were, I wouldn't be making a noise about it now, would I?"

He laughed out loud. "You're right. So, what can I do for ye, Claire?"

"Have you read my message?"

"I have," he said quietly. "But I want to hear from ye why ye think my blog would be good enough to be published."

"Well, as I said, your passion and enthusiasm for Scotland are very apparent in your writing. Your words are ... how shall I say it, so visceral. But I'm not going to lie, though. We would need to make a lot of adjustments before we could present it to the mass. A bit of tweaking here and there and ..."

"Tweaking? I thought ye liked my work as it is?"

"Oh, I do," she said hurriedly. "You misunderstood. We wouldn't want to take the essence out of your writing. It's just a process every book has to go through before it's published. Like polishing your sentences, making them smooth and clear, ensuring that they don't have unnecessary phrases and repetition. And of course, there's the design and typesetting ...oh, well, that's for much later on. It's all standard drill in the publishing process."

"I see ..."

When a long silence lapsed, she checked her phone screen to make sure they were still connected.

"Tom?"

"Aye, I'm still here." He took a huge deep breath. "And what's yer role in this, Claire?" 

"I'm the editorial assistant for Dreamweaver, and I'm here to make this proposal and answer all your questions."

"Right ...Weel, ye see, this is my concern. I'm an avid book reader, and while I'm pleased with all the attention my online journal is getting, I highly doubt that my writing would make it among the best selling list, let alone would anyone, for that matter, be too giddy with excitement to buy it. So what's all the fuss?"

The ambiguity in his voice wasn't lost on her. He may be this self-assured, nature-loving, nonconformist bloke as he'd portrayed on his online travel journal. But clearly, some of that attitude needed to rub off on his self-belief for his art.

"Oh, but that's where you're mistaken," she reassured. "My boss, John Grey, is totally sold with the idea of your adventure stories around Scotland, and he thinks with the proper structural development, design and marketing, it would be a hit. Especially with your fans. The concept is refreshing, and it would be different from any travel guides out there. And besides, it would be an excellent boost for Scottish tourism."

He made some muffled noise and then cleared his throat. "What about ye?"

"What about me?"

"Are ye sold on the idea of my blog?"

Part of John's faith in this book's promising prospect clung to Tom's admirable physical qualities. But for her, that wasn't the main selling point.

She straightened up from her seat and leaned over her laptop. With a flick of her wrist, she brought her computer to life and right there on the screen was his Instagram account. She remembered John's words, Sell him the dream! But she didn't need reminding. Tom may not be the most proficient writer, but his contents were great, especially the picturesque panorama photos. She read a few snippets of his post and smiled.

"Tom ...this opportunity Dreamweaver is offering you would be great exposure for your travel journal. By publishing it in print, you'll be able to reach a broader audience. Your knowledge of this wonderful place is beyond incredible from flora to fauna, the lands' history, the weather phenomenon that can only be termed as typically Scottish ...the whole package is simply amazing. Your passion and enthusiasm for this place make me want to go on that adventure you so love …" She inhaled deeply, searching for the right words. "And I know deep in my guts your future readers would feel the same way. And that's what a great travel book should do, great adventure stories that inspire readers and challenge them to step outside the comfort zone ...even for a little while. This is the kind of book that could encourage people to explore, make them realise that escape from the daily drudgery doesn't mean expensive trips halfway around the world, and that adventure can be found in one's own backyard or a few miles trip down the road. I say you should share this with the world. And to answer your question ...yes, I'm totally sold."

She was out of breath by the time she finished, so she leaned back on her seat and crossed her fingers, hoping for a positive outcome. It was all now down to Tom. She didn't want to push, but the longer the silence between them went on, the more she felt like she was forcing him into a snap decision.

Ah, hell! "Look, Tom, there's no need to decide right now. You have my number. Why don't you think about it for now and call me up when you've made a decision. How about that?"

"I have a better idea. How about we discuss this further in person before I decide? Let's say ...over a dinner date?" he suggested in a low voice.

The word date resounded loudly in her ear. Oh, dear, God!

She needed to play this right without making it look like she was turning him down. Hoping for the best, she laughed nervously. "Of course, it only seems fair to meet first in person before you decide." She swallowed hard and squeezed her eye shut. "But I would hardly call it a date. We can meet at the Inn's pub in the village square and professionally discuss everything over lunch if that's alright. And just to be clear, I already have a boyfriend." 

"Ah, damn!"

She flinched. "Oh, dear!"

He laughed. "Relaxed, Claire. I get it. Ye're taken, and I'm no' surprised. But ye cannae blame a lad for trying, could ye?"

"N-no, of course not ..."

"So business lunch it is then. I'm away for a few more days, so ye have to wait a bit more. I'll give ye a ring when I get back. How's that?"

Yess! She made an effort not to sound too relieved. "That's perfect, Tom! I'll see ye in a few days!"

"Great!" Then the line went dead. 

She let out a massive sigh of relief. So damn close! Feeling elated at the outcome of their conversation, she shot to her feet and did a happy dance. She couldn't wait to call John and tell him everything. If she did her work well and laid out all the finer details of the publishing process and projected outcome, she knew Tom wouldn't be able to turn down the proposal. Invigorated, she immediately went back to work and began typing her outline. Ah, life is good!

..........

Jamie killed the chainsaw engine and pulled down his safety goggles when he caught sight of Jenny's car approaching. He had a bird's eye view of the driveway from the tree and could see everyone's coming and going. What the bloody hell is she doing here? She didn't usually come to job sites; nevertheless, he decided to come down since it was nearly lunch break. Wondering why her visit couldn't wait until work was done for the day, he gripped on to his harness and made a slow descent.

His sister got out of the car, stopping to greet some of the workers and subtly launching glares at him. Alertness immediately snapped in Jamie's shoulders as he realised something was up. 

He dropped to the ground, his work boots landing on a combination of mulch and wood chips debris. As he laid down his chainsaw, he watched his sister approach and noticed the forced smile she had for the workers a few seconds ago, waning from her face. He braced himself as he waited for her to say something, unease slithering like a snake up his spine. This was definitely not a friendly visit.

"What's this I hear, ye havenae been attending therapy?" she hissed. "Have ye gone, daft?"

He glanced above Jenny's head to see if anyone was watching them before glowering down at her. "For fuck sake, Jen, ye're no' my ma," he said in a low voice. "Whatever's about to spew out of yer mouth, this is no' the time nor the place for this."

"Ach aye? Wait till ma hears about ye missing yer therapy!"

"Oh, what's this? We're back in primary school or what? Rushing off to ma to tell her everything. Why cannae ye give ma and me a break, eh?"

"The therapy is for yer own good!"

"I'm fine, Jen! I told ye that many times! What part of 'I'm fine' cannae ye understand?"

"Ye've been telling everyone that all yer life. Everything's fine ... I'm fine ... dinnae fash," she mimicked his voice, her face scrunching up. "Ye say that all the time even when, in actual fact, most of the time ye werenae. So why do ye suppose I dinnae believe ye?"

Jamie looked up at the sky and let out a massive breath. "Aye, there's truth to what ye say. But this time ...I swear, I've never felt better."

"Bloody hell! All this time, I thought ye've been attending therapy. I wouldnae have known if Geneva hadnae asked after ye."

"Weel, if ye'd asked, I would've told ye!"

"No, you wouldnae. And that's always been yer problem."

Christ, why can't she just shut up? He glanced up and noticed his men were looking towards them now. He tugged at the neck of his shirt and winded his head. "Jenny, stop! I cannae do this right now."

His sister stepped forward and was right at his face. "Ye think I'm telling ye off for fun? Weel, here's the news. Everyone wants the best for ye, but ye dinnae care, do ye? Ye're acting like one selfish prick!"

"Jenny ..." he warned, feeling hot and cold all at once.

"No, dinnae Jenny me ..."

"Jenny, shut up! I cannae ..."

"Ye could've at least had Geneva assessed ye. Is that too much to ask?"

Jamie shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he realised Jenny's voice had become distorted, and the grating sound of the stump grinder and helicopter whirring above his head grew more punctuated. Without a hint of warning, a bomb suddenly detonated inside Jamie, and his world began to move in slow motion. Seeing nothing but red, he was only vaguely aware that his angry bellow brought everyone in the vicinity to a standstill.

"What the fuck, Jamie!"

Jamie came to his senses when an arm landed across his chest. He realised Willie was standing between him and Jenny. He glanced at his sister, and her expression caused something inside of him to still. He looked down and saw his fists were two rocks, shaking as if prepared to do some severe damage. Oh, God!

"Jenny ...Willie ..." Jamie whispered. "I ...ah ..."

Hands curled up under her chin, Jenny's eyes were as big as saucers, and she looked terrified. Of me? His heart nosedived to his boots so swiftly, he wondered how he remained upright. The fury evaporated in an instant, and all that remained was shame. He'd felt that kind of guilt before but never with enough punch to knock the air out of his lungs. For crying out loud, this is my sister. What was I thinking?

"Jen ..." He attempted to reach out to his sister, but Willie's arm restrained him. Realising the cause of his older brother's concern, he forced his fists to unfold, aware of Willie watching closely. "I'm so sorry. Oh, Christ, I wasnae gonnae hurt ye," he rasped. "I could never lift a hand to ye. Ye must know that."

He swallowed a lump when Willie appeared reluctant to let him go. But Jenny patted their brother's arm, nodding to let them know she was alright. When Willie took a cautious step back, Jamie immediately gathered his sister into his arms and cradled her against his chest.

"Jen ...forgive me. I didnae mean to shout," he said thickly. "Ye ken I wouldnae physically hurt ye, aye? For Christ sake, ye're my sister, and I love ye. Ye looked so frightened. I couldnae bear the way ye looked at me ..."

"Jamie ...I wasnae scared of ye ..." Jenny whispered. "I was scared for ye."

He pulled slightly away and searched her face. "What do ye mean?"

"Even though ye've been to war, I ken ye dinnae like fighting and violence. Ye abhorred it. I was scared ye might do something ye might regret and make yer condition worse. I dinnae want that for ye."

Jamie stared down at her. "Jenny ..."

"Look, Jamie. It was my fault. I shouldnae have pushed knowing yer condition, and ye ken what my temper is like when it gets out of control. It's like ..."

"Like mine ..." Jamie finished off for her. Drawing her once more into his embrace, they stood like that for a while. Soothing, apologising and hushing each other.

Willie stared at them and shook his head in disbelief, mumbling a sequence of profanities. It wasn't the first time he'd seen their outburst with such intensity. But it was probably the first time Jamie had seemed out of control. Reassured that peace had been restored, for the time being, Willie spun around and left them alone. Exercising his authority at their workers, the older Fraser barked warnings that gossip coming from their workplace would not be tolerated and anyone found guilty would be subjected to an immediate suspension. And with that, he stomped off, leaving them all to stare at his disappearing form in shock.

..........

"There ye are," a deep voice mused.

Claire jumped, making her slam the fridge door and Adso bolt out of the kitchen. She took a deep breath before turning around. 

"Jamie! You're home early. I was just about to prepare dinner."

"Willie didn't need me for the rest of the afternoon, so he sent me home early." His chest was bare and heaving and glistening with sweat. He must have taken off his top as he came in. "I ran all the way from work. I think I may have far too much energy," he explained, slowly approaching her. His hand reached out and placed it behind her neck, and drew her in for a slow wet kiss, knocking the air out of her lungs. His other hand slid under her sweatshirt and squeezed her breast. "Tell me, what am I suppose to do about it, Sassenach."

She pulled away from him and scrunched up her nose. "Jamie! You're dirty."

"And here I thought ye like me dirty." There was no amusement in his tone, and his bunched jaw told her he was on edge or maybe stressed? 

"Why don't you take a shower while I make us something to eat, or better still, how about a bath to help you relax? I'll even bring you a beer," she suggested, feeling a tad concern as she eyed him questioningly.

"How about ye come and have a shower with me," he wheedled, tugging her closer. 

She drew away and took a step back. "Jamie, I've just had one, and I'm all clean." 

"No' a problem. I can get ye dirty in no time." Jamie hauled her into his arms as she tried to dodge. Squealing, she slapped his chest. Once more, his hands wandered, causing a tingling sensation to coast all over her body. "There we go, ye're as dirty as me now." Pressing himself against her, he inhaled her hair as his breath came faster, fingers twisting in the hem of her top. "Ye definitely need a shower now." he gritted.

Laughing, she peered up at his face, and what she saw made her do a double-take and swiped the smile off her lips in an instant. Oh, sweet Mother of God, he looks worse for wear. Something must have happened at work. Didn't he say Willie sent him home? Looking closely, she noticed he looked weighed down with need, and it wasn't just the sexual kind. It was something more and urgent. He'd had almost the same look the other night when he woke up from a fitful sleep, but she hadn't pushed to find out. His hands were all over her now, frantic and desperate like he was trying to grasp onto something to anchor himself, his breathing becoming more shallow and harsh, and his eyes beginning to glaze.

"Jamie stop! Stop right this second."

He immediately stilled and loosened his grip, shame marring his face. "Ach Christ, Sassenach, did I hurt ye? I did, didn't I? Tell me! Oh, dear God ..."

He was about to turn away, but with her hands, she forced his pained face to look at her, a moan barely subdued in his throat. She could already read what was going on through his head. No way would she stand by and let him take any blame, feel shame or guilt. Not this time. And not anymore. He'd made mistakes like everyone else and would continue to make them, but he needed to believe he was a good soul. This had to stop now. "Look at me, James Fraser," she demanded in a firm voice. "Look at me! Whatever is going through that damn mind of yours, don't you even bloody dare entertain it. Are you listening to me?"

"Sassenach ..."

"No, Jamie! I don't know what happened to you today, but let me tell you this ...shit happens all the time, alright? And sometimes we don't get to have any control over it. That's just the way it is. Tonight we're going to talk, even if it takes the whole bloomin' night. But first ..." Before she could change her mind, she stepped away from him and yanked off her top and pulled her leggings down. When she was fully naked, she took his hand and laid it on her bare breast. "Take whatever you need, Jamie."

He baulked. "Sassenach ...ye shouldnae want this in my state. It's wrong. I-I was too rough. I could have hurt ye." His voice sounded hollow and agonised. 

"But you didn't."

He palmed her breast. "Christ, do I have a shred of decency left?"

"Do you love me?" she asked, undoing his jeans button. She saw he was already highly aroused and his skin covered in goosebump.

"With all of me," he groaned when she pulled down his zipper. "And ye ken that."

Determination licking through her veins, she stood on her tiptoes and spoke into his ear, her hand sliding inside his jeans to caress the ridge of his hardness. "If that's the case, what we're about to do is not wrong."

A voice raced through her consciousness, telling her this was the way forward. She knew he needed his control back before he would be able to speak to her. So she got down on her knees and pulled his pants down. 

When he wrapped her hair in his fist and tilted her head back, she smiled. "Now, let's get dirty and exorcise those pesky brain chatter, shall we?" Before he could reply, she took him full in her mouth and worshipped him with her love, absorbing every frustrated growl that ripped from his throat and every emotion that poured out of him with every roll of his hips. 

She pushed him to the edge and over until he found his release, and his loud cries echoed in the air. When he shattered around her, his body slumped onto the floor and into her arms.

Claire knew they had a long night ahead of them, so she cradled him, waiting patiently for his breathing to calm. Later after she bathed him, they would talk, but for now, she was contented just to hold him a little while longer, as she wondered how many of Jamie's demons she would have to slay tonight and if love would be enough to conquer his hell.

Dear Readers,

Thank you all for your feedback from the previous chapter. I know it was a bit deep and dark, but I really did want to do Jamie's condition justice, and I must admit, I probably got carried away putting so much emphasis into it. But that's just me, I guess.

And as for the latest instalment,  I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think.  I must admit it is moving a bit slow, but it's a necessary move to pull this story together as I cover loopholes and grounds. One day, you'll understand the logic behind it.😀 So have patience, my friends - all in good time. Stay safe for now and take care until next time. X

[wonglix]

➺ ᴀᴛᴇᴇᴢ: ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴇxᴘᴏsᴇᴅ

⤷ fluff, lil‘ angst

*•.¸♡ hongjoong ♡¸.•*

he was incredibly upset and mad, hating the fact that you were just outed like that - his main concern being you and how it would affect you. the main reason you weren't already in a public relationship were the fans that had some sort of entitlement to them; an obsession that made them feel like they deserved to decide what was going on in their lives. the fact that it's precisely those people that caught onto you made him feel sick to his stomach; he'd love to be sincere, and he'd love to think that people would be accepting, but he knows that that really won't be the case - so he tries his best to cover it up until he can't anymore and is forced to come out with the truth. once hongjoong couldn't cover it up anymore, he'd write a letter; expressing how much he loves and cherishes you as well as his wish for them to just let you be. he won't flaunt the relationship around in hopes of everyone just settling down and accepting it one way or another.

*•.¸♡ seonghwa ♡¸.•*

his initial reaction is confusion - there's no way they caught onto you, absolutely no way. imagine the anger that boils in his veins when he realises that someone indeed did out the two of you, compromising pictures being posted along with the accusations; he knew that there was no way he'd ever get out of this - he had to be honest. seonghwa would try his best to be genuine and convey just how much not only he but also the other members loved and treasured you. he's hoping to appeal to sensible fans which hopefully will be able to make the angry fans realise that's it's neither of your faults for falling in love. he'd avoid talking about you much after that, hoping that it'd become just another fact about him rather than a topic of discussion.

*•.¸♡ yunho ♡¸.•*

yunho hates it, he's mad and boiling inside, but my god does the idea of doing little live streams with you or being able to talk about you openly excite him. whether he'd be able to pursue his fantasies is up to you and the company, yunho secretly loving the idea of going public. would he have preferred to be the one to break the news instead of some obsessive, delusional fan doing it? yes, of course. did he still somewhat enjoy the prospect of introducing you to his fans? yes, absolutely. his next actions would 100% depend on your opinion on the matter, as well as the company (since he can't decide something like that without their permission). if you ask him to keep your relationship under wraps, he absolutely would, but if you choose to give in to him and go public, you better make yourself ready for some cutesy lives he's going to (lovingly) force you to take part in.

*•.¸♡ yeosang ♡¸.•*

yeosang was one of the more angry ones, the idea of ill-tempered fans taking their frustrations out on you making a cold shiver run down his spine. he always made sure the two of you were cautious whenever you met, so this was a punch in the guts for him. yeosang contemplated whether an excuse would work in your guys' favour or not; if people would believe it if the company released a statement that denies your alleged relationship. depending on the way the relationship was outed, if there was definitive proof or not, he'd either own up to it (but still keep it lowkey) or would beg the company to cover it up. yeosang didn't want to apologise because he felt like there was nothing he did wrong - he fell in love, and that shouldn't be anyone's business. he would probably end up writing a small apology if the situation does turn out to be against you two, hoping to ease the worked-up fans and ensuring that they won't take it out on you.

*•.¸♡ san ♡¸.•*

as mad as he was at the saesangs that outed your relationship, there still was this small part of him that was somewhat thankful. don't get me wrong; he was still incredibly angry and upset that saesangs took away his choice whether you guys wanted to go public or not - but san didn't like keeping you a secret. he wanted to be able to talk about you openly since you're such a big part of his life; you're the one that keeps him sane when things get stressful again, and he wants his fans to know that. san would probably want to be honest and admit that the rumours were true, though he'd never act without you agreeing - he wanted to be open about your relationship, of course, but not at your expense. should you agree to be in the public eye with him, he'd essentially do summersaults and jump around, the excitement of showing you off getting to him. san would make it a rule not to bring you up unprovoked though, realising that the news of him dating could be painful to some fans.

*•.¸♡ mingi ♡¸.•*

the panic that spread through him made him feel like he was about to explode. his hands were sweaty, he was pacing around the dorm, and none of the other members were able to calm him down. mingi doesn't know what to do; should he just own up to it and put you on the spot for toxic fans to threaten and send hate to or should he just lie in hopes of people eating it up? he always thought that you were careful, that there was no way someone would figure it out - he didn't account for a salty staff member that decided to take out their anger not only on mingi but also on you, though. he could've taken a rumour about him, but now that you were thrown into the mess he didn't know what to do. it makes him so angry that someone would go this far, especially when it's a well-known fact that partners of idols arent particularly liked - he's mad that it had to come that far, but he's also sad because now he's scared. scared because now you didn't only have to accept that he barely has time, that work always will be a priority, but also that there are thousands of people that have an unreasonable hatred towards you for merely loving him. mingi will talk to you about the options you had and would agree to whatever you decide on - desperate to do even better as your boyfriend now that people would hate you for it.

*•.¸♡ wooyoung ♡¸.•*

the news couldn't have been spread at a worse moment; wooyoung was doing a live when the comments all of a sudden were asking him about his relationship, who he was dating, if it was another idol, how he met them. to say he was confused and maybe a little scared would be an understatement. wooyoung would try his best to play it off, joking about it and denouncing the pictures without hesitation. in the end, he might've made the problem a lot worse than it had been to begin with, clips of him trying to desperately come up with a joke being spread along with the initial pictures. at that point the news had spread to you, the other members, the higher-ups at the company - it was too late to release a statement denying the rumours now, the majority of people already having bought into the news. wooyoung would leave it up to you if you'd like to step into the spotlight with him, or if you'd prefer to be the mysterious y/n wooyoung was dating, which no one really knew anything about.

*•.¸♡ jongho ♡¸.•*

this would probably be one of the most stressful events of his life, to be honest. jongho was convinced that the two of you always were thoughtful of when and where you met, not daring to take many risks - which made the fact that someone outed you ever the more surprising to him. he'd try to figure out when you slipped up, or if it may have been something neither of you could've foreseen. as mature as jongho is, and this would definitely catch him off guard; he'd probably depend a lot on you and his members while trying to figure out if this situation was fixable, and if so, how exactly you two could get out of this. if you guys somehow manage to get out of this, you'd probably be quite lowkey for a while; avoiding dates outside and preferably staying inside, spending a lot of time on face time rather than meeting up in person. should all efforts of covering it up go to waste jongho'd try his best to be mature about it, deciding to be the one to take all the heat and hate comments. he'd definitely be taking the time to write a letter as well as doing a live stream to explain the situation. he'd try to keep you out of the spotlight though, not wanting the negative comments to get to you as well.

[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART TWO

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 27k (will likely crash on mobile - use desktop!)

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | PART ONE | INSPO TAG | TALK TO ME ABOUT RCG 

a/n: and just like that...it’s over! thank you for the love on part one, and for reading part two. i’m so excited for you all to read this one! thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner, and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines​ @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. Wutherford doesn’t exist and is 100% a figment of my imagination.

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

Cicely practically ran all the way to Josiah’s. She had been there only a handful of times before, usually by accident when she was out with Harry and he told her he had to stop by. The first time she had met Josiah, she was apprehensive, unsure what to make of the man standing behind the oak desk across from her, a cocky smile on his face. He reminded her of men she had met dozens of times before, men too big for their britches, as her father said. But then he spoke to Harry, and she could see how much he cared for him, despite the tension between them. She suspected it was more on Harry’s end than Josiah’s, the result of trustworthy people being few and far between in his life. Josiah might have been brash and rough around the edges, but Cicely didn’t mind that too much. He was nothing but kind to her, polite, told her that if anyone fucked with her they would answer to him, and it was a promise.

A promise she intended on holding him to.

She rapped on the glass of the door in the pattern she had seen Harry do, bouncing up and down on the toes of her boots as she waited for the door to open. When it did, it was Clara, the secretary who had offered to take Cicely shopping if she needed to. “Cicely?” She asked, and then took one looked at the panicked expression on her face and opened the door wider. “Harry’s in with Josiah.”

Cicely pushed past her and took the stairs two at a time, thankful she had spent her life doing unconventional things like riding horses and running around on the estate rather than embroidering in the parlor. When she pushed open the door to Josiah’s office, she was panting from racing through the house, and the conversation in the room immediately cut out. Josiah, Jack, and Harry were sitting there, their faces all turned to her in surprise.

She had taken an especially strong liking to Jack, who she knew was Harry’s closest friend and confidante. He was everything his brother wasn’t in the ways that mattered—soft spoken, a kind smile, warm eyes. But she could tell he had another side to him, one that made people cower in fear when he entered a room. It was a side she was relying on.

Her eyes swept right to Harry’s, one hand resting on the door jamb and the other on her stomach as it rose and fell with her breath. “My father,” she said, breathless. “He found me.”

“Fuck,” Harry responded in an exhale, rising from the chair he sat in and coming to her side. He pressed a palm to her cheek and his eyes criss-crossed her face as if he was checking for damage. Thankfully, there was none. “What happened?”

She gripped his wrist as she told the story, describing the scene on the front steps and the way her hair stood up from the policeman’s gaze. “I just know it,” she told him earnestly. “He figured it out and he’s not going to waste time before he gets here.”

“What do you want us to do?” Josiah asked, leaning over the oak desk and looking her straight in the eye. “I hate William King enough to do just about anything you me to do, all ya have to do is say the word.”

Cicely considered it. She knew he would kill her father if she asked, and while she hated her father with every bone in her body, she didn’t want him murdered in cold blood. That would leave her mother alone on that estate and it would be hard for Cicely to run from everything, since she was the sole heir to the family name, the business, everything. Even though she wouldn’t be in charge—her father had seen to it that she would fall to her husband, and until she married the second in command of the company—it still meant that she couldn’t abandon ship. Her mother would never forgive her, and even though her mother had done countless things that were unforgivable, Cicely still loved her. Far more than she did her father, at least.

“Don’t kill him,” she said, stepping around Harry’s body so she was facing Josiah head on. “But don’t let him make me leave. Threaten him with force and protect Harry at all costs.”

“Don’t need protectin’,” he muttered behind him but she ignored it. To her, he was the one thing worth saving when everything went to hell and no matter how good he was at fighting someone, her father had an affinity for guns. And Harry refused to carry one after the war.

“You will if bullets are involved.” Josiah reached for the telephone, picking up the receiver and dialing for the operator. “Sergeant Petty, Birmingham Police, please Miriam.”

Of course he was on a first name basis with the operator, Cicely thought to herself. She felt a hand on her lower back, and she rotated her head just enough to catch Harry out of the corner of her eye. He was tense, she could see it in his eyes, the way they were partially looking at her but also spacing off, the crease between his brows and the tightness of his jaw. “Harry,” she whispered, quiet enough that no one else in the room could hear. “I’m going to be okay.” She didn’t really know if that was true, but she needed Harry to believe it. When he was like this it was hard for him to think straight, and she needed his mind in order to make sure she stayed out of her father’s clutches.  

“I…” Harry sighed, his gaze shifting to the floor. “Are you sure ya want to stay?”

The thought of letting her father take her home hadn’t even crossed her mind when she saw the policeman in the street. Instead, her thoughts revolved around how to make sure she could stay with Harry, how to keep them safe from her father. The prospect of returning to the hell that was her home, her life, her predetermined future, was enough to make her nod her head. “Positive,” she told him, and his eyes lifted to hers.

She could see his jaw relax, his eyes clear and really look at her. He was better.

“Petty, I need to know if some of your men have been working for William King.” Josiah was speaking into the phone, a hand open on the desk, resting on a collection of papers. “And when is that supposed to take place?” His eyes shifted to Cicely, then Harry, and finally rested on Jack. His brother shifted in his seat and picked up a cigarette from the box on the table, then pulled a lighter from his pocket. “Keep everybody away from the area, ya hear me? Every man that you can keep out of the area, do it. No, I’m not telling you shit.” Josiah slammed down the receiver and downed the rest of the glass of whiskey on his desk.

The fast that it was eleven in the morning hardly seemed relevant.

“Your asshole of a father has the city police out on patrol for ya. Seems someone got a sighting of ya and tipped them off that you were at Harry’s, in Balsall. He’s comin’ to collect ya tomorrow at eight o’clock.”

“That’s in less than 24 hours,” Harry said, the hand on her back forming into a fist that she wished she could unfurl.

Josiah grabbed the bottle of whiskey and refilled his crystal glass, and then two others. He pushed them towards Cicely and Harry before saying, “Just means we got a lot of planning to do.”

Jack dropped Cicely and Harry off at the house at half past six, after the plans had been put in motion and there was no going back. Josiah had told them to let him and Jack handle it, to stay inside and out of sight, and that they’d post a few men outside to keep an eye on the house in case her father decided to surprise them a bit early. With a nod to Harry and a kiss to Cicely’s temple, Jack drove off, leaving Harry and Cicely behind on the street. It was empty, everyone at work or out running errands, just a few children out on their porches up the block.

Harry unlocked the door quietly and Cicely followed him inside. They hadn’t spoken for all of the car ride from Josiah’s, Cicely because she didn’t know what was going through Harry’s head, and Harry because he was too angry to think of words. As he moved through the house, Cicely could tell he was angry. The way he sighed sharply and lit a cigarette, clenched at the table as he studied a wall, before pacing back and forth in the hallway, a hand roughly running through his hair. She stood next to the stairs, watching him, unsure what to say.

These were the moments when Cicely was reminded how much of Harry she still didn’t know. She had never seen him angry, at least, not like this. This was a kind of anger she couldn’t wipe from his body with a wet rag, or push away with a kiss to his forehead. It was anger she was wrapped up in, although not her fault, something she couldn’t fix without hurting them.

It was Harry who spoke first, in a shocking change. He turned to her, chest heaving. “Don’t wanna lose ya,” he said, staring daggers into her soul.

Cicely moved finally, through the distance between them, her boots clicking on the worn floorboards. “I don’t either,” she whispered, pressing a palm to his cheek. She ghosted her fingertips over his eyelids when they fluttered shut at her touch, and tried to memorize his face. The fading bruise on his jaw, the curl of his hair by his ears, the harsh lines of his cheekbones, how soft he looked in moments like this. Her thumb shifted across his face and brushed over his lip, running along the tender skin there.

His eyes fluttered open at the contact, his anger replaced with a desire Cicely had grown used to in recent days. The darkening of his pupils, the way his gaze focused on her lips as he looked at her. “How,” he began, not meeting her eyes, “have I only known ya for a week, but it feels like an eternity?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, voice soft in the house. All she could hear was the sound of their haggard breathing and the tick of the old clock in the sitting room. “It feels like you were made for me. Like I’ve been waiting for you.”

Hands found her hips, his fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. Cicely took a step towards him, their chests nearly touching, and in a breath, found his lips with hers. Her fingers curled into his hair like she knew he liked and held him close to her, memorizing the way his lips tasted, how it felt to have his nose slotted against hers, the press of his body against hers and the heat of his palms on her hips. It was a dream she never wanted to wake from.

In a moment, Harry took a step towards her, forcing her backwards, and then another, until her back was pressed against the wall underneath the stairs. She arched her back and a sound left Harry’s throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl when her breasts pressed against his chest, the fabric of their shirts brushing against each other harshly. Their lips fought one another, Cicely sucking on his bottom lip and Harry biting softly down on hers and making her giggle. When his tongue licked into her mouth, she flicked hers out to meet him, the sensation like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Her hands explored the expanse of Harry’s back, fingers curling into his shirt, his jacket a long forgotten memory. When his lips dipped to her neck and her nails darted into his skin, he gasped by her ear, the muscles in his arm flexing as he formed a fist against the wall. She wanted his skin, his bare skin, to see his tattoos and his piercings and investigate every corner of his body. After his matches she was allowed snippets of time, but it was always pressured, people wanting to talk to him before they left, Harry still recovering from the fight. But now, he was here and hers, no one else waiting for his attention, his body bent over hers as he nipped at the spot just below her earlobe.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Her voice was quiet in the room, and Harry’s head lifted at her words.

He leaned back slightly and Cicely watched in rapture as he pulled the hem of it from his trousers, and then slowly over his head. A necklace she had never seen before—a cross—fell to his chest and she guessed she hadn’t seen it because he couldn’t wear it during fights. So she took this opportunity to investigate, her fingertips running down the silver chain until they reached the pendant.

“I thought you stopped believing,” she said, her forehead resting on his jaw as she surveyed the necklace. She could see his chest rise and fall, the roll of his stomach as he sucked in air sharply when her fingers ghosted over his skin.

“Started wearing it again a few days ago,” he murmured, bending his chin so he could rub it against her temple. The feeling of him nuzzling at her skin made her smile, the softness of Harry never ceasing to surprise her.

He had such a hard facade up and most of it was all lies. A protective mechanism that resulted from years of pain and one big betrayal, one she hoped she could kick to smithereens. Tentatively, she touched his nipples, loving the hiss that filled her ears at her touch. “Why is that?”

She felt his fingers brush through the ends of her hair, the loose curls having fallen from the stress of the day. “Found somethin’ worth believing in again.”

Their lips reconnected with a fervor Cicely had experienced before between them, but something was different this time. And urgency to the way their hands gripped one another, the way Cicely stopped thinking and let her body react in the way it wanted, her hips pressing up against his, the brush of their most intimate places making them gasp into one another’s mouths.

Cicely wanted more. She wanted to see every inch of him laid out below her, to run her fingers over his skin and discover which spots made him gasp. She wanted him to see her and do the same, to tell her all the thoughts bottled up in her head. But more than anything, she wanted a moment to remember forever, so that no matter what happened tomorrow, she could hold onto the memory of this night.

“Harry.” His head lifted, eyes finding hers in the soft glow of the hallway light. “Can you take me upstairs?”

He brushed his thumb across her cheek tenderly. “Ya sure?”

“Yes.”

With that word, Harry’s hands drifted from their home on her hips down her skirt-covered thighs. He tugged at the fabric, pulling it up so that he could touch her skin, and then gripped the back of them. With the flex of his arms, he pulled her up, her legs easily wrapping around his waist so that he was carrying her. In this position, their lips were level and Cicely took full advantage, smothering his face with soft kisses that brought out a rare smile on his face as he maneuvered them up the stairs gracefully. She knew Harry was strong, the sight of his body taught under her hands as he carried her made her understand how truly powerful he was.

He knocked open the bedroom door with his hip and Cicely took in the room they had shared for the past few nights, curled up under the covers together. She had chased away his nightmares in this bed. Even though her bed at home might have been more comfortable, she had never felt so at home between any sheets like she did in Harry’s.

Delicately, he dropped her onto the duvet cover, and Cicely held him to her, forcing his body on top of hers. Their foreheads knocked, but they didn’t mind, Harry’s hands finding the space on either side of her head to support himself, and her fingers dug into the flesh of his stomach. She loved having free range over his body, touching him as she pleased, watching how his features contorted in front of her with every press of her palms. Her skirts were rucked up, trapped under his knees, and she wanted them off, the material heavy on her body.

“Can you help me take this off?” She asked him, squeezing his skin to get his attention. He had been sucking a spot on the base of her neck, which as much as she enjoyed the feeling of, she wanted her warm skin to be free more.

Harry’s gaze scattered over her body before reaching her face. “All of it?” She nodded and he shuddered, hesitant hands pulling at the cotton blouse that was tucked into the waist of the skirt.

Cicely sat up so he could pull it over her head, and when it was gone Harry stared at her for seconds that stretched into a minute. Her brassiere over her breasts, straining from her heavy breaths, her soft skin, unmarred from a life without disease and violence. There wasn’t a mark on her, and Harry marveled at the beauty of her body in front of him, wondering how he could have ever been so lucky to have found her. Then, he reached his hands around her  to where the clasp laid, eyes searching hers to make sure it was okay before he pulled the material away.

When he bent his head, tongue running over the sensitive rises of her breasts, Cicely gasped, her fingers moving from the covers to his hair, holding his head to her skin. It was a sensation she didn’t know how to describe and it sent shockwaves through her body. Then he moved to her other nipple and she moaned, desperation on her vocal chords.

“Skirt?” He murmured into her skin, and Cicely mumbled her approval. Her skin was on fire and she just needed  it all off, to let the cool air rush over her. With deft fingers, he undid the buttons at the back of the skirt, and Cicely laid back so he could slide it down her legs. Every inch of skin that was revealed made Harry’s breathing quicken, the sight of a woman nearly naked in front of him one he hadn’t encountered since before France.

It was almost embarrassing how desperate he was for her in every single way. He wanted to make her moan, to hear his name on her tongue, to make her squirm, to make her cry out in ecstasy. But he started with moving down her body, pulling from his memories what he wanted to do to her, show her. “What are you doing?” She asked, confusion evident in her tone.

“Want to taste ya,” he mumbled, a kiss pressed to her hipbone where the line of her underwear laid. “Make ya feel good. Is that okay?”

Without hesitation, Cicely nodded and Harry ducked his head down, his eyesight level with her center. He decided to keep her underwear on, not wanting to rush her too fast. Tentatively, he brushed his forefinger over her underwear and Cicely gasped, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. She didn’t know what she ached for, but she just knew she didn’t want him to stop. And when he darted out his tongue and swiped it over her clothed center, his name fell from her lips in a prayer.

“Goin’ to pull these to the side,” he told her, not wanting to catch her by surprise. “Stop me at any time if ya want.” He waited for her nod before continuing, pulling the edge to the side to reveal her wet pussy waiting for him. “Fuck,” he exhaled, the sight of her overwhelming him. “Beautiful, every inch of ya, know that?”

The giggle that left her mouth quickly turned to a gasp when he licked over her, the tang of her like a holiday meal, one to be treasured for the rest of the year. He was tender, not wanting to hurt her, brushing circles and lines up and down her sensitive flesh. When her fingers moved from his shoulders to curl through his hair, he smiled into her skin, the signs of her pleasure making him proud. He was hers, and she was his. In this moment, it was as simple as that.

“Harry.” She pulled his roots and Harry couldn’t help the groan that he let out onto her flesh, the vibrations making her thighs clasp around his head. When she went to pull them away, Harry stopped her, holding her thighs close as he licked up and down her again, kitten licks to her bud. “Oh my God,” she said. She went to clasp a hand over her mouth but Harry gripped her wrist, holding it to the bed.

“Wanna hear ya,” he mumbled. “Don’t care about the neighbors.”

Cicely decided she didn’t either, because the prospect of having to think about anything but the tension rising in her belly would have overwhelmed her brain. His tongue felt like heaven on her skin, the warm wetness making her thighs tense. She worried she was hurting him but Harry seemed to like it, so she didn’t stop, just tugged on his head to keep him close and moaned. The sounds leaving her body were ones she had never heard before, but they became her favorite things, wanting to experience Harry drawing them from her for the rest of time.

He pulled away for a second, replacing his mouth with his fingers, and looked to Cicely’s face. The rise and fall of her breasts made him want to rut into the bed but he held back, wanting the moment to be all about her. “How d’ya feel, love?”

“Good,” she said in a rush, her voice raw from panting. “Um, tense? I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Hmm,” he hummed out, returning to her folds, “that’s good, Ci.” The nickname had appeared a few times in the past few days and it fit perfectly in his mouth. He loved how it made her smile, eyelashes flutter as she looked down at him.

He held her eyesight as he licked her skin, wanting to watch her unfurl in front of him. It was like a boxing match in a way, reading his opponent to know the moment he was desperately waiting for, using his instincts to change his actions to draw the reaction he wanted. He darted his tongue to her slit and she bucked into him, so he hesitantly pressed at her slit, wanting to open her up a bit for him. He wasn’t small, he knew that, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She hummed in appreciation, so he continued, the feeling of licking inside of her making him grip at her skin in an attempt to hold himself to Earth. Her head tilted back, long neck exposed to him and he wished he could be in two places at once—at her neck and in between her legs.

When his tongue got tired, he replaced it with one of his fingers, Cicely moaning at the feeling. She watched him in rapture, the feeling of his digit inside of her alighting every part of her body. It was unusual, but not bad—she wanted more, in fact. She could feel herself reaching a precipice, of what she wasn’t sure, but she knew she needed more. “More.” Harry looked at her, questioning, and she nodded. “Please.”

Harry responded by curling his finger, twirling it inside of her to reach every inch of her and a quick motion over her bud. She could feel herself tightening around him and at first she thought it was bad but he mumbled how good it felt into her skin, so she let herself do it again. She could feel that edge racing towards her like she was flying, and she struggled to keep her eyes open before giving up, eyelids drifting shut and her head tilting back again.

Her hips bucked, the tension rising, and then with a brush to the spongy spot inside of her, she snapped with a cry of his name. Harry didn’t let her go, pushing in and out of her as she fell apart, kissing her inner thighs. Watching her finish was like a movie to him, one he would’ve paid his life’s earnings to see just one more time. Her cheeks glowed, eyes wide, chest rising with quick breaths as she calmed down. Slowly he pulled his finger from her and she hissed at the loss, Harry giving her a small smile as he sucked his finger dry so her juices didn’t get all over the duvet.

“I…” She didn’t have the words but Harry knew. “Come here,” was all she got out, and Harry responded in a flash, his body moving up hers immediately.

Their lips reconnected and the taste of her on his tongue made her crave more. Her legs wound around his waist and Harry grunted when her bare center brushed over his still clothed dick. He pulled back and brushed a hair from her forehead. “Ci,” he said softly, “I need you to tell me what you want.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You,” she answered, fingers gliding down his back. “All of you.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—“

She pressed a finger to his lips that silenced him immediately. “I’m sure.”

He kissed every inch of her face, heart cresting at the giggles that spilled from her mouth. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she pulled his lips to hers, Harry sighing into the kiss. Kissing Cicely was a euphoria he had never known before. It made every other thought in his brain fall to the wayside, which was exactly what he needed.

Suddenly, Cicely was tightening her knees at his hips and using them to rotate him. He fell to the side, his back hitting the duvet, and the sight of Cicely hovering over him made him twitch in his pants. “Is this okay?” Cicely asked, her fingers ghosting up his chest.

“Yes,” he replied, breathless from the feeling of her touching him. He could feel her everywhere, smell her, hear nothing but the beat of their hearts in the room.

Cicely gazed down at him, his chest rising and falling below her, the tattoos that littered his body. She wanted to trace each and every one of them, memorize his inked skin so that it filled her dreams. She started with his hands, ghosting over the silver rings that adorned his knuckles with her lips, Harry’s eyes never leaving her face. When she kissed the cross on the skin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry couldn’t help but brush the pad of his thumb over her lips. She parted her lips, a coy smile on her face, and with a tenderness he didn’t know someone could have, captured the tip of his thumb in between her teeth.

She didn’t know where the surge of confidence came from, but with him she didn’t worry about what someone might think. Her thoughts were filled with him, the rest of the world gone for the moment, her mind only focused on what would make his breath catch in his throat. Inching up his forearm and then his bicep, she alternated between open-mouthed and soft pecks to his skin, tracing the outline of the rose with her lips. She scratched delicately at the ship on his bicep, a caress to the sails, and thumbed over what he informed her was Hebrew. Then, she drifted her hands across his shoulders, pulling at his tense muscles before she dipped her head, sponging a kiss across the A, then the 17Black, the two crosses, and then across her favorites—the swallows. His silver cross laid between them, stuck to his skin with sweat, and when she sucked the heavy chain into her mouth, Harry exhaled her name in a moan that made her grin.

“Feel good?” She asked, voice heavy with desire. Harry nodded, not trusting his voice to be able to properly describe the sensations running through his blood. Feeling her lips on his skin was licking a fire through him that rivaled the pits of hell.

And then, Cicely reached her favorite addition to Harry’s body—the barbells tucked through his nipples. Up until then, all she had done was touch them, but remembering how it felt when Harry licked her breasts, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for her to do the same. So she bent her head and tentatively brushed her tongue over his right nipple.

Harry bucked into her, his grip on her waist tightening to a pressure she hadn’t felt before. “Ci,” he groaned, eyes wide at the sight of her on top of him, mouth suckling on his pierced nipples. It was torture, and one he would happily submit to for hours on end.

She licked at the buds of his nipples, and then in a circle around them, tweaking the barbells under the pressure of her tongue. It was her new preferred method of pleasuring him, she thought as she watched his features contort above her. Watching him squirm and pant her name, begging her for more, had her squeezing her knees around his hips. When she accidentally rolled into him, she dug her nails into his shoulders at the sensation, moans tumbling from both of their mouths.

“I love them,” she mumbled as she licked over his left nipple, the slick of her saliva glistening on his skin.

“Yeah?” Harry didn’t know what else to say, his throat was raw and dry from his being unable to close his mouth.

“Mhm,” she murmured, the vibration sending shockwaves through him.

“Fuck,” he groaned and tugged softly at the strands of her hair. “Ci, I’m not—fuck, love, ya have to stop.”

Her head bounced up at that, eyes meeting his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry could feel a blush creeping across his features, trying to search for the words to tell her he was going to come in his pants if she kept this up. It had been too long and he was sensitive, so sensitive, and the feeling of her hips softly rolling into his by accident and her lips on his nipples and her fingers curling into his skin was sending him into another realm. “I’m not going to last if ya keep going,” he said, trying to explain.

Cicely glanced down where their centers were resting just inches from one another and then back to his face. “Oh.” Then, she moved like a cat down his legs, kneeling between them. Her fingers tucked into the buttons of his trousers, and with Harry’s help, she pulled them down his long legs. Cicely’s eyes widened, taking in the sheer size of him. She had never disrobed a man before, but she was expecting him to wear underwear like she was, only…he wasn’t. So he was exposed to the air, his dick red and throbbing against his stomach.

Harry must have been able to sense her apprehension, because he sat up, drawing her attention to his face. “Can you roll over for me, love?” He wanted it to hurt the least amount possible, and also not to overwhelm her, so he decided her on her back and him over her would be the best position.

She nodded, and crawled up, letting them switch positions on the bed. Fingers brushed across the top of her underwear and she watched as Harry pushed them down slowly, exposing her most intimate areas to his eyes. If it hadn’t been Harry, maybe she would’ve felt uncomfortable, but under his gaze she felt adored. He sat on his knees between her legs, and brushed a finger lightly over her folds, her skin sensitive under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said under his breath, almost as if he was just speaking to himself, awestruck by her.

Using her ankles, she pressed him closer to her, wanting to feel his skin against hers again. “Harry,” she murmured, reaching for him with her hands. “Want you.”

It was if the air had been sucked out of the room when those words fell on Harry’s ears. Cicely laid out on the bed in front of him, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, lips red and puffy from their kisses, her breasts rising and falling with every breath. The press of her ankles on his lower back had tugged him closer to her, so her thighs were wrapped around his waist, his dick just centimeters from her. “Okay, love, I’m comin’,” he said, leaning over her body and caging her between his arms. “It might hurt at first, so I’m going to go slow, hmm?” With his words he pressed soft kisses to her cheeks, wanting to help her relax as much as possible. “Stop me if it’s too much, don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“You couldn’t.” Her hands found his cheeks and she pulled him in for a searing kiss, before pressing their foreheads together. “I’m ready.”

Harry reached between them, palming his dick in his hand, tugging a few times, but he didn’t need much. Pleasing her had brought him nearly to the brink, and her touching his body had practically had him melting in her arms. When he brushed his tip over her slit she whimpered, and Harry brought their lips together when he pushed just the tip inside of her.

He barely held back the curses that begged to fall from his mouth, not wanting to make it all about him. He just searched her eyes, their faces so close there was just a hair’s distance between them, waiting for the pinch between her brows to soften. The pain wasn’t as bad as Cicely was expecting, but it wasn’t quite good either—somewhere in the middle ground. She just wanted him to move, to get it over with, almost. She had never been good with prolonging something, pain especially. “Move,” she murmured against his lips.

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut at the thought, but then opened to make sure he could see her face, check in with her as he moved. “Promise me you’ll tell me to stop,” he asked, a hand brushing at the hair on her face.

“Promise.”

With that, Harry pushed the rest of the way inside in one motion, Cicely’s head tipping back as a low moan ripped from her throat. He stayed there, fully inside of her, his arms shaking on either side of her head as he tried to hold it together. Her hands pressed into his sides, fingers digging into his muscular back as she adjusted to him. It was an overwhelming feeling, being filled with him, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She didn’t know how to describe it, but it felt so right, especially with him.

It was like her body knew what to do, though, because once the initial burning feeling had subsided, her ankle pushed into his lower back, just centimeters from the top of his ass, and he pushed slightly deeper into her. Moans fell between them, Harry gripping the sheets for something to hold onto. “Want me to move, love?”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, her lips surging up to find his.

And so Harry did. He pulled out, the feeling of her walls gripping him like a vice making his eyelids shut, and then back into her, losing himself to the feeling of being this close to her. One of her arms draped across the back of his neck, the other around his chest to keep him close to her as he pushed into her, deeply and slowly. He peppered kisses down her neck and across her collarbones, bathing in the sounds of her pants and breathy moans.

Cicely couldn’t focus on any one particular thing, just the feeling of him filling every inch of her in a way she didn’t know she was missing until this very moment. She had always dreamed of her first time being with someone she loved, and when Harry kissed her eyelids tenderly, she realized her dream had come true. When his hips swiveled into her, the angle changing slightly, Cicely’s head tipped back, her neck bared to Harry.

He didn’t let the opportunity pass him by—he was on her exposed skin in seconds, covering her with kisses and nips. “God, ya feel like heaven,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck when she clamped down around him, knees pressing into the sides of his stomach. “How’d I get so lucky to find ya, hmm?”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said, licking her dry lips and ducking her head down. His ring-clad fingers pushed back her hair and she tried to commit every one of his features to her memory forever. The tender touches of his hands on her skin, the antithesis of who everyone else knew him as. The cracked skin over his knuckles, still healing from a rough training day, the yellowing brush on his ribs from the fight two nights ago, the cut on his lip she had washed and kissed better. The searing gaze of his hazel eyes that felt like they managed to know the depths of her soul, regardless of how long she’d known him for. “H,” she whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

His hips stuttered and his head drew back, his whole body coming to a stop above her. “Ya—what?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she repeated, pulling at the hand that rested in her hair so she could kiss the tips of his fingers. “I know it’s fast, but…”

Harry shook his head at her, and at first she was worried it was too much too quickly, that she’d messed up. But then he lowered his forehead back to hers, and the words he uttered were so quiet she almost missed them. “I love ya,” he uttered, low in her ear. “No thought or falling involved.”

They were words he had never said to anyone else before, other than his family, and even those he hadn’t uttered in years. They were rusty on his lips, his tongue untrained in how to form the sounds. But when they landed between them, they felt right. So, utterly, effortlessly right. Harry couldn’t hide from her—he never could. She swept into his life and in a flash had ripped his strongest defenses to bits, battled her way into his heart. And perhaps it was silly to fall in love with a girl who was the opposite of who he was supposed to, but who gave a fuck anyways? She was meant for him—created for him to love, and he for her.

Cicely swept his lips to hers, tugging him into her in a kiss unrivaled by the ages. And then he pushed back into her, their moans passing between them in the tunnel their open mouths had created. She grappled at his skin, trying to find purchase, and Harry was barely holding on. “Closer,” she whimpered to him, “want to be closer.”

They were already skin to skin, but Harry knew what she meant without her having to spell it out. His hands tucked under her torso and he pulled her up, sitting back on his calves so she was sitting in his lap. His thighs burned, but he didn’t mind, because the way that Cicely keened when he pushed into her had him determined to bring her to an orgasm right there. Her legs draped around his, arms around his neck, their lips meeting and parting, the closeness she had craved successfully found.

“Oh my god.” Cicely gripped the ends of his hair, her head dropping to his shoulder as her body began to shake in his arms. “Harry.”

“Ci,” he mumbled, one of his hands drifting up to brush under her hair and thumbs running across the back of her neck. “Can ya look at me? Wanna see ya.”

Her head lifted and their eyes met, Harry staring deep into her as her legs shook around him. She could feel the knot in her stomach tightening and tightening, her grip on the moment beginning to fray as the euphoria she had experienced earlier bubbled back. All she could do was hold onto Harry and focus on the feeling of him inside her, brushing a soft spot deep inside of her. She could have sworn she could feel him in her fucking stomach, and it was a feeling she never wanted to forget. “H,” she panted out, their noses bumping as he pushed into her. His name was all she could think of, the only words she could conjure.

His hands splayed across her back, holding her torso to his. “Let go for me, love, okay? I’ve got ya.”

Perhaps that was all she needed—permission—because when he said it, the knot in her belly disintegrated, Cicely reaching a high unlike the one from earlier, a scream falling from her throat. More intense, one that had her toes curling and her whole body vibrating in Harry’s arm. Harry couldn’t hold it together anymore, the feeling of her clenching around him too much. With a bit of fumbling he was able to pull out of her, and his eyes fluttered shut as he came, a bit on her stomach, a bit on his. Her name was a prayer on his lips, repeated over and over again in the quiet of the room.

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at the mess he had made. Without hesitating, she reached down and her fingers swiped at his sticky ropes of cum on her skin, and then she lifted her two fingers to her mouth, gently licking. “Fuck,” he panted, the sight sending his body into overdrive. “Gonna kill me, know that?”

Cicely just giggled in his arms, and then surged forward, reconnecting their lips, the taste of his cum on her lips, but Harry didn’t mind. He just wanted her, every bit of her, every ounce of the love she would give him. When they pulled apart, she ran her fingers across his rings before pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. “Wanna have a bath?”

His head bent to her chest and he sighed. “Don’t wanna go to the pump,” he mumbled.

She echoed his sigh, fingers brushing through his hair at the nape of his neck. “I forgot you don’t have running water.”

“Sounds bloody magical right about now,” he said, and she laughed, the sound filling his heart up to the brim, pieces of love falling over the edge. “How about I clean us up and we get some sleep?”

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Perfect. But only if you promise not to hog the pillow again.”

“S’rude,” he said, letting her fall back onto the duvet cover, her legs untangling from around him. He missed their presence immediately. “They are my pillows and all.” Cicely laughed again, and Harry moved from the bed, a rare smile gracing his face, one meant for her and only her. As was every single one of the smiles that had found his face since she came into his life—all for her eyes only.

The air was heavy when Cicely and Harry stepped outside at a quarter to eight the next morning. His fingers were intertwined with hers, the desire to be constantly touching after last night overwhelming both of them. Harry had on his nice jacket and his best pair of trousers, but he still paled in comparison to Cicely, who managed to make Nellie’s clothes look like they were made for her. She had combed her hair and washed up as best as she could, but she still knew her father would comment on her appearance, her being unkempt and dirty, although she didn’t care all that much. She wasn’t planning to go with him anyway.

After last night, she was Harry’s in every meaning of the word. Mind, body, and soul.

Josiah and Jack stood just past Harry’s front step, Josiah smoking a cigarette and Jack looking at them with an intensity that reminded her of Harry. “Mornin’, lovebirds,” Josiah said in an effort to keep the mood light but no one laughed. “Hope we’re feeling feisty this morning.”

Harry squeezed her hand, a reminder that he was there. They’d talked about this morning when they were curled up in bed last night, tracing one another’s naked skin. How nervous she was. This was going to mean she was cutting herself off from her family, for all intents and purposes. Giving up her name, her title, her standing. Even though there wasn’t much money left, her family still had an immense amount of power, power she had grown up knowing she would one day inherit. Now, within a matter of a week, she was prepared to give it all up for a better life. Perhaps her father wouldn’t see it that way, but for Cicely, she would rather live a life filled with love, than one that made her feel like a prisoner in her own home. She refused to become her mother.

“Remember, no killing him,” she told Josiah at the sight of the revolver tucked into his waistband. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Talk, right,” Josiah mumbled, but she ignored him. Her gaze instead fell to their surroundings. It was eight o’clock in the morning and most days it would be bustling, but today the street was silent. There must have been an order to stay inside, or to vacate the area in case things went sideways. She was thankful for it, she didn’t want children possibly put in harm’s way. But that didn’t mean it felt normal, because the sound of a quiet Balsall Heath was unsettling, the sight of empty streets except for the men who Josiah and Jack and brought with them.

There were probably twenty-or-so men, all with their J pins on their lapels, revolvers in their hands. Their eyes rested on Cicely and Harry, she realized, not on Josiah and Jack. “Is this going to be enough?” Harry asked behind her, reading her mind.

Jack was the one who replied. “Didn’t want to risk bringing out a full brigade and it turning to shit without them gettin’ a word in.”

It made sense. Her father would respond to fear more than anything else, and if he felt cornered or threatened she was screwed. “Cicely,” Harry murmured, and she turned. He was tense, she could see it in the way he held his shoulders and she couldn’t say she felt any different. “What do you want me to do?”

It felt unusual for Cicely to be in charge in a situation like this, and she could tell he felt helpless. Unable to use his fists or his body, giving over all the control to her. “Stay next to me,” she told him. “And please, for the love of God,  don’t get hurt.”

As Harry was about to respond, no doubt with something snarky, Cicely heard the sound of cars on the road. Her head turned and Harry stepped from his spot behind her to next to her, their hands still connected. The black police cars emerged from the fog, out of place on a street that mostly saw horses and the rare car—usually belonging to Josiah. But this time, there were at least ten, and Cicely’s heart began to race in her chest. What if her father wasn’t planning to just talk? What if in an effort to keep Harry, Josiah, Jack, and their men safe, she had put them all in danger? She heard the cock of a pistol and knew the men were anxious, and she didn’t blame them.

The cars stopped in a massive clump, car doors slamming in the quiet morning air as they climbed out. Her eyes scanned for her father, his gray hair and tall stature that put up a strong facade, but was secretly cracked straight through. And when he appeared, her gut twisted.

It was the first time she had seen him in a week, but the feeling of dread at the sight of him hadn’t left her. The memories of the words he had said, the things he threatened still echoed in her brain.

“There he is,” Josiah muttered, before taking another puff of his cigarette and then a swig from his flask, despite the early hour. “C’mon, boys.”

The men moved immediately, creating disordered rows around Cicely and Harry, an aisle of sorts standing in front of them. “Ready?” Harry asked her, his voice soft.

She nodded, and dropped his hand, wanting to appear as strong as possible when she faced her father. The mud of the street squelched under boots as she stepped off the stoop, but after days in it it didn’t bother her anymore. She could tell her father hated it though, his eyes on her as she moved towards him, the fog parting around her figure.

William King commanded a presence. His height and size towered over many, the graying of hair did nothing to disguise the fact that he was a striking man. Many of his features Cicely had inherited, namely his high brows and the set of his mouth, and when they stood next to one another it was plainly obvious she was his daughter. She had always despised it. He wore a simple black suit, as usual, a tie her mother had probably insisted he wear hanging from around his neck, his cufflinks glinting. He looked rich, as usual, even if he wasn’t. Perhaps it was his appearance that drew people into his circle, or the way he had with words, the stories he could spin in seconds to earn approval and trust. Cicely had seen it all her life and it made her sick.

So when he said her name, it drew bile in her mouth. “Cicely,” he said, a fake kindness she saw straight through. “Hello, darling.”

“Father,” she replied tersely, stopping a few yards away from him. “There was no need for the police, you know.”

“Oh?” Her father glanced around at their surroundings. “I’m not so sure about that, considering the ruffians you’ve decided to bring along.”

Cicely heard some muffled noises behind her, and she knew it was Jack keeping Josiah quiet, an outburst doing nothing to help the moment. “I felt the need to protect myself.”

William scoffed. “From who?”

“You,” she replied simply, cocking her head to the side. “So, Father, why are you here?”

He rolled his eyes before looking to the policeman next to him—someone high up, she imagined. “See what insolence I have to put up with?” Then he turned back to her. “To retrieve you from whatever games you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

“This isn’t a game.” Cicely’s voice cut like glass through the morning fog and Harry watched her in awe. She had known Cicely was strong, but to see her pushing back against her father, one of the most powerful men in Birmingham in addition to welding immense control over her life, was a scene he would always remember. “I left because you were going to force me into a marriage I don’t want, and I ended up here. And I’m staying.”

William stiffened at her words. “Stay? Here? In this slum? With him?” He pointed at Harry, who just stared at him in response. Jack’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, as if to remind him to stay calm, that Cicely wanted him to stay out of it as much as possible.

Cicely could feel a familiar anger boiling inside of her, the same one that had made her run out of her home in the first place, mount her horse, and ride away, despite the coming storm. “It is not a slum,” she said firmly, “and I am far happier here with him than I ever was living with you.” Her father flinched, the prospect of being dressed down in public, in front of people who were supposed to respect him, was the bane of his existence. Which was exactly why Cicely forged on. “I am done being your pawn in a game to recover the wealth that you lost at the gambling table. I don’t care about the business, about my ‘duties’, all I’ve ever wanted is to be happy. But you couldn’t even give me that. You want me to marry Clifford Stevens to save your business, you want to use me as your pawn. And I’m done.”

The air was silent when she finished speaking, her father shocked into silence at her outburst. Although she had spoken back before, never quite like this, and never in public. Her father looked at her with an unparalleled fury, and she could feel the tension rising between them. There were many times in her life when she had been afraid of her father, and this moment specifically might top the list. Then her father spoke, and Cicely’s world dropped out beneath her.

“If you want to give up your life, your name, your title, so badly, then how about I send you away? Lock you up and tell everyone you’ve gone insane?” He waved his hand around at the neighborhood and then continued, “it wouldn’t be much of a lie, either. After this stunt, I am quite concerned for your mental well-being.”

It took every strand of willpower in Harry’s body to hold him back from slamming William King to the ground. The suggestion that Cicely was insane was the farthest thing from the truth. If anyone was destined for the asylum, it was him—the dreams that plagued him and the fears that gripped his body. But Cicely…

She felt arms wrap around her waist, and she immediately knew they belonged to Harry. The feeling of his body against hers, the warmth of his hands on her body, the security they offered, managed to blur the edges of her simmering anger towards her father. Just as she was about to respond, she heard Harry’s voice.

“How dare you?” Harry asked, tone so even that the delivery was chilling.

William King just laughed, a bone chilling one that made Cicely tense in Harry’s arms. But he refused to be afraid of a man who had done nothing but harm to the woman he loved. “How dare I? What about you? What could you possibly have to offer my daughter, other than a life on a shit-covered street and nights spent in dark warehouses where you beat the life out of people?” His words struck a chord in Harry, the insecurity in himself that he had tried to push away for so long, but the moment William said them, they were out in the open. “At least I know what’s best for her.”

“You have no idea what is best for me,” Cicely said, her voice rising. “You have never known!”

“Cicely King, that is enough,” William said, an exhausted sigh echoing in her ears that reminded her of every fight with her father she had ever had. “Either you come home with me, or I send you to the asylum where you can live out the rest of your days wondering if this little rebellion,” he spit the word at her and it made Cicely see red, “was worth it. It’s up to you.”

But Cicely shook her head. “I’m not doing either of those.”

“Fine.” Her father nodded to the policeman closest to him, and suddenly everyone was moving, a blur of black uniforms coming straight for her. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice.”

Suddenly, Cicely was being wrenched from Harry’s grip, a policeman’s hands on her stomach tugging her away from Harry. A scream left her mouth as Harry was pulled by three different policemen, their hands tugging his arms behind his back. She could see the fear and confusion on his face—Harry hated when people touched him who he didn’t know, it sent him to the memories of France, and she knew this and the prospect of him being in pain because of her made her heart clench.

“No, stop, please—“ Sobs wracked her body as she watched the police, who had more men than Josiah, surrounded his men from all sides, effectively disarming them. It was a disaster of epic proportions. “Harry!”

Harry watched helplessly as Cicely was carried away from him, her legs kicking at the policemen who held her, her beautiful face covered in tears. “Ci, it’ll be okay, love,” he said, trying to stop himself from crying as well. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It had changed so quickly, the men coming for him faster than he could move, the number of them more than he could manage despite his strength.

But Cicely screamed his name again, wrestling in the arms of the policemen. And then, as she watched Harry get pushed towards a police car, she knew what she had to do. “Daddy, stop!” Her father turned at the sound of the childhood nickname she hadn’t used in years. “Daddy, please, I love him,” she said, words a whimper in the chaos.

But William King wasn’t moved. “No you don’t.”

“Daddy, wait!” She screamed at him, so loudly that anyone inside their homes would know exactly what was happening. “Let him go and I’ll do it. I’ll marry Clifford.”

That hard her father grinning ear to ear. “That’s more like it, sweetheart.” He waved at the policemen, and they immediately dropped Cicely, her feet hitting the muddy ground with a squelch.

She rushed towards Harry, ignoring the onlookers, and swept her hands over his face. His beautiful, loving face, that taught her how to feel like a real person. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her forehead resting on his chest, right above his heart.

Harry’s arms caged around her, holding her close to him, basking in the feeling of her fingers curling into his shirt under his jacket. “Remember what I told you last night?” She nodded. How could she forget? He had told her he was in love with her. “No matter what happens, that won’t change.”

Her lips found his and they could feel the tears on one another’s faces, the memories of their hushed confessions filling their minds. Harry tried to commit to his memory the feeling of her lips on his, the way she fit against him, how she breathed into his mouth. “I love you,” she said so quietly he almost missed it amidst the commotion. “I love you so much, Harry.”

“I know,” he replied, kissing her nose softly. “I’ve always known.”

Cicely felt the arms on her before she heard the words around her. Men telling her it was time to go, her father’s voice reminding her of her promise. In a flash, Harry lifted his cross necklace over his head and slipped it over Cicely’s, the cross hitting the middle of her chest. “I’ll come back,” she said, eyes never leaving his as she was wrenched away from him, policemen holding each of her arms. “I promise.”

Harry watched helplessly as the love of his life was shoved into her father’s car, William King’s triumphant grin making him sick to his stomach. He watched, unmoving, as the car turned around and pulled away, Cicely’s face plastered to the rear window, her hand pressed to the glass.

Watching her drive away was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever experienced.

But once she was gone, the feeling of being alone was worse.

Cicely spent the first week that she was home shut up in her room, refusing to speak to anyone but Polly, her ladies maid who left her meals outside her door and drew her baths. Even then, though, Cicely didn’t say much. She filled her days with books and art and looking outside at the grounds, studying the trees and the sky. When Polly asked her questions, which she did every time she got a good look at Cicely’s red and puffy face, Cicely had no words to give.

How did she put into words what it felt like to have her heart ripped out of her chest?

To say goodbye to the one person who finally understood her?

To have just memories and his necklace, one single physical reminder of him?

To find more joy in sleep than being awake, because in her dreams she saw him?

There weren’t words for that kind of pain. There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe it. So instead of trying, she just sat in the cold metal tub in silence as warm water rushed over her head, her arms wrapped around her knees while her tears were washed away.

Harry couldn’t sleep. Cicely was his key to sleep, her presence and the smell of her hair, her arms around his body, her hushed words when he had a nightmare, pulling him from the depths of his brain. Without her, sleep had become his enemy, just as it was before her.

He saw her everywhere, it felt like. The golden blonde of her hair, blue eyes, the curve of her hips and the straight posture of her body. Every time he saw a woman with the same wave to her hair or a voice that made him like of Cicely, his heart would flip and for a split second he would let himself dream that it was her. But it never was.

Instead of feel, he drank. He drank glass of whiskey after glass of whiskey to dull the pain that flowed through him, sometimes with Josiah or Jack at the pub or in the office, other times on his own. He almost preferred to be alone, because it was in the depths of those moments that he saw her, heard her voice, her laugh in his ears like she was right there. Harry chased those moments, the ones where she was with him, because they brought him some semblance of peace—a peace he had only found once, and that was with her at his side.

Before the drinking started everyday, he boxed. He was training every day without fail, hours on end that left his body exhausted beyond anything else he had experienced before. His trainer, Freddie, kept telling him to stop, that he was going to hurt himself, but Harry didn’t care. In fact, he almost wished he would hurt himself, because it would make him feel something other than the depths of despair that currently consumed him. It was only when he was boxing that he could forget her, forget what her father had made her do, forget the look on her face when she was ripped away from him, forget the way she tasted and felt under his hands, forget the sound of his name on her tongue. Every other time of day, the memories haunted him like a shadow.

Harry had lived with shadows before. The difference was that this time, he didn’t want them to go away.

After a week, her curiosity got the better of her. So she got dressed with the help of Polly, a light blue dress pulled over her head and buttoned up the back, her hair brushed, Harry’s cross necklace tucked under the neck of her dress. When she entered the dining room, her mother and father both looked up from their breakfasts, a look of surprise on both of their faces. Her mother’s spoon hovered above her boiled egg, her father’s eyes darting up from the newspaper he was reading.

“Cicely,” her mother said, voice soft. “It’s nice to see you, dear.”

Cicely didn’t respond, just took her usual seat across from her mother, and took a sip of the tea that one of the maids brought her. When her breakfast was slid in front of her, she tapped her spoon against her egg, the sound of the metal on the shell the only sound in the room except for the crinkle of the newspaper pages. “Father,” she finally said, “may I see the paper?”

Her father lowered the paper slightly, enough to show his interest in his daughter’s request. “What for?”

Secretly, she wished to see if Harry’s matches had been reported on, as they sometimes were. She wanted any mention of him, the chance to see his name written in print and not in her own hand, on newspaper and not in her journal. “I’ve been removed for too long and I’d like to be caught up on what I’ve missed. You know how much Clifford likes to talk about the news and the markets.”

Her father seemed unmoved by her reasoning, lifting the paper back to its former height. “That is nothing to trouble yourself over. Just let him talk, he’s not seeking your opinion.”

Cicely looked to her mother for support, but she found none. Her docile mother just looked back down at her breakfast, the clink of her silver on the plate as she picked up her fork. “Can I see yesterday’s paper, then? Is it in your office?”

William King huffed and set down his newspaper. “When did you find an interest in the news? While you were living in the slums?” Her mother flinched at the word, but Cicely didn’t give him the pleasure of a reaction. “You know you do not enter my office and this is no different. You have no business with the paper, so go back to your breakfast unless you have something decent to say.”

Polly might be able to get a copy for her, she thought to herself as she resigned herself to the rest of her breakfast. There was probably a copy delivered to the servant’s quarters that she could see, even just for a few minutes. In actuality, the news of the world was meaningless to her—she was interested solely in Harry. There was no way for her to contact him, since she had never even thought to learn the telephone number for Josiah’s and there was no way she could manage to sneak a letter out of the house to him. She needed something to know that he was okay, living his life, still out there.

“Clifford is coming over for dinner tomorrow evening,” her father said, closing the paper and letting it rest on the table. “You will be there, Cicely.”

Cicely suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She wished she had never left her room, stayed in there for at least long enough for Clifford to come and go without her having to see him. “Is he going to propose?”

“I’m not sure,” her father replied. “But if he does, you are to accept.”

She looked to her mother for support, for insistence that she needed more time to adjust back, that there wasn’t a rush, but she offered no such support. She just took another sip of tea and looked out the window at the gardens.

“I know,” she told her father, because there was nothing else to say. There was no sense in fighting it—it was the only way she got her father to let Harry go, and she had no doubt that if she didn’t follow through her father would just have him arrested all over again. She set her napkin on the table, suddenly no longer hungry. “May I be excused?”

“Yes,” her father said. “But don’t try anything, Cicely. Just because you’re home doesn’t mean that you can do as you like.”

As if she ever had been able to. “I know,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing up. She needed to get out of the house, needed to be able to breathe again, needed quiet to silence the thoughts swirling in her brain. With a glance to her mother, she left the room, on the hunt for Polly before she went for a walk on the grounds. She found her in the hallway leading to the downstairs where the servants quarters were, a basket of sheets in her arms. “Polly,” she said, her maid turning to her, apron swirling.

“Miss!” Polly’s chest heaved. “You scared me. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Does the staff get a copy of the Birmingham Gazette?” She asked, leaning against the wall, voice hushed so others didn’t hear.

Polly nodded. “Every morning, miss.”

“Could I have this morning’s, possibly? After everyone is done with it, of course.”

Polly’s eyes widened., but then she nodded. “Of course. Should I leave it in your chambers?”

She gave her maid a smile, as she knew how controlling her father was. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Polly.”

“Of course, miss.” Cicely turned away, boots clicking on the floor as she made her way through the grand house to the rear, where the doors to the gardens were. She grabbed her shawl just in case there was a morning breeze, and pushed open the heavy glass doors, the cool dewy air wrapping around her.

Her mother was obsessed with the grounds of their home, the illustrious Wutherford House that had been in the King family for generations. When she had married William King, she took on the role of mistress of the house wholeheartedly, hiring more gardeners and setting them about the task of reshaping the topiaries and cleaning up the old fountain in the middle of the main garden. The old trees hung over the back section of the garden and her mother had put in a small bench for reading, which was Cicely’s favorite spot in the house. There was a wide clearing for games, which was used mostly in the spring and summer whenever they threw garden parties for their wide circle of friends.

As Cicely walked through the garden, her shawl pulled around her to protect against the chill in the air, she knew that perhaps she should care more about the fact that her family would love Wutherford without her marriage to Clifford. The truth was that as much as she loved the gardens and the wooded green space surrounding her home, the hills she spent years learning to ride on, the house itself just held bad memories for her. The prospect of having to return to this house for holidays and birthdays with a family led by Clifford Stevens made her stomach turn.

She had stopped caring about the future of her family the moment she discovered that their impending ruin was the fault of her father, and rather than take any responsibility, he shoved that role onto Cicely. The obvious answer to their problems was for him to stop gambling on every horse race and card game he encountered, to focus on the business, which, if he worked at hard enough, would turn a higher profit. Instead, he drank more, gambled more, and told Cicely she was to marry Clifford Stevens and make them all rich again.  

The leaves rustled from the wind, and Cicely shut her eyes, inhaling the smell of freshly wet grass, the heavy scent of rain in the air. For a moment, she let herself picture walking out of Harry’s home in Balsall Heath, the smell of. manure and coal hanging low in the air, mixed with the sweetness of the bakery at the end of the street. She wiped at the tears that slipped from her eyes at the image, and then opened them, thrusting herself from her imagination and back into reality. A reality she despised.

She made her way to the little bench under the tree, and sat down, her boots crunching over the gravel. Was there any way for her to return to Balsall Heath, to Harry, to the life she had lived there? It was a question that she had turned over in her head for the past week, conjuring up different scenarios and ways to escape, to get to Harry. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t really know how to get to Balsall Heath. She had been unconscious on her way in, and crying too hard to see much of anything on her way out. Birmingham was a mystery to her outside of the wealthy areas where her friends lived, and those were far from Harry’s home. She didn’t even know his address.

It was moments like these when she was struck by how little she actually knew of him. The surface-level bits, at least, the insignificant information you learn about someone upon first getting to know them. Instead that, she knew his heart, his mind, the things that plagued him at night and kept him going through the day. She knew about his family, about his past, about how he didn’t know what the future held, because thinking of it made him sad. The parts of him that mattered she knew, and she knew intimately, just as he knew hers. She didn’t care all that much about the other bits, if she was honest. Other people might, but she didn’t.

“Miss.”

Cicely’s head bounced up at Polly’s voice, her maid making her way towards where she sat. In her hands was a paper, folded neatly. “Oh, thank you, Polly.”

Polly handed her the paper and did a small curtsy before walking away. Cicely unfolded the inked pages, and turned the pages, ignoring all the major news. She was searching for a very specific name, a specific mention that would give her a bit of hope to hold onto. It was a long shot, she knew that, but it still was something.

And then she saw. it. His name in a headline, a short mention toward the back of the paper. Harry Styles—Knockout Again! She sighed in relief, that he was still winning. Her eyes glanced over the words, reading the story quickly. It wasn’t much, just a short mention of his match, that he had won every round and ended with a knockout. She didn’t know the name of his opponent, but that was no surprise, she usually didn’t. He had told her the names of many of them, but he didn’t usually fight them multiple times over a short period of time—Josiah was pushing him at the moment. Harry had told her that Josiah wanted boxing to be one of his legitimate streams of income, to take it out of the warehouse and into bigger venues, making it posh and civilized rather than for the working man. In order to do that, he was raising the stakes, the caliber of the fighters.

Cicely brushed her fingers over his name, mouthing the word Harry aloud just to remind herself how his name sounded. Then she touched the cross pendant through her dress, the silver sat comfortably against her sternum. She missed him with every bone in her body, but she was powerless to change her situation. She had let him go in order to protect him, she told herself for the millionth time that week, and she just prayed he would stay that way.

Harry, Josiah, and Jack were sitting in Josiah’s office with an open bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass in each of their hands, the radio turned low in the corner. Most of the office had all gone home, and if Cicely had still been with Harry he would be home with her right now, not sitting in a stuffy office with his friends, smoking and getting drunk. In the week that she had been gone from his life, he had found himself spending more time with Josiah and Jack, craving human company to fill the space she left behind. Before, Josiah had gotten on his nerves, his dangerous streak bothering him after his time on the front lines.

But now, for some reason he craved it a bit. Craved the impact of a fist on his body in the ring, liked the idea of teetering on the edge of safety and risk. So when his glass ran out of whiskey and he leaned in to refill, he cleared his throat and Josiah stopped telling a story about some girl he had met at a pub the previous night, a barmaid who caught his eye.

“I want to do more,” Harry said, the amber liquid falling into his glass.

“Do more?” Josiah asked, his feet that had been sitting on the desk kicking off, body moving forwards to lean towards Harry. “D’ya mean doin’ stuff outside of boxing?”

Harry nodded and then snatched a cigarette from the box on the desk, and lit it quickly, a well practiced motion. “Need a bit more than just the ring.”

Josiah shrugged at him, taking a long drag of his cigarette before tapping the ash. “This have anythin’ to do with your girl?”

Jack was silent in the other leather chair, his eyes flickering between his brother and Harry as they spoke. “Just…need a distraction,” Harry explained.

“Well,” Josiah said, opening up a folder on his desk, cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked at the papers. “You could join us at the races on Saturday. Could use some extra muscle in case things go south.”

It was a racing day, a day when many bets would be happen and Josiah would be there, ready to manage them all as well as the crowd. He had gained control of the race course outside of Birmingham just a few months ago and had already made a killing, his love of horses, fine clothes, and gambling finding a perfect home on the course. Usually there wasn’t much trouble—a few rowdy men refusing to pay their debts—but Harry knew it was mostly Josiah finding something for him to do that would take his mind off of things. “Are ya expecting anything?”

“No,” Josiah answered, “but ya can never be too safe. In or out, Harry?”

He looked to Jack. “You gonna be there?” His best friend nodded, and so Harry agreed. “Might need to do some target practice,” he said, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Haven’t used a gun in a while.”

For most people, target practice in the dark in the middle of Balsall Heath might not have been possible, but for Josiah and his associates, it was a normal routine. They went to the docks where extra guns were stocked, and set up targets yards away. Josiah squared up to the target, lifted his gun, and with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he took his shot, the bullet ringing through the air around them.

It wasn’t a fear of the sound of guns that made Harry refuse to carry a gun. That didn’t trigger the memories and the darkness that swirled through his brain. No, it was the feeling of the weapon in his hand. The gun felt like a long forgotten memory in his palm, the cold of the metal unusual against his skin. His rings clinked against it when he gripped it, and his eyes darted over the mechanisms, reminding himself of the steps that had become second nature during the war. Harry did let himself consider if he wanted to fire the gun or not, he just let his whiskey-clouded brain take over, flicking off the safety and stepping up to the target. It was natural to him, the way he lined up the weapon and pulled the trigger, his body absorbing the recoil.

The minute the bullet left his gun, his nostrils filled with the smell of blood and death, the wet earth of the field where he had laid, shaking and struggling to reload. The memories flickered through his brain, quick flashes of his present and past parallel in his brain. Jack’s voice is what roused him from his daze, a muffled, “Har?” that had his mind clearing to the moment at hand.

Maybe it was the whiskey in his veins, dulling his mind to the memories, or perhaps it was the fact that when he had aimed his gun he imagined William King, his smug face staring back at Harry as he ripped Cicely away from him. Either way, the experience of shooting the gun was not as bad as it had been the previous times he had attempted—all of which were in the direct aftermath of the war. Perhaps it was just time that let his brain run normally? Harry didn’t mind it, the numbness that he felt once his mind settled, the smoke clearing so that he could properly focus on the dimly lit docks, tin cans set up yards away. His eyes flickered to his target, curious how he had done, how much he had forgotten in the time he had spent abstaining from guns.

A perfect bullseye.

Cicely’s skin crawled the second her eyes set on Clifford Stevens, his perfect blond hair slick against his scalp, a smirk set into his face and his blue eyes staring up at her as she descended the stairs. She had hoped that seeing him wouldn’t be as bad as before, that she could convince herself he wasn’t the most horrible man, but the minute he leaned in to say something to her father and he laughed, she knew that would be impossible. Any man her father approved of was the devil in her book. She wished that they had invited other guests because perhaps in that situation she could’ve escaped him, even just for a few minutes. Laughed with her friends in the corner about how disgusting he was, the sly look in his eyes that made her want to curl in on herself.

But instead, it was just her, her parents, and Clifford. Her mission for the evening was to avoid being alone with him. If she could do that, then perhaps he wouldn’t propose to her right there and then, perhaps she could put it off for a bit longer.

“Cicely.” His voice was too sweet and she put on a fake smile, trying to act nicely towards him. “You look lovely tonight. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes flickered to her father, realizing that he had probably told Clifford she was ill for the past few weeks rather than the truth—that she had run away from home and had fallen in love and lived with a man. Unmarried, to top it all off. That fact on its own would’ve caused enough scandal for her to be undesired by nearly every eligible bachelor in their social circle, so of course her father had lied. It just pained Cicely that she would have to lie, too. “Thank you,” she answered finally, before adding, “We missed having you over.” Her mother smiled at her, encouraging her praise of Clifford, and Cicely tried not to gag at the curling grin on his face.

During dinner, she pretended to be interested as Clifford talked about his business and her father peppered him with questions. She spoke only when directly asked a question, which thankfully for her, wasn’t often. She missed the days of quiet conversation with Harry during breakfast or curled up in his bed, his hands running through her hair. She missed everything about her time with Harry, but most of all she missed being touched in the way he did—with kindness and desire, petting her skin and squeezing delicately at her hand when she squirmed in his grip. As Clifford laughed at something her father said, she couldn’t help but wonder what intimacy with Clifford would be like. Would he touch her like Harry had? Would he be so kind and gentle with her?

Something told her he wouldn’t be. When she snuck glances at him, not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing her eyes were on him, she noticed all the things he didn’t have that Harry did. The rings on Harry’s fingers that clinked against the crystal he drank whiskey from, the tattoos that littered his body, the soft smile he would give her when no one else was watching, the stone cold gaze he gave everyone else. His green eyes, soft curls, slightly disheveled shirts because he couldn’t sit still for long. If he had his way, she knew he wouldn’t wear a shirt half the time, but she had a feeling that Clifford loved his posh clothes, the way they told everyone how much money he had. Harry didn’t care about money, as long as he had enough to live comfortably.

“Are you all going to the races on Saturday?” Clifford asked, setting down his glass of wine.

William looked to Cicely’s mother, before back to Clifford. “No, we don’t have tickets for this week.”

“You should come with me then.” His smile is directed straight at Cicely and she tries not to scowl at him. “I have some extra tickets that you could all use.”

If one were to guess if Cicely liked the races, they would probably guess that she did, considering she loved horses. However, the races were her father’s favorite venue to place bets, which meant he was going to get wildly drunk and lose money and be in a terrible mood. A mood that Cicely and her mother would have to deal with at home, which was the last thing she wanted to do that night. But Cicely wasn’t the one who made the decision. It was her father. Who immediately raised his glass and accepted, and then took a long sip of his wine.

After dinner, they all retired to the sitting room, her father pulling two cigars out of the box on the table, handing on to Clifford. Cicely and her mother sat on the couch, nursing glasses of wine and trying to find the painting in the room interesting, despite seeing them every day.

Then, all of a sudden her father stood up from the chair he was reclining in. “Mary,” she said to Cicely’s mother, “would you join me in the other room?”

Her mother took William’s outstretched hand. “Of course.” Cicely looked at her mother in panic, knowing exactly what was happening. They were leaving her alone with Clifford and from the small smile on his face, his intention was to get down on one knee in front of her. She had hoped she would have more time, a few weeks or even days to make her brain forget Harry and accept her fate, but it looked like her father didn’t feel that was necessary. He wanted Clifford’s money and wanted it now.

When the door shut behind her parents, Cicely looked to Clifford, who was sitting opposite her, leaning into the couch with one ankle propped up on his knee, a cigar between his fingers. “So, Cicely,” he said, inhaling from his cigar when he paused, “we’ve been getting to know each other for the past few months.”

She inhaled, holding her breath slightly as she listened to his words, a pressure in her chest building. He sat up, uncrossing his legs and setting his cigar in the ashtray. He reached out for Cicely’s hand, and despite not wanting to, she took it, his soft skin feeling wrong against hers. She wanted Harry’s callused fingers and healing knuckles, marks and scars from a life lived. Instead, she had the hands of a man who only knew how to hold a pen and sign his name.

They stood in the middle of her living room, Cicely’s heart beating rapidly not in excitement, but dread. “In that time, I’ve come to the conclusion that you would make the perfect wife for me.” His words held no fondness of feeling and Cicely noticed it immediately. No mention of love or caring for her, just the perfect wife. When he dropped to one knee and pulled a box out of his pocket, Cicely held back the desire to run from the room and stayed standing, holding in a scream.

“Will you marry me, Cicely King?” He opened the box then, a ring glinting in the low light of the room. The massive diamond that was set into the band would’ve impressed most women, made them excited to show it off, but for Cicely it was just a reminder of what this marriage was: a business transaction.

She didn’t even look at his eyes, because she knew if she did she wouldn’t be able to say yes. And she had to say yes. It was for Harry, for the man she actually loved, for the man she wished was on his knee in front of her. She had no choice, truly.

“Cicely?” He asked again, voice harsh and urgent, demanding of an answer.

“Yes,” she said, letting go of a breath. When he slid the ring onto her finger, she finally looked at him. The smug look on his face, as if he had won a prize. It made her sick. The ring on her finger felt like a rock dragging her to the bottom of the river and she just hoped she would come up for air.

Clifford stood, sliding the box back into his pocket, one hand clasped around Cicely’s. At his full height, he towered over Cicely, but not in the way that Harry did, where it made her want to curl up into his body. Clifford’s height felt intimidating, as if he was trying to make her shrink simply with his existence. When he pressed his hand to her cheek and said her name, she held back the reflex to flinch, and let her eyes close as he leaned in to kiss her.

His lips felt foreign to her in every way. They were rough, and they pushed and prodded at hers in a way that was hurried. It was wet, as if he was trying to swallow her lips and she struggled to figure out how to get out of the kiss, how to pull away without making him angry. But she couldn’t stand it, because she was supposed to be kissing Harry. She was supposed to be smelling his cologne and whiskey and an underlying scent of gunpowder and sweat. Instead, her nostrils were full of cigars and overly sweet cologne and pomade for his hair. Her fingers found his wrist and pulled enough to allow him to release her, and she stepped away slightly, creating some space between them.

He was breathing heavily and she just wanted to escape. “You’ll need to come to my house next week and meet my family again, but this time as my fiancée,” he said. “I think you’ll get along well with mother.”

If she was anything like her son, then she was sure she wouldn’t. “I’m sure I will.”

“Cicely?” The door behind her opened, and her mother and father were standing there, excited looks on each of their faces.

“We’re engaged,” Clifford said quickly and Cicely’s chest tightened at the words. He lifted her hand which was still in his, showing the gaudy ring on her finger.

“Congratulations, son,” her father said, making her way towards them and shaking Clifford’s hand with enthusiasm before turning to Cicely. He kissed her forehead, a demonstration of tenderness she hadn’t experienced since she was a child—if she ever had. Apparently all she had to to get her father’s acceptance was become engaged to one of the wealthiest bachelors in Birmingham.

Her mother was the one who saved her, pulling her into a hug that allowed her to let go of Clifford’s hand finally. She was able to take a breath of fresh air, escaping his dreaded cologne for a moment. “I’m feeling quite tired,” she lied to her mother when she pulled away. “I think all the excitement has gotten to me.”

“You’ve only recently recovered,” Clifford cut in. “Perhaps it’s the illness?”

“Nonsense,” Cicely’s mother said. “She’s perfectly well, just tired from the day. You should go to bed, darling.”

Cicely nodded, taking a few steps away, before realizing she should say goodnight to her fiancé. “Goodnight, Clifford.”

He gave her a terse smile, one she returned with an equivalent lack of tenderness. “Goodnight, Cicely.”

She didn’t wait a second longer before walking out of the room, holding back the tears long enough to reach her rooms. Once the door shut behind her, she collapsed to the ground, pulling the cross out from under her dress, and holding it tightly as she wept for her future.

Harry was supposed to be moving through a couple rooms at the tracks, keeping an eye on the betting and the crowd in general. He had been placed in the more posh area since it was less likely to get violent, and because he was polished enough looking that he fit in—especially with his suit on so his numerous tattoos were hidden from view. He maneuvered through the large ballrooms, music and chatter around him as people drank their glasses of champagne and ate snacks that the staff served. People seemed to disregard him, their eyes not lingering on him longer than a passing glance, and Harry didn’t mind it. It allowed him to blend into the background and focus on his job, which was watch people closely.

He had a gun tucked in a holster under his suit and he tried to ignore it, pretend he couldn’t feel the cool graze of the metal when he moved, but it was a hopeless endeavor. So he distracted himself with a whiskey and looking at people’s clothes, and creating stories in his head for all of the wealthy patrons who he didn’t care enough about to properly learn anything about.

He pulled out his silver pocket watch and checked the time, before shutting it and downing the rest of his drink. Time to move to the other room. He set the glass on the bar, nodded to the bartender, and exited the ballroom, letting the door shut behind him. He moved down the carpeted walkway to the next room, where there was yet another bar and fewer card tables, more space for dancing. This was the room he disliked, because it was louder and more rowdy.

Pushing open the doors, the thrum of the band music surrounded him immediately. He stepped inside and let his eyes sweep the room as he moved to the side, preferring to anchor himself in the space before getting another drink. Josiah had also pointedly told him not to drink too much, so he was trying to pace himself, although he liked the feeling of the glass in his restless hands. Women crossed in front of his path, guided by male dance partners, the swirl of skirts and laughter rolling through the air.

He was two steps away from his target location—an empty space against the dark walls of the structure, void of any patrons—when he saw a flash of blonde hair that had him faltering. It was as if all of the air in his body had been sucked out, the moment his eyes fell on her.

It couldn’t be her, the rational part of his brain screamed. There was no way it was her. He had been seeing her ghost for the past two weeks, a ghost of the woman he loved, and there was no way she was here. Not now. Not like this.

But then she turned and perhaps it was the weight of his gaze that had made her turn, because she immediately found his eyes across the packed room. Blue eyes that made his heart rattle, parted lips that made him want to fall to his knees, the slope of her neck that he wanted to adore with his mouth.

Cicely.

It was her.

Her in a red beaded dress, her hair perfectly curled in a wide brimmed red hat to match, eyes wide as they studied one another. Harry couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Someone bumped into him but he just mumbled a Sorry under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from her. How long had he dreamed of this moment, of being in the same room as her, breathing the same air as her, being able to reach out and touch her skin?

Under her gaze, his skin burned. The memories of their last night together, the gasps and moans she let out when he touched her, the curve of her hips and arms wrapped around him as he pushed inside of her—the memories invaded his mind immediately. The need to touch her suddenly was a aching desire inside of him, something he couldn’t ignore or wish away. It was going to eat away at him if he didn’t satisfy it. He needed to hear her voice, to touch her cheek, to kiss her red-painted lips.

He wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them, push aside every person that stood in his way, and take her into his arms, to let himself be drowned in the smell of her perfume. But he couldn’t, because to Cicely’s right was her father, who thankfully hadn’t noticed Harry, but that was unlikely to last long. To her left was another man, whose hand grazed Cicely’s back in a way that had Harry’s skin prickling and knuckled clenching. A woman was standing next to William King, an older lady with the same shade of hair as Cicely’s—her mother, he presumed.

How was he going to get her alone? He looked around the grand ballroom, which he still couldn’t believe existed. He had never encountered such exaggerated wealth before, but Cicely probably lived in it every day. Towards the back of the room he noticed a red swinging door, which servers were coming in and out of. There would probably be restrooms back there, ones the regular patrons wouldn’t touch. Ones he could speak to her in.

Keeping her eyes on his, he nodded to the red swinging door. She glanced at it, and then back at him, before nodding ever so slightly. That was all Harry needed. He was moving immediately, weaving through the crowd with purpose. He didn’t look back to see if she was following, he knew she would come once she could get away, and until then he would wait for her. Hell, he would wait for her anywhere for however long it took.

He pushed open the doors and moved into the narrow hallway, narrowly missing a collision with a server and a silver tray. “Watch it!” The server said, brushing past him and into the ballroom. Harry sagged against the wall, taking a deep breath before moving slightly farther down the hall and out of the doorway. His eyes searched for a restroom or even a coat closet, some place where they could talk privately. Finally, he saw the small sign for the restroom a few yards down the long hall.

With a shaking hand, he thumbed over his rings, twirling them on his fingers to distract himself from waiting for her. He itched for a cigarette, for something to do with his hands while he waited. Eyes were trained on the swinging door, which trumpets and band music swirled out of, the pop of champagne every once in a while. Where was she?

Then, as if conjured from a dream, the doors swung open and she stepped through them, hands falling to her sides when she saw him. It was as if time stopped—they were just a few feet from one another, a thread pulling them to each other, knotting their hearts together. His mouth was dry, words gone, mind blank. The very presence of her blinded him as if she was the sun in mid-afternoon, so bright that he had to shield his eyes as he stepped outside.

She was in front of him and she was stunning.

But then she spoke, and Harry forgot how to breathe. “Harry,” she said, her words soft and delicate amidst the chaos around them, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

He surged forward, capturing her head in his hands, cares about who was around flying to the wind. His palms cradled her jaw, and before he pressed his lips to hers, he caught a glimpse of her eyes fluttering, a small smile on her face before her kissed her. Her lips tasted like champagne and her and it sent his brain spinning. The tenderness of her fingers on his wrists, holding him close to her as he kissed her, as he remembered what she felt like against him.

She parted her lips slightly and licked at his bottom lip and Harry couldn’t help but quietly moan at the sensation. “Ci,” he mumbled, parting ever so slightly, the nickname he had been wanting to say for so many days finally resting on his tongue.

“Hi,” she said, eyes twinkling as he took a hesitant step back so they could look at each other properly.

Her hand brushed at his jaw and the heat of her skin against his, the prodding of her fingers sent sparks through his body. “There’s a restroom down the hall,” he murmured. “I know it’s horribly improper, but I—I need to talk to ya.”

She just nodded, securing her hand in his, a smile meant just for him on her lips that he desperately wanted to kiss again. He led her down the hall, darting around servers who littered the hall, his fingers slotted between her gloved ones. Her small purse hung from her wrist, swinging between them as they moved.

When they reached the restroom, Harry pushed open the door, pulling her inside and shutting it tightly behind him. It was all levels of improper, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to care. His fingers left hers only to slide the deadbolt on the door, leaving them in a locked room, their chests both heaving as he found her eyes. “Cicely…” He couldn’t even find the words as he brushed his fingers across the rise of her cheekbones, watching in rapture as her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. When she leaned into his touch he knew nothing had changed—that what they felt two weeks ago when she was ripped away from him was real. It was all real.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, hands running up the length of his suit-covered torso, making him inhale sharply. She was so close, pushed against the door, his body towering around her, caging her between his hands that were pressed against the door.

“Josiah runs the betting and security,” he answered. One of his hands pushed a strand of her hair back, the feeling of the soft strands between his fingers making his heart soar. “Been a bit off lately, needin' more action than usual, so he thought this might be a good fit.”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his words, a sharp contrast to the way her fingers curled edged under his suit jacket. “Action? Why do you need more action?”

How did he explain to her that her leaving had destroyed him? Made him want to hurt everyone in his path and fighting wasn’t enough to keep the edge off? “Fightin’ isn’t enough,” he struggled to say as her fingers drew circles over his shirt-covered stomach. “Not since…”

“Since I left,” she finished, glancing up from his body to his eyes. “I understand.”

Harry’s eyes fell to where her fingers laid on his chest, his suit jacket long since pushed open. His gaze caught on something that was new, something he didn’t remember—a large diamond on her ring finger. “What’s that?” He asked, voice rough in his throat as he stumbled over his words, barely able to process what it meant.

Cicely lifted her hands off of his chest immediately, her expression changing from one of joy to frustration. “It’s an engagement ring,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze.

He swallowed slowly, her words ringing in his ears. “Clifford? Already?” She nodded, and Harry took a step back, suddenly needing space from her, space to process what that meant. She was engaged—she belonged to someone else now. “Congratulations, then.” His voice was venomous and he knew it was cruel, but he couldn’t help it. He was jealous, horribly jealous, that the diamond on her finger wasn’t from him.

“That’s not fair,” she said, shaking her head. “You know why I had to accept.”

“Do you love him?”

His words fell heavy in the room, his heart pounding as he waited for her response. He didn’t think she did, but a part of him was begging for an answer, for reassurance that she still loved him. “No,” she said confidently. “I despise him.” Then she pulled at the neck of her dress, her fingertips sliding across a metal chain, and when she pulled his cross free from the confines of her dress, his heart stopped.

The cross he had given her because it was the only thing he had to give. “You—you’re wearin’ it.”

She stepped towards him hesitantly, reaching out her hand, the one without the ring on it, to slide her fingers between his. “Of course I am.” Harry studied her, the rise and fall of her breath, her red lipstick slightly smeared from where his lips had captured hers, the glint in her blue eyes under the soft lighting of the room. “I still love you.” Her voice was barely a whisper in the room, but to Harry it was a deafening roar.

It was all he needed to kiss her. He hauled her against his body, finally feeling the curve of her flush against him as he kissed her. Her hands curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging softly on the strands as their lips slotted together. His fingers dug into her skin through the fabric of her dress, and all Harry could smell was her perfume and soap, the perfect combination that would haunt his dreams for nights to come. Their noses bumped and she let out a soft giggle, which only made Harry want her more. He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, a whimper filling his ears in reply.

“I’ve missed ya so much,” he said, ducking down his head to leave a string of kisses down her neck. She moaned, a sound that Harry would play on repeat for the rest of time, and pulled at his hair, making an utter mess of it he was sure. He couldn’t find it in himself to care though. He would let her ruin him any day of the week.

When he nipped at the curve of her neck, she let out a slow and breathy, “Harry…” and it had his mind tumbling. He turned her so she was pressed against the countertop, the stability of the counter behind her allowing him to gain some leverage against her.

But she took it a step further. Her hands left his body and pressed against the top of it, lifting her body up onto the counter and letting her legs fall open. The action had Harry searching for restraint, because the sight of her sitting on the countertop, chest heaving as she looked at him, had him aching for her. With a glance for approval, he pulled up the hem of her dress, running his hands along her calves as he moved it. When it reached her knees, he was finally able to slot himself between her legs, and the feeling of her bare calves winding around his waist made his head drop to her shoulder. “Ci,” he murmured, pushing at the sleeve of her dress to expose some of her shoulder. “What do you want, love?”

“Everything,” she answered immediately, brushing the hair back from his eyes tenderly. “Anything. You.”

He kissed her skin softly, a contrast to the exchange they were having, but it was all he wanted—to tenderly touch her body. But, unfortunately they were in a bathroom at a horse race and if she spent too much more time in here, her family would come looking for her. “Not now,” he said, forcing the words out of himself because it took every bit of restraint to say them. “Your family is probably searching you already.”

“I don’t care,” she said, pulling at his chin so she could pepper kisses over his skin.

“But I do,” he told her, thumbing across her cheek. “When I have ya again, I want to take my time and I want ya in my bed, not on a washroom counter at a race track.”

She ducked her head into the crook of her neck, her soft breaths filling his ears. “When will ‘again’ be, though? When will I see you again?”

“Do ya want to see me again?”

She chuckled and the sound made his heart soar, as cheesy as it sounded. “Of course, you pest.”

“Love, you’re engaged.”

In an instant, she pulled the ring off of her finger and let it drop to the counter. “It doesn’t matter—you’re the one that I want. You know I don’t want to marry him.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear and lifted her head enough to be able to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to, but if ya wanted to come back to Balsall Heath, I’d make ya mine.” Harry hadn’t thought about marriage all that much, but the minute he saw that ring on her finger the only thing he could think of was how he wanted her to be his wife. He wanted her until the end of his days.

Her eyes widened, reaching her hands up to grasp his wrists. “You would?”

“Yes,” he answered, confidently. “Would you like that?”

“Very much.” She pressed her thumb across the inside of his wrist gingerly, a tender trace that had him weak in the knees. “How am I going to get to you? My father won’t let me leave the estate.”

Harry leaned back slightly, the wheels of his mind turning a mile a minute. “Think ya could sneak out at night?” She considered it for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll use one of Josiah’s cars and meet you a few yards away from the house tomorrow night at two in the morning, okay? I’ll need you to get to me, but if you can do that, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I can do it,” she replied, a blazing fire in her eyes of excitement that he shared. “I’ll try and bring some of my clothes if I can.”

“Bring anything you’ll want.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips softly. “You’ll be with me for the rest of your life if you want to be.”

“Mrs. Styles,” she whispered, and the words had him hauling her into him for a deep kiss that rattled both of their souls. “What if my father comes after me? What if you get arrested?”

Harry just shook his head. “Leave that bit to me. I’ll talk to Josiah and Jack, we’ll figure somethin’ out. You just focus on sneakin' out.”

Cicely nodded. “I love you, Harry.”

He kissed her once more before he answered her. “I love you too, Ci.”

Harry tried not to watch her walk away, but after feeling her skin under his, it was impossible not to. Especially when he thought about how she was going to be his for the rest of time.

The moon hung high in the sky the following night when Cicely rose from bed. She had packed her bag after Polly left her for the evening, a small duffle bag with her favorite dresses—one of which was all white—a collection of undergarments, and some precious family heirlooms her mother had given her. At the bottom of the bag was a photo of her family, just for memory’s sake, and her journal. The last thing she needed was money. Harry hadn’t asked for any, but she didn’t want to be reliant on him. She would need a new wardrobe of clothes and the least she could do was contribute.

She pulled on her dress, a deep blue she hoped would blend into the night and tugged on a light coat to keep out the cool night air. With a last look at her beloved room, the draped canopy and plush rugs, she shut the door behind her, her shoes clasped in one hand and her bag in the other. The house was silent as Cicely crept down the halls, avoiding all of the spots that creaked, and descended the stairs carefully. Her ears were focused on any sound that could suggest she had woken someone up, but so far, she was in the clear.

At the base of the stairs, she turned right, heading into her father’s office. She knew the code to the safe by heart, having learned it at fifteen when she wanted a new dress but her father refused to pay for it and she had watched him flick the combination. Since then, she’d snatched cash from it every once and a while, the code never changing. Tonight, she hoped, would be no different.

Her father’s office smelled of cigars, and she padded across the carpeted floor to his large oak desk. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books he had never read covered most of the walls, the other space occupied by painting her mother had picked out. The only things that her father had selected for the space was the cigars on his desk and the pens he used to sign his name. She dropped her bag to the ground and knelt next to the black safe, running her fingers across the metal. It was cool to the touch, just as she remembered it. She glanced around the room to ensure she was alone, before flicking the combination of numbers on the dial.

It clicked softly, and she pulled open the door, stacks of cash and a few gold bars sitting inside. She ignored the bars, and instead grabbed two stacks of fifty pound bank notes, and then turned around to slide them into her unzipped bag. When she turned, though, she found her mother standing in the doorway.

“Mother,” she said, chest rattling from the surprise. “I—“

“I know,” her mother replied simply. She pulled her robe tighter around her nightgown, her usually perfectly coiffed hair limp around her face. “I won’t tell him.”

Cicely looked at her mother in disbelief. “You—you won’t?”

Her mother shook her head and leaned against the doorjamb. “I know you don’t want to marry Clifford. You haven’t wanted to marry a single man we’ve introduced you to since you came out in society. But then you go and you meet a man who we would never approve of, and you fall in love.” Cicely made a sound of interruption, but her mother just gave her a sad smile. “It’s okay, darling. I’m not mad. I’m nervous for you, for your future, but I am not mad.”

It had never occurred to her that she was seeking her mother’s approval, but now that she had it, it was as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders. “I love him, Mama.” She used the name for her mother that she had used as a child, and hadn’t since then, and saw her mother immediately soften.

Her mother moved from the doorway and made her way to Cicely, cupping her daughter’s face in her hands. “Fight for him, you hear me? Fight for the love you feel. It doesn’t come around often, but when it does, you have to fight for it, no matter how hard it gets.” Cicely brushed at the tears falling on her mother’s cheeks, and she realized her mother hadn’t touched her like this, with such tenderness, in years.

“I will,” she promised.

Her mother kissed her forehead, shutting her eyes as she did it, and then pulled away. “Will you write? You can address it to Polly and have her give them to me. I just,” she faltered, brushing a hand against her daughter’s hair, “I want to know you’re alright.”

Cicely nodded. “I’ll write as soon as I can.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother to you.”

The words splintered Cicely in two, because although most times over the past year especially she had been disappointed in her mother, she had been the light of her life before that. She had been the bright spot in a dark house, a kind touch and a lingering kiss on her forehead when she needed it. “I love you,” Cicely told her simply, knowing that was what her mother needed to hear.

Her mother, ever the woman of few words, simply replied, “I love you, too.” Then, she stepped away, giving her daughter a lingering last look before she turned away. She left the room without looking back, her white nightgown curling around her ankles as she moved.

Cicely was left alone in her father’s empty office, tears prickling her eyes.

But she wasn’t done in the office. She had a plan on how to keep her father’s hands off of Harry, because she knew he wouldn’t rest if she just left—he’d come after them both. Her father, though, underestimated her. He always had and it would be his downfall.

Cicely turned back to the still open safe, and lifted the base of the safe—something her father definitely know she knew about—and pulled out his personal ledgers. The ones that had records of his gambling debts, his personal assets, and of the true wealth of their family. She knew that these were the one thing that truly scared her father, that the world would know the truth of his wealth, of his status, that his family was nearly broke and his business about to go bottom up. That he owed money to what seemed like every man in Birmingham and the surrounding area, and he was barely staying afloat.

She folded the ledgers in half, and stuck them into her bag as well, before finally shutting the safe and turning the lock. Then, she grabbed a pen and paper from her father’s desk and began to write.

Dear Mother and Father,

Don’t come looking for me. I don’t want to be found.

If you do, I’ll send a copy of your ledgers to every paper in Birmingham and London, and everyone will know the truth about your family.

Yours,

Mrs. Cicely Styles

She used the name purely to make her father mad, but also because it brought her immense joy to scratch her future name in ink. She would be a King no longer.

After folding up the note, she tugged Clifford’s disgusting ring off of her finger, and placed it on the note, leaving both for her father to find in the morning. With that, she picked up her bag and her boots, and left the office, making her way through the silent halls of her childhood home, pausing only a few times to take her last looks at her favorite paintings or rooms, to memorize the walls she had called home.

Outside, the air was heavy in the early morning hours, and she was thankful she had put on a coat. She bent down and pulled on her boots, lacing them tightly, and then tugged the door shut behind her, the lock clicking softly behind her. With her bag in her hand, she descended the steps of her home, taking the unlit path to the main road, the crunch of the gravel under her shoes keeping her company as she walked.

She only hoped that Harry had kept up his side of the deal, that he was there waiting for her. Deep in her gut, she knew he would be, but a part of her was still nervous as she walked down the drive. But she thought back to the way he had looked at her in that tiny restroom, the shine in his eyes and red puffy lips from kissing her, the way his fingers gripped her hips, how he told her he would make her his. There was no way he wouldn’t be there.

When she made it to the road, the moonlight was her only guide. She turned right, then left, and then she saw the faint outline of a car on the road a few yards away, just as Harry had promised. It was on impulse that she began to run, the muddy road definitely getting her skirts dirty, but she didn’t care. Harry was a few yards away, freedom was barely out of reach. The wind rustled through her hair and her bag banged against her calves as she ran to him.

And then he was there, leaning against the hood of the car and gazing at her in awe. “Ci—“ She cut him off with the impact of her body falling into his, her lips colliding with his. He found her immediately, hands coming up to cup her face as they kissed, a deep yearning in her body finally fulfilled with him. “You did it,” he said when she pulled away, brushing at her cheeks with his knuckles.

“I did,” she answered with a triumphant smile, “and I stole some money and insurance.”

“Insurance?”

“My father’s personal ledgers—records of his debts, of the family and business finances.”

His eyes widened, and then a rare smile peeked out. “My brilliant girl,” he said. “Now come get in the car.” He took her bag from her hands and walked to the boot, placing it securely inside while she slid into the passenger side.

Instead of turning the car around and heading back in the direction of Birmingham, Harry drove forward, north in the direction of Manchester. “Where are we going?” She asked, turning to look at his face, barely visible in the dark blanket of the night.

He reached his hand over to her that wasn’t on the steering wheel, and tucked his fingers between hers. “We’re goin’ to the sea.”

“The sea?”

He nodded. “Josiah told me to get ya and get out of town for a bit. Let it settle down with your father.”

The idea of Harry, a seaside town, and no worries sounded like heaven to Cicely. “How far is it?”

“A few hours,” he replied. “Go to sleep, love. I’ll wake you when we’re there.” She settled into the seat, which wasn’t all that comfortable, but with Harry holding her hand, she fell asleep almost immediately.

They rented a room in a little hotel on the sea, bright blue walls that made Cicely smile when they stepped inside. She stood in front of the window, which faced the water, the waves lapping at the shore as the sun rose. Harry didn’t know if he had ever seen a more breathtaking sight.

He dropped their cases on the floor, and shut the door behind him, flipping the lock. The sound had her turning around to face him and Harry’s chest tightened immediately. They were finally alone, alone in a room with a bed and no one would be interrupting them. For a few moments, they just gazed at each other, taking in one another’s presence. Harry’s eyes trailed down Cicely’s body, memorizing the slope of her nose and the planes of her shoulders, the curve of her waist and length of her legs. Her bare knuckles, void of her old engagement ring. A silver chain peaked out from under her dress, a reminder that she wore his necklace, a symbol of what she had helped him believe in again.

Every cell of his body seemed to scream with desire, after two weeks of being without her. Even though they had had only one night together, it was a night he would never forget. From the way Cicely gazed at him, undressing him with her eyes, he had the suspicion that she had thought about it just as much as he had.

The orange and pink hues of the sunrise fell across the walls, casting her in a glow that likened her to an angel, and Harry decided it was an apt comparison. To him, she was an angel in every sense of the word. “Cicely,” he said, her name falling lightly in the room.

“I need you.” Her words cut through him like glass, sharp and gravelly as she hadn’t been awake for long, and honest. “H, I need you.”

When she repeated the words, Harry was moving in an instant, crossing the distance between them. His hands wound through her hair and pulled her towards him, their lips meeting in a sigh. Without the pressure of time, Harry decided to take his time with her, wanting to savor every moment. So he kept the pace slow, nibbling on her bottom lip and licking into her mouth languidly, inhaling every one of her whimpers and gasps as if he only got air from her. Perhaps he did, though, because when he was touching her it felt like he could finally breathe again.

She tried to speed up the kiss, tugging at his lip with her teeth, but Harry refused. With a hand cradling her jaw, he held her in place as he kissed her gently, a tenderness flowing from him that he only knew with her. Her hands curled into his hair and scratched at his scalp, finally settling into the pace Harry set, and the sensation had his skin puckering with goosebumps. One of his hands fell to her hip, pulling her closer in, so he could feel the bend of her body against his, and it made her let out a breathy gasp.

That was when Harry was done with slow. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, he could tell from the way she clenched the back of his shirt, holding him tightly to her. So he turned them slightly, and stepped towards her, directing her backwards to the bed in the center of the room.

She fell to the feather duvet cover in a puff of air, a soft giggle escaping her that made him suck on her jaw. She scrambled at his back at the feeling, it being her sweet spot, the one that made her crazy. Harry knew and used it to his advantage, wanting to hear every sound he could pull from her. She was like a band all in one person, the combination of every type of instrument and sound to create one, beautiful song. A song he would listen to again and again.

“My boots,” she mumbled, nudging at his nose. Harry glanced down and realized she was right—she still had her boots on. They were hanging off the bed, obviously because she was trying not to get the duvet dirty with mud. He squatted down immediately, fingers deftly untying the bows at the top of her lace-up boots.

Her eyes found his as his fingers pulled at the laces, tugging them free from the holes. Her tongue darted across her lip, taunting him as she wet it, and Harry leaned in and kissed her ankle in response. When she squirmed, he did the same to the other ankle, loving how she shakily exhaled, body craving more. “Better?” He asked, pulling them off fully.

She nodded, eyes watching him lazily. There was a calmness to the moment, a difference from the last time he undressed her. That time they were desperate to discover each other, the culmination of days of tension. Now, they were desperate, but in a different way—to be simply be close again.

His fingers slid up her calves where her stockings covered her skin. Skin he desperately wanted free. “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” she said, her lip tucked between her teeth.

Harry pushed up the hem of her dress, revealing her knees and then the milky white of her thighs, where her garters laid. With deft fingers, he unclasped them, releasing her stockings. He inched them down her legs, kissing each centimeter of exposed skin and basking in the pants that left her mouth. He left her stockings on the floor, and then tugged off her garters, not wanting a single scrap of clothing on her when he made love to her.

“You,” she said, voice ragged with desire.

He cocked his head, cheek resting on her thigh. “Wha’?”

“Your clothes.” Her hands tugged at the neck of his crisp white shirt. “I want them off.”

Her desperation made him kiss her skin, tonguing delicately over it in a circle. “Yeah?” She nodded, digging her fingernails into his fabric-covered shoulders. “Can ya help me, love?”

It was a poor excuse to get her hands on his skin, but he knew she didn’t mind. She sat up, Harry slotted between her legs, and slowly released the buttons on his shirt. With each exposed area of skin, she kissed it just as he had, and the feeling of her lips on his skin had him fisting the duvet cover, the warm hot air sending him spinning. By the time she had all of his buttons undone he was a panting mess, so when she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders and grazed her fingers over his nipples the deep, drawn out groan that ripped from his chest wasn’t far off.

She smiled at his reaction, and then she bent her head, her tongue flicking over the bars though his nipples, his body jerking against her. “Fuck, Ci,” he rasped, digging his fingers into her hips. Her skirts sat around her waist, so he wasn’t holding her bare skin, and he needed it. Needed to be able to run his hands across her, to mark her up as his. But she seemed to have other plans in mind, because when she sucked his nipple into her mouth he lost all ability to think, much less ask her for what he wanted. With her other hand she tweaked his other nipple, not wanting to leave one unattended, and together the combination had him rattling in her hold.

“I love these,” she whispered, releasing his nipple with a pop. She had told him that before, but each time she did he enjoyed hearing the words. It made his heart soar, the praise from her lips filling him up fully. Her eyes peeked up at him, blue irises blown out under her eyelashes. “What if I got some to match?”

He growled, a sound he had never made before, but it was just a natural reaction to the image of her perfect breasts with bars through the nipples. Of her body bending and jerking against him as he suckled on the sensitive skin. “Think I’ll never let ya out of our room,” he replied, looking down at her lips ghosting across his bare chest.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

His eyes widen at her words, and she giggled, the vibrations ricocheting off his body. “C’mere, you.”

She scrambled backwards on the bed as he shifted, rising onto the bed on his knees and crawling after her. Her dress still adorned her body and Harry wanted it off. Wanted to see her, all of her. His hands pushed up her legs, brushing at her skin and watching as her lips dropped open slightly, air puffing through them at the feeling of his hands on her. When he reached her underwear, she simply nodded, an answer to a silent question. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, pulling them down the length of her legs before tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Next, he pulled her chest up and reached around her, blindly finding the buttons on her dress. The position meant she was pressed right up against his bare chest, and he didn’t think either of them minded, based on how her breath caught.

He popped each button with ease, fingers crawling down the freshly revealed expanse of her back as he made his way down. Once he was out of buttons, he pushed at the neck of her dress, exposing her shoulder. He moved without thought, wanting simply to cover her in kisses, and nuzzled her skin with his nose before gingerly brushing it with his lips. As he worked across her skin she shrugged off the bodice and then pulled it over her head.

Her fully revealed body knocked the air right out of him. It took him a moment to be able to think again, the sight of so much bare skin and just her brassiere, her underwear gone and showing him her most intimate parts. Between her breasts laid his cross necklace, the cold silver contrasting against her warm skin. His hands pressed to the chain and then her skin, eyes flickering over her face as her head dropped back in pleasure at his touch. Fingers popped the clasps on her last remaining garment, and once that was dropped, she was completely bare for him. Her blonde hair and bright eyes, soft pink lips swollen from his kisses, her seemingly miles of unmarked skin, except for a few red marks that he knew were from him. The prospect of leaving traces of him behind for her to find tomorrow had him hardening in his trousers. Ever since he had started thinking of her as his, he couldn’t find a more alluring thought.

“Beautiful,” he exhaled, unable to find any other words to describe her. There weren’t enough in the English language to encapsulate her. To explain the way his heart sung for her, how the valley of her breasts made his heart quick, the blush on her cheeks urging him to dust his lips across them. How he craved her hands on his skin, everywhere and anywhere she would put them. It was as if she had been designed for him, to drive him crazy and make him forget anyone or anything else existed. When he looked at her, it was all he could focus on—and he could barely do that, because the sight of her smile had his mind melting.

The air in the room was filled with a mixture of her perfume and remnants of his cologne, a chemically balanced combination that made Harry dizzy. Pants from her delicate lips filled his ears, the soft husky voice that murmured his name when he hadn’t touched her for too long, causing his eyes to flirt up to hers. “Remember what you did last time?”

“Wha’?” His mind was too hazy to think straight, to process what she was asking.

A blush creeped across her features, and suddenly Harry knew what last time she was referring her to. “Our last night,” she explained, rasping as he leaned in and nibbled at the taught skin at the base of her throat, her head bobbing to the side to give him more access. “When you—you touched me.”

How could he forget? It was all he could think about for days after. Her taste on his tongue, the way her fingers curled into his hair and tugged at his scalp. A tangy sweetness meant only for him, something she didn’t show anyone else, a piece of her that was his and his alone. It was intoxicating, the taste of her, and he was desperate for another sip. “I remember,” he answered, brushing his fingers up her neck to turn her head so she faced him. “What about it?”

“I...” She fumbled with her words, pupils darting around his face and then anywhere but them. He wanted her eyes back on him so badly it was embarrassing, begging for her attention, but he knew that she was bashful so he let her gather her courage away from his gaze. “I want to do that to you.”

Harry’s body practically shook at her words. The prospect of her mouth, those plush and warm lips around him, between his legs and her hands on his thighs? The image that his mind conjured forced a series of curses from his chest in a rasp, her name mixed in. “Ya sure? Don’t have to do that.” Of course he wanted it—he wanted whatever shreds of her that she would give him—but he knew that he wouldn’t last long anyways. Just seeing her fall apart would be enough for him to be over the edge right after her.

“I want to,” she said, eyes finally coming back to his face, connecting with his green ones.

“Never done it before, right, love?” She shook her head, ducking down, but he pushed at her chin softly. “Hey, none of that. I’ll show ya, okay?” Knowing she was nervous and embarrassed, he kissed her cupid’s bow tenderly, before connecting their lips for a short peck. “Love that I’ll be the only one who gets to feel your mouth.”

That had her smiling, her bashful expression gone and replaced with one of temptation and desire. When she pushed at his shoulders, forcing them to the side so that he laid on his back, her hovering over him, it had him keening into her. The sight of her naked body above him, his necklace hanging from her neck, her blonde hair creating a curtain around their faces of their world and their world alone, was enough for him to whine, low and desperate. She was the only person who could make him like this—utterly destroyed for her.

Harry decided to see how far she could go on her own, wanting her to build up her confidence before he started to guide her. So he let her fingers creep down his torso, hissing when she scratched over his butterfly tattoo, a coy smile fluttering across her face. She popped the button of his trousers and with a glance to his face for reassurance, pulled down the zipper. He lifted his hips so she could pull them down, her eager hands taking his boxers with them. When she saw him, hard and red against his stomach, her reaction wasn’t quite as surprised as the first time.

This time, she dropped to her stomach between his legs and Harry leaned back, letting his head fall to the pillows and the wrought iron headboard, watching her in rapture. Gingerly, she knelt her head down and licked the underside of his cock, a tentative touch that had Harry grasping at the sheets, breathless. It was so unexpected, the warmth of her tongue and the light touch that sent shivers up his body.

His eyes followed her as she explored, touching him with her index finger, running up the length of him. He hummed in response, pleasure coursing through his veins at the feeling of her hands on him. “So good,” he murmured, lifting his hand from the bed and threading it through her hair, softly pulling at the strands to show her how good it felt. When she paused, he knew that she didn’t know what to do next, so he moved his other hand to cover hers. “Can ya lick your hand for me, Ci?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion at his request. “What?”

“Makes it easier,” he explained.

With her eyes on his, she brought her hand to her mouth, opening her lips enough for her tongue to poke out. The same tongue that had been touching his hard cock just moments ago now licked a broad stroke up her hand, once and then twice. “Like that?”

He swallowed thickly, wondering if she knew what she was doing to him simply by existing. “Perfect. Now, hold me in your hand,” he directed, closing his hand around hers and guiding her to his length, helping her wrap her dainty fingers around him. The touch made him hiss through his teeth and her head bobbed up to make sure he was alright. “Feels good,” he told her, and the words made her soften, tension leaving her. “Now, run it up and down—yeah, just like that, love. Fuck.” The drawn out curse made the corners of her mouth turn up slightly, obviously pleased with herself.

Harry kept a loose hold on her hand, just enough to help her keep a steady pace, but soon he was faltering. Desire was swirling in his belly, and he knew if they kept this up too much longer he wouldn’t be able to last. But he wanted her mouth. He was selfish, and he wanted to feel her mouth wrapped around him, even if just for a moment.

“Wanna take me in your mouth?” He asked, hushed tones that made her nod. His hand on hers moved to her chin, running his thumb across her bottom lip. “Don’t use teeth,” he informed her, keeping his words soft, “and ya don’t have to take it all.”

She nodded, and then she opened her mouth, tugging playfully on the pad of his thumb. A strangled whimper left his mouth, the sight of her mouth on his thumb leaving him breathless for her. Then, she released him and bowed her head, licking softly up his length.

When her lips opened and then closed around his tip, Harry barely held back from bucking into her. She was warm, soft, and wet, a sinful combination that made his head fall back, a hungry groan ripping through his throat. Then she sunk down on him slowly, taking him bit by bit, keeping her teeth sheathed as he had told her. Harry was panting more than he ever had before, struggling to keep his eyes trained on her. He didn’t want to miss a second of this. The sight of her long eyelashes battering against her lids, her pink lips around his cock, watching his reaction, it was enough where he nearly came right then and there.

She seemed to quickly understand that she had to breathe through her nose, and did so as she moved up on his length. At his tip, she licked over it, her deft tongue circling where he was weeping for her. The hand that was holding her hair tightened, and he cursed at the feeling. But then she sunk back down on him, and Harry saw stars as she began to find a pace, moving up and down on him with ease.

He knew he was muttering utter nonsense, some combination of her name and curses and things like God, pet, feel so good, but he didn’t care. He could barely think, let alone censor his words. As she moved up and down, his hand wrapped in her hair so he could watch her, he could feel his abdomen tightening, the tell-tale sign that he was close. He didn’t want to finish her mouth, he wanted to feel her around him first.

“Ci,” he said, her nickname broken in his throat. “Gotta stop, love.”

Her head bounced off of him immediately, eyes studying his. “Why?”

He thumbed at the rise of her cheekbone, then slipped down to her lips, slick from her saliva around him. “Same reason as last time—not gonna last if ya keep goin’.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at him, before moving backwards, falling onto her ankles. “But I…”

His eyebrow quirked at her insinuation. “Did ya like that?”

She blushed, color fanning across her cheeks, and he loved it. “Maybe.”

The chuckle that spilled from his lips had her moving towards him, and he took her gladly, his arms securing around her naked body, eager to have her lie down on top of him. He moved his forearms so that they were under him, pressing up, so he could meet her halfway. They found each other as her legs were moving to either side of his right thigh, finding a perch on his body so that she could balance as they kissed, lips slotting between each other.

Then Harry had a particularly sinful idea, but one he thought she would enjoy. If he entered her now there was no way he would last long enough for her finish—he needed her to catch up to him, and he had just the solution. He moved his hands to her hips, pressing his ring-clad fingers into her skin and ever so slightly, brushed her back and forth across the swell of his thigh.

A sweet, little cry left her lips when her clit brushed across his skin, and Harry soaked in the sound. “How’s that feel?”

Her hands fell to his chest, her thumb brushing across his nipple piercing without meaning so, and it had Harry’s body jolting immediately. When his thigh jumped up, she mewled, curling her fingers into his skin. “You—it—yes,” she rasped. Her hair hung in her face as she leaned onto his chest, using his body to support her weight as he moved her across his thigh. He wondered how his leg hair felt against her skin, if it tickled it the way he imagined.

She was panting above him, and his eyes kept switching between her contorted facial expressions and where her center rubbed over his thigh, unable to decide which one deserved more of his attention. “Want to move on your own, love?” He asked her, squeezing the flesh of her hips.

Slowly, she nodded, and Harry released her hips, letting one of his hands fall to the thigh that was hooked over his own hip, the other pushing her hair out of her face so he could properly see her eyes. They were fluttered shut as she rocked back and forth. The confidence she was exuding was a sharp contrast to other moments they had spent together, but he loved how she was trusting her body, letting it tell her what she needed and how. Watching her take what she needed from him, the slick of her center coating his skin as she moved, it had him tugging his lip into his mouth, teeth biting into the skin.

A breathy, languid moan left her mouth, and Harry rose up, reconnecting their lips so he could absorb her sounds into his lungs. It was give and take, one of his arms around her waist as she moved slightly faster, and she chased the pleasure in her body, pants and moans falling onto his tongue.

“Harry,” she said, words broken as she pulled away, but Harry didn’t let her go. He had her lip caught between her teeth, a mewl from her throat being what finally made him release her. “I need you.”

He pushed at her hair, the feeling of her bending her head into the curve of his palm making his heart thrum. “Ya ready for me, love?”

“Please,” she begged, hands curling into the base of his scalp, her nails prodding at his skin.

He glanced down at their position. Would she want to be on top? He didn’t know. “Do you want to be like this?” She nodded, and so he tugged the knee that was between his legs to the other side of his body. Slowly, she shifted forward and Harry fell back into the pillows, letting her take the lead. He wanted her to take control in whatever ways she wanted, to show him what she desired and pursue it. So he let her hover over him, his fingers drumming on her thighs as she reached between them, her soft hand picking up his cock from where it laid on his stomach, hard and aching for her.

As she moved, her eyes flickered to his and they held one another’s gaze as she sunk down on him, bit by bit just as she had taken him into her mouth, both of their jaws dropping slightly as they reconnected. Cicely was panting above him, one hand anchored on his chest as she adjusted to his size, and Harry’s jaw was clenched, his teeth practically grinding together as he tried to hold himself together.

The feeling of her like this, above him, her hands grappling at his body to gain strength, her knees secured around him, it had him floating and falling at the same time. It was as if he was free-falling through the air and the only thing his mind was able to hold onto was her. The way her neck curved as she threw her head back, the shape of her lips in an O when she moaned at the feeling of him inside her, how her toes curled against his calves.

One of his hands smoothed across her cheek, gripping the spot below her ear, his thumb on her cheek and his fingers pressing into her scalp. The other fell to her waist, his palm cupping the curve of her waist as she sat on him, full and slightly shaking on top of him.

“Ya okay?” He asked, urging her to tell him how she was doing, to check in.

“Yes,” she answered, always a girl for proper words, not his butchered vocabulary from the war and sub-par education, her accent posh and perfect. He loved how it sounded in his ears, like sweet honey on a dessert. “You—you feel so good.”

He knew exactly what she meant, because so did she. And when she rose up on her knees, pressing the tops of her feet down onto his shins for leverage, and then sunk back down, Harry saw stars. The tight grip of her walls around him, sucking him deep into her, filling every nook and cranny. It was as if she was suffocating him, and he didn’t mind in the slightest. “You do too,” he managed to choke out. “Tight—so tight. Fuck, love, you’re too perfect.”

He didn’t realize there were tears falling from the corners of his eyes until she was bending down and licking at them, sopping up his salty tears with her tongue. “Don’t cry,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his. “I’m here, I’m not leaving, I’m yours.”

The words had his chest constricting, a ball in his throat he couldn’t swallow. The combination of her words and the tenderness of her touch and the way she was surrounding him was a combination he didn’t know if he could manage. He slipped his arm around her chest and pulled her close to him, wanting her flush to him. The pebbles of her nipples brushed against his, and they both moaned as they kissed, their lips a mess of saliva and hushed promises of love. His necklace nudged against both of their chests, the cold metal shocking to their skin. He helped her move, working her hips over his as she tired in his arms, neither of them wanting it to end.

Her fingers brushed his temples and his eyes fluttered shut, her soft skin always shocking him. He had never met someone who was so soft in every way—her skin, her touches, her words. She was like a warm bed on a Sunday morning that you never wanted to rise from, just wanted to stay curled up with your eyes closed. That’s what he wanted to, to curl up inside of her and let her have him, body and soul.

Their noses bumped and a giggle fell from her lips, the sound of it making him smile. “I love ya,” he whispered, the words caught in the tiny space between them. “Didn’t even know I could feel like this about someone.”

She nudged her lips with his, pecking and pulling at them, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I didn’t either,” she told him. As she rocked back on him, his cock hard and weeping inside of her, she scratched at his scalp, curling her fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine ever loving someone else how I love you.”

For some reason, those words are what made Harry’s heart and abdomen clench, his orgasm moving through his bones. “Need ya closer,” he mumbled, dropping his head to fall into the crook of her neck. She cradled the back of his head there with one of her hands and then she managed to drop her body more into his, letting all of her weight rest on him.

Harry shifted so that his feet were flat on the bed, and bent his knees, using the position to push up into her. He could feel the exhaustion in her body, how she was holding on for him but was rapidly tiring. When he nudged deeper into her from the position, she whined his name, a Harry curling through the room like a wisp of smoke.

She was tightening around him, walls pressing more and more on his length, and he knew she was nearing her release. He pressed a string of open-mouthed kisses to the skin of her neck and shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent and nosing at the strain of her neck. “Let go for me,” he told her, echoing his words from their first time together, knowing she needed the reassurance. “I need it, love.”

He bucked into her once more, and that combined with a bit of harsh suction on her neck was all it took to have her shaking in his arms, gripping him like a vice. Her nails dug into his scalp and he grunted, pushing up into her two more times to push her through her orgasm. His name spilled from her lips, a prayer and a pleading beg all in one, as she scrambled for more, rocking down onto him. She was dropping her weight into him fully, letting him support her as she fell to pieces in his arms. Then, he pulled her hips up and pressed down into the bed, disconnecting their bodies so he could finish in the narrow space between them, his ropes of come landing on both of their stomachs.

The weight of her against his body as both of their breathing patterns slowed, her head resting on his chest, calmed Harry in a way he hadn’t experienced in so long. Exhaustion settling into his bones, a desire to sleep finally running through his veins. Her fingers danced up his arms, pressing softly into his tattoos and drawing circles on his skin. He was still sticky on his lower abdomen, but he didn’t care and she didn’t seem to either. Neither of them wanted to move from their positions.

“I love you,” she said, breath fanning across his warm, sticky skin. “Somehow, I have this feeling that I’ll love you forever.”

He ran his fingers through the strands of her hair that rested on his shoulder, humming softly. “Hope so.” He was going to wait to do this properly, be on his knees in front of her in a nice suit and everything, but with her pressing tender kisses to his skin and hugging him close, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Ci,” he said, forcing her eyes up to his. “Will you marry me?”

Surprise didn’t even cross her face, just joy. Joy in the way she grinned at him, how her hands grabbed at his cheeks tugging his head towards hers so that their foreheads rested on each others. “Yes. A million times yes.”

A rare graced Harry’s features, his heart soaring so high he didn’t know if he would ever come down. “Yeah? Ya will?”

“Already said,” she told him, nuzzling her nose to his cheek. “Need me to say it again?”

“Maybe a couple of times.” This banter between them was new, but Harry loved it. How comfortable they were in one another’s presence, how he was able to let his guard down for her, how no matter what thoughts crossed his mind they were safe in her hands.

Cicely leaned her elbows onto his chest, picking her body up, so she could properly hover over him. “Yes,” she said, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” She peppered her lips across every bit of his face, covering his features with her lips until he was tugging at her head, a chuckle leaving his chest.

Harry was happy. It was a happiness he hadn’t felt in years, one without end, seemingly stretching into infinity. It felt almost like a dream, and he never wanted to wake up. “I was goin’ to propose to ya properly,” he admitted, pulling her head back down onto his chest. “Couldn’t wait though.”

“Hmm,” she hummed into his skin. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her head as she settled into his skin. “Maybe I will.”

Her fingers brushed across his skin, tracing the bird cage tattoo. “I can’t believe you’re mine.” Her words were a whisper, but in the silence of their room is rang loudly.

“I’m the one who should be shocked,” he informed her, pinching at her hip. “I’m just some scrappy boxer. You’re this beautiful creature with class and poise who decided I could possibly be worthy.”

Cicely picked up her head, resting her chin on his chest. “That’s not true. You’re so much more than that to me.” Her hands ran across his cheeks, pushing at the tendrils of his hair with a tenderness that made Harry want to cry again. “You’re strong, you’re honest, you’re loving. You fight for what you believe in, even when it’s hard. You have fought in battles on every field imaginable, home and abroad, and you haven’t given up on life. You’re still you, even if you hide it from people a bit. How on earth could I not find you worthy?”

Harry ducked his head, and exhaled into her skin. Her words had struck a chord in him one that ripped through the walls he had constructed years ago and laid him bare for all to see. “I’ll always fight for ya,” he told her, voice raw and rough against her ear. “Every single day of my life.”

They looked at each other, the waves crashing against the shore outside their hotel in a tiny town, far from the worries that would one day reach them. For now, though, it was Harry and Cicely, Cicely and Harry, a combination no one expected but worked perfectly all the same.

That night, Harry was roused from his nightmares with soft touches to his cheeks and his name a hushed drawl in his ear, Cicely hovering over him and naked against his skin. His heart hammered in his chest, struggling to breathe as he hovered in that place between the dream and reality, trying to piece together what was happening, where he was, unsure if she was even real. He had dreamt of her for so long, so holding her hips as he inhaled slowly made him consider that perhaps he had never woken up in the first place.

“Harry,” she murmured, brushing a hand over his cheek. “I’m here, baby.”

The name made his heart clench, and his fingers dug into her skin, his breath coming choppy into his lungs. “Remind me,” he begged, voice broken. “Remind me of reality, Ci.”

Without a pause, she began to speak, telling him their story in the darkness of their room, perched on his lap. She told him about the moment when she first saw his face, about how she fell in love with him because of his hesitant touches and loving glances, how she craved him every second that they were apart. In hushed tones, she described their reunion, the first one and now the second one. Told him about how much she loved him, pressing a kiss to his ring finger where she would one day place a ring of her own on the man she adored with her whole being. By the time her story ended, Harry could breathe again, his face pressed to the valley of her breasts as she held his head, cradling him against her heart. They stayed like that until he could sleep again, and when he did, the ghosts of his past were nowhere to be found. Instead, they were filled with bright hues and her, her face in a kaleidoscope of color and emotion that he wouldn’t be able to describe even if he had the entire dictionary at his disposal.

Perhaps they were built for one another, constructed with equal similarities and differences, designed to balance one another’s ebbs and flows like nature did. His roughness matched by her tenderness, her exuberance tempered by his earnestness, their pasts both painful for different reasons, enough to where they understood pain and how to heal each other. Two sides of the same coin.

Or, perhaps, just two people unequivocally and endlessly in love.

THAT’S IT! come into my inbox and tell me your thoughts, feelings, emotions, favorite parts, etc. i love u all xo

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan @hhh33-3l @grace-ful-gold @tbslenthusiast @smirkingstyles @taeboonie @samjo1986

[justlistenuniverse]

Chad x Ryan Headcanon

So, I rewatched the High School Musical movies, and my brain won't shut up about Ryan and all the possibilities. I mean, the movies don't really show a lot of the characters outside of Troy and maybe Gabriella, but I have a lot of ideas.  Since I can't be bothered writing a fanfiction right now, these little plot points should do it. (There's a little Chad/Ryan in there and a lot of me ignoring canon) 

Sharpay and Ryan are really close, even though she keeps using him, and he knows it, but he hasn't had friends outside of his sister for a long time, and he kind of profits from her reign of terror, so he lets her do it. 

When she ditches him in the summer, Ryan starts realizing how lonely he really is. He loves his school, and his classmates are fine, but thanks to Sharpay's attitude and him tagging along, all he gets from them is a sneer and people calling him Sharpay's lapdog (which is really not fair, she has Boi) 

He spends a lot of the time he now has alone, walking around the Lava Springs grounds, maybe booking one of the rooms for a small dance rehearsal.

Then Gabriella invites her along to the game, and Ryan is suspicious, but he also doesn't have anything better to do, so he tags along and lets Taylor and Gabriella tell him all about the game. It's the first one this summer, but there's another one planned, and they are hoping Troy might make it to that one, even though Chad is their best player. 

He loves playing Baseball. He forgot how fun it was, ho he used to get so excited for practice, and his games before he decided that Theater would be a more realistic career choice for someone like him and dropped out of the team. Sharpay dragging him along and commanding all his time might have weighted into that decision, too. He tries hard not to think about him leaving Baseball behind, which also meant him leaving his friends behind (but he can't help some memories playing in his head as he watches the boys warming up on the pitch) 

Gabriella offering him up as a choreographer, shouldn't feel this good, but he's always loved dancing and coming up with choreographies for his favorite musical numbers. There could be worse things than training the Wildcats for the Star Dazzle Award. 

He hadn't been planning on playing, not really, but he does, and the game is the most fun he had in weeks. His muscles apparently remember his Baseball games just fine, and he feels a little bit of hope growing inside of him. Maybe he won't have to be alone all summer long. 

When his team loses the game, all that hope is gone. The past hours will probably be the only fun ones he'll have this summer. He won't be training the Wildcats, and he definitely won't make some friends now. But then Chad tells him he will at least try to dance, and everyone gets really excited about the prospect of taking part in the talent show, so Ryan allows the hope back in. 

They invite him for post-game fries, and hanging out with all of them makes him realize how starved he really is for social interactions after years of just Sharpay. Gabriella drags him along to her house, where they all watch a movie, but it all feels so unreal that Ryan is sure he'll wake up all alone tomorrow. 

Even when Chad and Gabriella and some of the others program their numbers into his phone, that feeling won't leave him. 

He does not wake up without friends, though

There are a couple of texts from Gabriella, and a picture of an article about Ryan and his Little League Team Chad dug up on the internet and might be freaking out about (Ryan did remember that article. It had praised him as a rising talent of the Baseball league. His mom still has it framed in her office). 

Ryan skips breakfast and instead goes and books his favorite rehearsal room after he steals/consults his new possible friend's working hours to find a convenient time for rehearsal.

He tries out a couple of ideas by himself and then finds Kelsi to ask about the Song she wrote. They make a surprisingly good team once she stops being afraid of him. 

Gabriella finds him on her lunch break, and the two of them talk over Sandwiches. Taylor eventually joins them. They find out all of them have the same favorite TV Show and make plans for a joined binging of season one at Gabriella's place since she owns the box set. 

Talking with them is so easy, some of the anxiety in Ryan calms down. He even waves at Chad and Zeke when they come in for their afternoon shift, and they smile and wave back. 

The anxiety gets even better when all of the Wildcats turn up for their first rehearsal, eager to learn the dance moves Ryan came up with 

There's a lot of laughter, something that rarely happened once Sharpay and him started rehearsing for school plays. Ryan loves it.

Chad is a surprisingly good dancer when he puts his mind into it. Jason is a hopeless case, but he's weirdly enthusiastic, and Ryan offers him extra training after work.  

He gets a text from Zeke the next morning, inviting him for breakfast in the kitchen. He gets cookies, and Martha shows him that she already memorized most of the chores, which is truly amazing. He relaxes enough around them to make sarcastic comments and tease Chad.

Rehearsing is a lot of fun with them. It's also chaotic and loud, but Ryan really doesn't mind. Even Jason gets into it after a while.

They keep inviting Ryan to hang out with them after work or when they are on break. Eventually, it becomes a common occurrence for him to come walk into the kitchen. Common enough that Mr. Fulton doesn't blink anymore whenever he tries to be awful to them but can't because Ryan will quietly glare at him (He wouldn't need too. Mr. Fulton likes him, but he's slightly scared of Sharpay and follows her every word)

Taylor and Martha join him for his yoga classes.

Gabriella, Taylor, and he have that binging night. The next day, Taylor needs a triple shot espresso to function, and Gabriella nearly falls asleep on the job. Ryan walks into a wall; he's so tired, but it was definitely worth it. 

His mom notices the difference in him. Sharpay doesn't. It stings. 

Chad asks him once why he doesn't play Baseball at school. "We could use someone like you on the team," Ryan tells him that he wants to concentrate on acting and dancing as much as possible. He doesn't tell him that he never really noticed how much he missed the sport. 

Chad nudges him and laughs. They keep throwing a Baseball back and forth. 

Ryan does get dragged into the second employee Baseball game as well as a couple of smaller ones. He's always playing against Chad because both are super competitive, and it makes for a good match. 

Chad and Zeke try t teach him Basketball, but he doesn't really get it. Jason offers him one on one lessons for his extra dance training.

It takes a while for Ryan to notice how happy he is now that he has so many people to talk too.

He also noticed how hurt everyone is because of Troy's behavior, Chad and Gabi most of all. He tries to apologize to them for his sister, but they wave him off. "You are not your sister, Ryan. You shouldn't be taking the blame on you." (He nearly tears up)

Then, Sharpay manages to exclude them from the talent show, and Ryan feels like his world is crumbling around him. Gabi texts him that she broke up with Troy. Chad calls him later that night, and they talk about how weird this summer is. "But honestly, I am glad we are friends now, Ry. You are kind of awesome." 

Hatching a plan to get back at Sharpay is easy once Kelsi comes rushing into the kitchen, telling them how Troy turned Sharpay down. Taylor immediately calls Gabriella, and the four of them come up with a plan. Ryan is an expert on everything Lava Springs and Sharpay, Chad and Gabriella know Troy better than anyone else, and Taylor is a fucking genius. The others love the plan. 

He finds himself driving Kelsi over to Gabriella's house for a song rehearsal, and he stays to watch her sing, She looks less perky than usual, more exhausted. But she still has that spirit that keeps pulling everyone in, and when she smiles at him, he knows she'll be okay again. He is happy about that. 

Ryan feels guilty about playing Sharpay like this, but he still has her voice in his head, degrading him in every way possible without telling him he sucks. Kelsi tells him it's gonna be okay. 

When the big evening ends with Troy and Gabi back together, and the award in Ryan's hand like the exaggerated apology it is, Ryan thinks he's dreaming. 

For a short moment, Ryan thinks the team will ditch him now that they got Troy back, but they don't. They introduce him to Troy like he's the second-best thing that ever happened to them, and Troy makes an effort to get to know him. There are no rehearsals anymore, but basketball games, lazy baseball practice, impromptu dance battles with Martha, and more text conversations than Ryan's phone has ever handled. 

Sharpay starts making amends, She comes knocking on his door, and they talk. She writes apologies to Troy and Gabriella and Kelsi and delivers them personally. She grumbles all the way through writing them, but she smiles when they accept. 

They invite her to hang out with them, too, and she fits the group well. There's a blush on her face when Zeke presents her with cinnamon buns, and she starts holding his hand. Ryan just smiles, glad his sister might admit her crush on the boy now. 

Work at Lava Springs becomes more relaxed for the Wildcats after Fulton calms down. They get treated like everyone else, and while he's still strict on their break times, he lets them have more fun now. 

The end-of-summer-party Sharpay organizes is a hit. She plans to make it a standing event for employees from now on, no matter who they are. 

Then their Senior Year starts. Everything is the same, but also kind of different. Ryan grew a lot over the summer, and his friends helped him be more self-confident in a less arrogant way. 

Sharpay mellowed out a bit, too. It's partly because of the Wildcats accepting her into their group, partly due to her affection for Ryan and also because of Zeke spending a lot of time with her. Ryan might have caught them in the Evan's private kitchen once, both of them giggling as Zeke showed her how to make the cookies she loved so much. He didn't tell anyone. 

But then, Sharpay starts to fall back into her old ways some weeks into the school year. She snaps at Ryan, ignores Zeke, flirts with Troy, and tries to make Theater all about her again. 

Ryan doesn't know what's happening, and neither does anyone else. Zeke is a sad puppy all the time, and Jason spends a lot of time trying to cheer him up. 

However, Ryan is still quite settled. He visits all of Chad's games, Basketball and Baseball, and cheers his friends on. He tells Martha to audition for the cheerleaders and is her biggest fan once she gets in. Martha, Taylor, and he still do Yoga together twice a week with an instructor Ryan pays. When his dance class takes part in a competition, he gets cheered on by his friends. He and Gabriella have a standing movie night once a month, with brownies and whatever TV Shows they love. He and Kelsi still work great together, writing and choreographing the graduation musical, and they love to hang out outside of the show, too. There's not one day he doesn't get hundreds of text messages. 

His favorite text convos are the late-night ones with Chad and Gabi. They eventually morph into late-night-dinner-visits. Sometimes, Troy or someone else will join them. The Diner staff has a booth for them, and they have usual orders. 

Sharpay gets a PA. Ryan doesn't like Tiara. She makes him feel like he's worthless all over again, and there's a cold aura around her despite her playing nice. Gabriella tells him to keep an eye on her if she keeps making him feel that way. Taylor says he's far from worthless. 

Chad tells him  about how scared he is once it becomes clear that Troy might not be as set on the U of A as everyone thought. They met when they were five, and they did everything together since. The only difference would be Baseball and Golf, and that's why the summer was so hard for Chad. He can't imagine himself without Troy by his side. He doesn't know who he is when he's not Troy Bolton's best friend. Ryan isn't sure what to say, but he holds Chad when he starts to cry, and he promises him to help him figure out who he is. 

Ryan is the third person Gabriella tells about the program at Stanford. Her mom and Taylor both think she's acting childish, and she needs someone else to help her make a decision. Ryan holds her hand and carefully tells her that h thinks she needs to talk to Troy. He also tells her not to worry about the show, because that's not a problem she should concern herself with right now. Her future is calling, with an incredible opportunity, and he doesn't want her to regret missing out on it. 

Sharpay finds out about the program and tells Troy about it before Gabriella can. Ryan gets so angry, he yells at her. He doesn't understand why she's trying to ruin everyone's Senior Year. She hisses at him to grow up and leaves the house. 

Gabriella invites all of her friends to her house and tells them she'll graduate early and leave. She clutches Troy's hand so tightly her knuckles turn white, but he lets her. And then she's the center of a huge group hug. Jason grabs Chad, and they drive off to get them drinks and snacks, turning the whole meeting into a little goodbye party. 

At one point, Ryan finds himself standing next to Zeke on the balcony. Zeke confesses that he had been planning on asking Sharpay to be his prom date, but she broke up with him before the first posters popped up. Ryan has seen a lot of heartbreak lately, and Zeke might just be the worst. He can't do anything but listen, though, and Zeke gives him a sad little smile when Ryan drops him off at his house. 

Sharpay tries to win him for whatever plan she has, but he refuses. He's busy with school and the show and sad about Gabriella leaving, and he won't betray his friends. 

Kelsi tells him she's gay one morning when they sit at the piano in one of the music rooms and figure out the words for a song. She only told her parents and Jason so far. Ryan offers to take her to prom as friends because he hadn't planned on going with a romantic date anyway. 

He wonders when he became the person people trusted in, but it feels good to have them trust him, and he knows he can tell them everything, too. 

Rehearsals are less fun now. They still want to do the show, and they work their asses off, but Gabriella was more critical for the group dynamic than anyone had realized. They miss her like crazy, and seeing Troy act like a heartbroken puppy gets frustrating. They also have to deal with a sad Zeke, who has to watch Sharpay throw herself at Troy at any possible time. It's not easy. 

Late-night-diner-visits are just Ryan and Chad now. They are both comfortable in the presence of each other, but Gabriella is missing even here. When she tells them she won't be coming for prom and the show, they all get even more depressed, even when Gabi says she will be back for the graduation celebration. 

Troy leaves to get Gabriella back. He doesn't tell anyone until he's left the state, only sending a group message when there's no way of getting him back. His dad calls Chad and then Troy, ranting about how he should have said something so he could've gotten his parent's car, which would've been much safer for a trip like that. Nobody is surprised at Troy's actions, though.  

Prom without Troy and Gabriella is a little weird, but still lots of fun. Ryan dances with Kelsi and Martha and Taylor, and even Chad. Sharpay doesn't show, which makes Ryan worry. When he comes home late at night, he finds her curled up in his bed, fast asleep. He slips under the blanket and pulls her close, falling asleep with his sister in his arms. 

Sharpay is already awake when he opens his eyes the next morning, sitting on the bed in an old pair of pink sweatpants and one of Zeke's shirts. She's always well dressed, and the fact that she isn't right now tells Ryan that this is serious. He waits for her to speak first. 

She tells him about the Julliard chatroom she's been frequenting nearly every day since the summer. How she chatted with lots of people on there, all of them having the same dream. How she started to panic once she read some of their resumes and realized that her own resume had a lot of leading roles but also that understudy part of the spring musical from a year ago. She doesn't have a plan B, Julliard was always her first choice, and she can't let that go. So she started to push them all away and focused on getting herself a more significant role in the show. Flirting with Troy had already been a habit, Zeke would have held her back. Ryan is her twin, but it's only one scholarship, and while neither of them needs it, this scholarship is tied to the last free spot at Julliard. She tells him how she had never felt so alone, and that she's missing hanging out with them. She even misses Gabriella, and she doesn't like Tiara. "Nobody is that nice all the time, Ryan! Even Gabriella had her bad moments when she was around me." 

Ryan hugs her tight and makes her Pancakes and smoothies. Then he texts Zeke. 

Zeke turns up on their doorstep twenty minutes later, still in his PJs. Sharpay all but jumps into his arms, crying into his shoulder as he holds her. Ryan leaves them be and retires to his room to text Chad and Gabriella, only coming out when it becomes clear that they have to leave for the show. 

He gets to drive Sharpay's car for the first time ever because his sister refuses to let Zeke's hand go. He accepted her apology, and while he told her he would need some time to fully forgive her, he did kiss her softly. The two of them look a bit ridiculous with Zeke in his PJs and Sharpay having changed into a hot pink tracksuit, but Ryan's happy for them. 

Gabriella texts him that her mom is driving her and Troy back to East High, and to please get her a ticket. He promises her he'll put her mom on the guestlist.

East High is pretty empty. It's a Saturday, and the show won't be starting until much later. The time before is for making sure everything is okay, going through the whole thing once, warming up their voices and muscles, and trying to get rid of any complications they might get. Sharpay apologizes to all of them and explains her behavior, which leads to Ms. Darbus telling her how she should have just said something, and Kelsi would have written her a different storyline, something more substantial. Chad tells her he'll make her life a living hell if she treats Ryan like that ever again, but then he hugs Sharpay, and she smiles and lets him. 

Ryan quietly admits that he send applications for Sharpay to some other schools where she can study acting. Sharpay kisses him on the cheek and says he should've told her. 

Troy texts Chad that he isn't sure if he'll make it in time, so Kelsi pulls Rocket aside to help him go over the Song again. 

Sharpay finds Tiara in her wardrobe, showing her real face. The conversation unsettles her much after the whole emotional morning, and it takes Ryan a little while to calm her down again. 

The show is chaotic but good. Ryan enjoys every single minute of it. To everyone's relief, Troy and Gabriella make it in time for their first Song, which allows Sharpay to kick Tiara of the show, and the rest of them to breathe easy. 

He never doubted Kelsi would receive the scholarship, but hearing that they decided to take him on, too, is surreal and incredible, and he doesn't think Sharpay hugged him so hard in years. 

They throw an After Party right there in the Auditorium. There are music and drinks, and their parents stay to mingle. His mom tells Ryan that she already got a two-room-flat in New York, and he asks Kelsi to be his roommate so she won't have to worry about housing. 

Chad is still a bit upset about Troy's choice, but he tells him he'll be okay as long as Troy keeps in contact with him, and Troy swears Chad'll be annoyed with him by the end of the first term. 

Gabriella has to go back to Standford the next day, but this time around, it's okay. Troy still mops about, but now that he choose a University that won't be all that far away from her he's better. 

The rest of the school year goes by in a rush of exams and presentations. Ryan spends a lot of time on the living room floor, surrounded by notes and Sharpay, maybe even Zeke. 

Graduation day is fantastic and awful at once. Ryan cries. Everyone cries. They take more pictures together than is probably healthy, and Ryan is already picking out frames for his favorite ones mentally. 

Most of them still have a few weeks before they'll have to leave, but Taylor has to leave early, and so do Ryan and Kelsi. Gabriella will be staying a bit longer since her Semester won't be starting until Troy's does. 

Ryan's last night is spent at the diner with Chad, Gabi, and Sharpay. Sharpay offers Chad to room with her since her parents had gotten her a flat near Campus, and she knows that Chad would just have stayed at the dorms for the first year. It's a surprise, but Chad accepts happily, and Ryan feels they will work well. 

All of their friends gather to see Kelsi and Ryan off. Ryan gets hugged so much he starts to believe he won't be able to stand up without a pair of arms around his body. Gabriella makes him promise to text her as often as possible, Sharpay cries and says she'll be visiting him a lot, and Chad hugs him tightly enough to bruise a rip. 

Ryan loves Julliard. It's competitive and loud, but it's also passionated and flashy. He's surrounded by people who are just as taken with the showbusiness as he is, and while it's a bit hard to make genuine friends, he manages. 

Kelsi gets a girlfriend, and the three of them have movie nights at their apartment. 

Sharpay does visit them quite a lot. She brings Chad with her once, and Ryan spends the whole weekend showing his friend the city. Chad absolutely loves New York, and Ryan invites him for an extended stay during their next break. 

It's in his second year at Julliard that Ryan finally accepts the fact that he is gay. He thought he might be bisexual, but after a couple of make-out sessions with cute guys and no attraction whatsoever for any girl in his classes, he nods and sighs. There are no tears or break-downs. Instead, Kelsi gets him his favorite Milkshake, and they celebrate. 

Telling his family is easy. His parents have never been judgemental about sexuality, and Sharpay just shrugs and tells him not to steal her boyfriend. Ryan laughs and tells her Zeke would never leave her on his own free will. When he calls Gabriella, she says she'll love him anyway, and Troy teases him about crushing on cute actors. (Turns out Troy himself has a crush on Jensen Ackles, which they bond over).  

He tells Chad in person when he visits him at Chad's Uni. Chad is silent for a while, and then he nods and admits that he thinks he is bisexual himself. They get drunk and have a long discussion about sexuality. 

Ryan visits all the games of Troy and Chad in New York. They always get him tickets, and he will cheer them on loudly. 

His third year is so stressful, he nearly misses one of Chad's games. He's landed a leading role in a Julliard production while choreographing a smaller show on the side and is swapped with course work. He barely has time to sleep and eat. Kelsi's the same, their apartment filling with dirty dishes and clothes. But he finds Taylor standing at their door an hour before the game starts, and she presents both of them with tickets. 

Despite constantly texting, they have a lot to talk about. Taylor and Chad broke up shortly into their first year of University, but they are still close to each other, and Ryan kind of admires them for it. She tells him all about her new boyfriend and gushes with Kelsi about a movie they had watched recently. 

The four decide to go out for Pizza after Chad finds them, freshly showered and grinning brightly from winning the game. He looks incredibly handsome and relaxed, and Ryan finds himself staring at him more than once. 

It takes one more visit for Chad and Ryan to finally kiss. It's January, and they are sitting on the roof of Ryan's apartment building. Wrapped in blankets, and with warm cocoa, watching the sky. Later, neither can tell if one of them started it or both leaned in at the same time, but it doesn't really matter. All that matters are their lips meeting softly, Ryan's hands in Chad's hair, and Chad's fingers searching for warm skin. It's slow and sweet, and it goes on forever. 

Long-distance is easier for them than they expected. They've been friends for nearly five years at this point, and they spent three of those apart. Now, they call and text more, and visits get a bit more frequent, but both are willing to work hard. Kelsi says it shows. 

Telling their friends and families isn't a big deal. Gabriella squeals so loudly, Ryan is sure he'll get tinnitus. Troy calls him to say he'll hurt him if he hurts Chad, but also to call him if Chad's an asshole. Sharpay hugs them both, and threatens Chad with detailed revenge plans should he hurt her brother. Their parents invite the pair for dinner. 

Graduating from Julliard feels as unreal as leaving High School, but Ryan has already secured his first job as a choreographer for a dance show, and he's happy. 

Sharpay moves to New York and brings Zeke with her, who landed a fancy bakery job and still dreams about opening his own one in the future. He starts a YouTube channel, and Sharpay gets cast for a Broadway production. 

The invitations for Troy's and Gabriella's wedding don't surprise anyone. Chad is Troy's best man, and Gabi asks Ryan to be the ring bearer. It's a beautiful wedding. Ryan cries. 

Chad moves to New York two years after graduating college, signing with the Knicks and asking Ryan to move in with him. They made it work so far, and while both their schedules are packed, they also make it work when living together. 

The ten-years-reunion of their class takes place in Lava Springs. They kept in contact with most of their friends from High School, so nothing is really a surprise. Some of the other people are surprised at seeing Chad and Ryan kiss, but Nobody says anything. 

Bonus:

Kelsi wins a Tony for her very first musical. She works with Ryan on another stage production, and both of them get an award. 

Chad stays with the knicks, and Ryan keeps cheering him one while wearing his High School Trikot. Tumblr loves them, and they get listed as one of the Top 15 Power-Couples, even though none of them are sure why. 

Zeke and Sharpay break up two more times before she proposes to him. He never opens a bakery, because his YouTube channel picks up so much he doesn't need too. They move into a place with a bigger kitchen. 

I have no idea what Troy does, but whatever it is, he's happy. 

Lava Springs somehow gets to be where their whole group meets up once a year for a weekend. Mr. and Mrs. Evans are glad to welcome them, and Mr. Fulton likes to tease them about the Star Dazzle Award. 

Chad proposes to Ryan a year after gay marriage becomes legal in all fifty states. 

Ryan loves it when Chad kisses his temple, while Chad practically melts whenever Ryan plays with his hair 

[softsliders29]

Train Ride Chapter 7 (Abner Krill x gn!reader)

Summary: You give your number to Abner in the hopes that he contacts you. 

Rating: T

Warnings: None

A/N: Full series masterlist can be found here.

You were practically running to the train, post-it secured in your pocket. You slowed down a bit, just to make sure you didn’t sound insane when you got on.

You took your seat beside him and before he could even greet you, you took the post-it out and handed it over.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again so here. It’s my number.” You said. He took the note, a little stunned.

“Where are you going?” He sounded sad. Maybe that was a good sign.

“I’ve only been taking the train because my car was in the shop. I don’t know when it’ll be fixed but since I don’t work this weekend I didn’t want to miss my chance.”

“Oh, I see.” Was all he said.

“You don’t have to use it. I just thought it might be useful. I really like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you too.” He said, a bit rushed. “I’ll definitely use it.”

“Good.”

“It makes sense now. Why I haven’t seen you around before.” He commented.

“Yup. Never took the train before now.” You regretted not doing it before.

“Well, you aren’t missing much.” He laughed lightly.

“If I hadn’t taken the train I never would have met you. And that’s missing out on a lot.”

He blushed at that. He’d never really heard anything that nice from anyone and he really didn’t know how to take it.

“Thank you.” He said, a little quiet. And then after a short pause. “This isn't a fake number, is it?” He questioned. You almost laughed but at the same time it was sad to hear. You shook your head.

“No, god no. It’s real. You can call me right now if you want.” You offered.

“I trust you. Just wanted to make sure.” He shrugged.

“And you’re going to actually use it, right?” You questioned back. He nodded with a small smile.

“Of course.”

“Good.” You nodded.

Your stop came up next and you did your normal routine. Said goodbye to Abner and waved when you stepped off. But this time there was a growing pit in your stomach. You couldn’t stop thinking about if he’d actually message you or not. Maybe he was just being nice. Didn’t actually want to talk to you anymore. Saw this as an escape route. Now you weren’t going to be on the train bothering him anymore.

You shook your head. You didn’t need to think like that. He genuinely seemed sad that you weren’t going to be there anymore and genuinely excited about the prospect of talking to you more. This was just your brain making worst case scenarios. You just had to tell yourself until you were proven otherwise.

You made your way into your apartment. You hadn’t gotten a message yet, so you set your phone on a table and walked away for a bit. You tried to distract yourself. You tried reading, watching something, even just cleaning. But you could never really get into it. Your mind was just focused on keeping out for a little beep.

You were half focused on cleaning the kitchen when that beep finally came. You were honestly about to go to bed. Call it a night and hope the next day would be more fruitful. But it seemed like the wait was over.

Unknown number: Hello, it’s Abner.

You smiled down at your phone, taking a seat on the couch.

You: Hey Abner, nice to hear from you.

You quickly changed his name in your phone. You had to fight off the urge to add a heart or something else equally bad.

Abner: Nice to see the number worked.

You: I told you it would.

Abner: I know. Just nice to have proof.

You: Fair. Do you usually get fake numbers?

You didn’t know why you asked it. You didn’t really want to know. But you didn’t have time to change your mind before you hit the send button.

Abner: Never really gotten any numbers before lol

You: Well, you have a 100% success rate now.

Abner: That is true.

You: So, what are you up to?

Abner: Just sitting down. Not much honestly. But beforehand I was dealing with a work thing. That’s why it took so long to message you. Sorry about that by the way.

You: You don’t need to explain. It’s fine! Are you usually on call?

Abner: I answer whenever my patients need me. So, I guess, yeah.

You: That’s really nice.

Abner: Just what needs to be done.

You: Still. You should give yourself credit from time to time.

Abner: It’s easier said than done. I still feel like there’s more I could do. But my work is boring. We don’t need to keep talking about it.

You: Sorry, this is still work related, but are you working Sunday?

Abner: No. I have the day off.

You: Want to do something?

Abner: Like what?

You: Let’s get coffee or something.

Abner: Sure.

You: Cool.

Cool? You were practically cringing. But you didn’t know how else to respond. You figured this was already too forward. You didn’t want to scare him off with something like “Awesome, and then maybe you could come over. Hell, maybe even move in.” Coffee was good. Coffee was a normal outing.

Abner: I really want to keep talking but I’m very tired. So good night. Send me the place to meet whenever you can.

You: Will do! Night Abner!

With that, you sent the location and the time, then put your phone down. You could feel yourself smiling from ear to ear. You were so excited that you almost couldn’t see sleep in your future. You just wanted to think about Sunday.

Still, you did finally manage to go to sleep.

Abner not so much. He was practically freaking out now. He was actually going to see you Sunday, on a day off, when you really didn’t have to see him at all. He was very excited.

Hell, the reason it took so long for him to contact you was partially due to the patient problem, but also due to him just staring at his phone, trying to figure out what exactly he wanted to send. He didn’t want to mess up and he’d never really done anything like this before. He didn’t want to scare you away either.

It seemed like you both didn’t know what you were doing. Perhaps you could figure it out together.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ GETTING IN TROUBLE ❜

with Hank ‘Tranq’ Loza.

Request: Tranq reaction to his girlfriend sassing him?

BY ANON

Word count: about 1k.

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl ✨

Masterlist. You can subscribe to my broadcast list, to be notified whenever I post a writing!

“NO FUCKING WAY!”

The crowd placed around the Mayans' ring suddenly stays silent. Your boyfriend is sweating, breathing fast and almost blooding by his nose and mouth inside of it, just like Ibarra. He's confused at first, watching you turn into the Devil as you walk towards the door to open it.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, HANK?”

He doesn't understand what it's happening. You have been together for the last year and tomorrow you have an important meeting. The most important one. And you asked him to not get into trouble, to not drink too much and to look fresh than ever. But looks like he didn't care a shit.

“My fucking parents are coming tomorrow to meet you!” You yell at him.

Ibarre steps out of the ring terrified, running away from you. No one would want to be in Tranq's shoes right now. Spitting the red liquid from his lip, he cleans them with the back of his right hand, about to say something.

“I asked you for just one damn thing! One fucking thing!” Furiously gesticulating with your forefinger raised in air, you point at him with every word uttered. “Do you remember how fucking important was for you to introduce me to… all these assholes, ah? They're my fucking family and you shitted on your promise. So, you know what? Keep fucking fighting. Ask one of these… fucking bitches to clean you up. And enjoy sleeping alone. I'm fucking done with you”.

“Hey, list—”.

“NO! There's no fucking listen anymore, Hank”. You take a step back, lifting up your hands to make him stop.

God knows how much you love the Mayans MC, but right now you just want to burn it down.

“If meeting my family isn't important to you, then, I'm not either”. Licking your lips as soon as the tears flow over them, you turn around to get out from the ring.

“Sweetheart…” Bishop calls you, making you face him.

“I asked you… I begged you to not let him get in trouble, Obispo. Letting him fight was one of the things you should avoid. And you didn't. So, don't fucking call me sweetheart again, 'cause I'm not your fucking sweetheart”.

Taza stops your boyfriend when he tries to catch you outside the ring, while you walk through the hallway made between the Mayans to leave the clubhouse. With a sorrow installed within your chest, you unlock your car to step in and turn on the engine and drive to your small flat. Once there you turn off your phone and change your clothes for a baggy shirt to tuck into bed.

Appearing in the restaurant alone confuses your parents, who get up from their seats to welcome you with a tight hug.

“Sorry, Hank was busy with the scrapyard”. You whisper puckering your lips.

They know you're lying, but they don't say anything. Sitting in front of them, close to the empty chair, you hold the menu to have a look in silence. You're ashamed. But you're more hurt than anything, because you were so excited to introduce him to your mom and your dad. You wanted to show them that he's a good man, that he takes care of you better than anyone. But he shitted on it.

“Sorry, I'm late”.

Raising your eyes, you find your boyfriend standing up with a hand on your back, leaning to kiss your cheek. He looks fresh. Probably, Taza used some of his concoctions to help him. Your parents seem delighted that he finally came, happily introducing themselves with kisses and hugs. You just smile somewhat forcefully, when he sits by your side and places one of his tattooed arms over your shoulders, kissing your cheek again. Pulling a lock of hair behind your ear, you turn quietly towards him, while your parents argue about their dishes.

“I'm so sorry”. He whispers, visibly regretting what happened last night.

“We will talk later”. It's the only thing you say, before pretending that everything is going okay.

Suddenly closing the door from your apartment, you turn at him a little bit furious. And he's ready to take the heat.

“I told you to not come”. You hiss trying to keep calm.

“I said I'm sorry”. Resting his back against the wall, he crosses both arms over his chest.

“I don't care if you are sorry or not, Hank. You didn't keep your promise”.

“You asked me to look fresh, and don't do I, ah?”

“Are you fucking punking me? Seriously?”

Clicking his tongue, the man rolls his eyes standing up from the wall.

“Listen…”

“Fuck, no! Pick up your things and leave my house. Right now, Hank! I'm done with all these… club's dogfights for fun, and that you're incapable of keeping your promises…”

“I'm not gonna leave you after sassing me like you did last night, like no one has done before”. He's smirking at you with a proud smile on his lips. “You're the one for me, my other half, the only one who is brave enough to kick my ass”.

Puckering your lips and frowning, you kill him with your gaze, watching your the Mayan coming closer dangerously.

“Stop…” You demand him, not pretty convinced that you want him to stop. “Hank, stop…”

“Fuck, you looked so fucking angry, scaring the shit outta everybody around you… You should have watched the guys after you left. Bishop was shaking. The fucking prospect hidden in case you were coming”. His laughs flood the living room, while he cups your cheek onto his huge and rough hands. “And I… damn… I was really terrified”.

“Really?” You mumble trying to not laugh in the meantime he pecks your lips once and again.

“Fucking terrified hearing you yelling at me, so fucking enraged”. He nods slightly. “That was the moment I knew I wanted to marry you and spend my whole life with you, mi amor”.

“Really…?” You ask again, raising up your hands to his chest covered by a soft black flannel shirt. Your heart is about to suddenly stop.

“Really”.

Urging you to jump into him, with his arms interlaced under your ass, you surround his waist with both legs.

“Be my wife, mi amor. Please”.

[mctherofdragons]

In The Afterglow | 4 | F.W

This is a reposting of Chapter 4 because I accidentally deleted the original post. Please note as of the day I posted this, we are on much later chapters! xx

Summary: The reader is married to George Weasley, and for all intents and purposes, he is the perfect husband. But, despite her best efforts to resist, Fred presents temptation she never knew she’d fall for.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem! Reader; George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Alternate Universe: No Voldemort AU

Rating: Mature, Features EXPLICIT CONTENT!! Mature audiences only.

Trigger Warnings: ANGST,  mentions of extramarital affairs, miscarriage, mention of a d&c procedure, cheating, oral sex (female receiving)

Flashbacks are in italics!

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

December 28th. 

You slid the hotel room key into the door, taking a deep breath as you opened it. It was an agreement that you would meet at a local hotel. Your story to George was that you had a work emergency, and Fred had just told the rest of the mates at the pub that he was tired. You’d never considered yourself a liar or a cheat, but it occurred to you all at once that as of tonight, you were both. But any thought about your marriage covenant was going, going, gone as you walked into the room, your heart hammering in your chest at the prospect of being completely alone and vulnerable with your husband’s twin. The twin who you were falling madly and irrevocably in love with, despite the protests of your morals screaming into your subconscious.

Once the door shut behind you, you turned to see Fred sitting cross-legged on the bed. He stood up quickly, practically falling over his long legs to get to you.  “Hi,” he whispered, cupping your face and planting a soft and longed-for kiss on your lips. You pulled off your scarf and jacket, laying them on the bed.

You moved to pull yourself closer to Fred again. A wave of calm washed from your fingertips to your toes as you buried your face into his maroon button-up shirt. Fred had this way about him: he was both strong and gentle; funny yet serious; forbidden yet sweet. He smiled, using the hand that wasn’t keeping you cling to his chest to stroke your hair.

“I missed you, Fred,” you admitted softly, not looking up. You noticed he was holding you tight. His embrace was almost protective, as if he let relaxed even a bit you would fall apart right there.

You stepped back for a moment, sighing as you sat down on the edge of the mattress. You were exhausted. A bit of a stress-induced headache was beginning to form behind your eyes. While you would normally want to be tucked in your bed with a cup of tea and a few aspirin, tonight the only painkiller you wanted was Fred. He sat next to you, allowing you to turn to look at him.

“This isn’t right.”

Of course, you were stating the obvious. Fred nodded in agreement.

“I know.”

Fred intertwined his fingers with yours, bringing your hand up to plant a few soft kisses on your fingers.

“George told me...about what happened a few months ago...I’m sorry, y/n. I wish I’d have known.”

“No one knows. Even if they did what could they do? I haven’t told anyone. Not even your mum, although, maybe it would keep her from constantly asking about another grandchild.”

Fred looked at you and all at once felt his heart shatter again. There was something about you that left him mystified and unhinged. It was as if you two had been cut from the same pieces of marble - two statues fated to be next to one another but never touching. He wasn’t sure if he believed in God, but if he had, certainly He had made you two from the same substance.

Fred placed a hand on your cheek. His gaze pierced yours. He spoke honestly, and you recognized that for the first time in a long time, you felt whole again.

“I wish I could give you the world, y/n. I would have given you anything, everything if you were mine.”

You wanted to pull away. Surely, George telling Fred about your miscarriage must have meant he was still bothered. Yet, not in the way that would make him hold you at night or ask you how you’ve been. It was more so in a way that caused you both to sit in silence at the dinner table, forks scraping against plates as neither of you spoke. Knowing that life with Fred would be different felt like a thousand tiny daggers ripping into your flesh, each of them dripping with guilt and shame.

To silence Fred, you brought your lips to his. All at once, the space between you was nonexistent. It was as if gravity had brought you two together like magnets. Fred gently laid you back onto the bed, moving to kiss your neck tenderly and purposefully. His breath tickled the wetness on your skin as he spoke.

“I want you to know that you are the most perfect creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he whispered, before continuing to kiss down toward your collarbone.

His hands found their way to the hem of your tee shirt and you didn’t move to stop him. He pulled your shirt off over your head, tossing it onto the floor. Fred took a deep breath and began to plant his lips lovingly, down between your collarbones and onto your tummy.

When Fred finally hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, he looked up at you. He waited for you to give him the go-ahead. His patience was like a warm breeze washing over you. It had been so long since you felt waited for, not pushed.

“Promise not to tell,” you said softly, giving him permission to go further.

“Our little secret.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

6 years earlier. 

You took a deep breath, shaking your hands out in an effort to stop some of your nerves. “You look stunning,” your friend assured you. It was the night of the Yule Ball, and it so happened, your first real date with George Weasley.

“Do you think he’ll like my dress?” you smoothed your hands over the maroon lace of your gown. The dress you had chosen was floor length with a full skirt and lace bodice. The sweetheart neckline perfectly hugged you in all the right places. It was still puzzling to you, as you slipped into your heels, that George had finally asked you out.

“He would be a bloody idiot to think you looked anything other than drop-dead gorgeous.”

Always a loyal Hufflepuff, you were thankful for your friend’s ability to cheer you up. You grabbed your clutch, following your friend out of her dormitory.

“Now, come on, we don’t want to miss the opening waltz.”

——-

When you arrived at the top of the stairs, you were excited to see George waiting for you at the bottom. You took in the sight of your date, a bright smile spreading quickly across your face. His long hair was resting perfectly just above his shoulders. To add, he was wearing surprisingly nice dress robes, considering his little brother’s ensemble was dreadful.  From what Fred had told you, the two of them had scraped up money together all year to make sure they had something fit to wear to the ball.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, George extended a hand to you. You took it and he leaned down to give you a gentlemanly kiss on the hand. You blushed a darker shade than your dress, feeling a million butterflies burst to life in your stomach.

“You look like a Princess,” he purred. You could have melted into a puddle right there. It was as if everyone else in the room no longer existed as George led you into the Great Hall. It occurred to you that you hadn’t seen Fred, but it didn’t much matter where your best friend was, because every last ounce of your attention was on George.

Meanwhile, Fred sat on his bed, flipping through a comic book. He closed it, feeling like nothing could possibly distract him from the sadness in his chest. He huffed, falling backward onto his pillows and staring hopelessly up at the top of the canopy of his bed. He crossed his arms over his chest as he chewing on his bottom lip.

Fred had secretly hoped George wouldn’t end up asking you to the Yule Ball. In fact, he had tried his damndest to ensure it didn’t happen. George had asked him directly if he had fancied you. But Fred’s ego got the best of him and scoffed, stating he could never view you as anything more than a friend. She’s like my sister, he had said to his brother, hiding the redness growing on his pale cheeks. So George had gone ahead and asked you. Fred, on the other hand, decided it would be better for him to hide away in his dorm all night than to have to see you and George together. If only he had known the Yule Ball was barely a glimmer into what the next several years of his life would be like.

George had completely stolen your heart that night. You had danced until the Great Hall was all but empty. Your laughter echoed above the music. George was quiet possibly one of the most charming boys at Hogwarts. You felt chosen, worthy, and on top of the world.

Best of all, he had walked you back to your dormitory and given you your first real kiss. You had been kissed before, sure, but games of 7 Minutes in Heaven in the y/hn common room didn’t count in your book. He had asked for permission quietly, looking down at his feet. When you said yes, all at once, your lips met. It was quick but sweet. You noted how George’s lips felt like silk. Up close, George smelled woodsy, yet sweet. You felt like you were on the moon, and you went back into your room, falling back onto your mattress with a giggle. Like most girls your age, you were certain it was true love. But, in your rare case, your prediction was correct.

You turned to your roommate and squealed. “I think I’m going to marry George Weasley someday.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

December 28th.

You tossed your head back hard against the pillow, gripping onto the hotel sheets as tight as you could. The only thing clear behind your eyes was a flash of white. Try as you might to hold it back, a loud moan echoed off the hotel room walls. It took a second for you to come back down, feeling two calloused hands on either of your thighs. You heard a soft chuckle and glanced down. Fred was moving from between your legs, fixing his red hair which had now become messy from wrapping your hands in it. You shivered as you felt his warm breath hit the inside of your thigh. You were hypersensitive as you floated back down to Planet Earth.

Fred had kissed his way down your body, whispering quietly about how beautiful every inch of you was. When he had finally reached his destination, you’d realized quickly why so many girls were constantly showing up at the shop to see him. Fred had insisted that you needn’t return the favor. He always made it clear you didn’t have to go any further that night, stating that he just wanted all of the attention to be on you.

“Fred, I--”

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly. The redhead climbed up next to you, smiling contently. He moved a piece of sweaty hair from your forehead, giving you a tiny peck on the cheek.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s been a while since that’s happened,” you noted, trying to make light of the fact that it really had been ages since George had shown you a reasonable amount of intimate attention. He smiled, reaching over to hand you his shirt while had been balled up on the floor. You fastened the buttons as he got a bit more comfortable in bed.

“You deserve to be shown how magnificent you are,” Fred ran his hand down your side and you shivered. He pulled the blankets closer around you. “I wish we could stay like this forever, y/n. You know?”

You both laid in silence for a while. No words need to have been spoken as you pressed your foreheads together, taking deep breaths. Fred allowed himself to kiss you a few times, soft as a feather. His eyelashes brushed against your cheeks.

Now that your high was coming down, clarity of the situation was settling in. There was no turning back now. This was no longer a stolen kiss or a wandering hand. Your brother-in-law had just taken you to the edge of ecstasy while your husband no doubt slept alone at home. You flung the covers off of you, feeling like your were suffocating. As quickly as you could you stood up, eyes darting around the room for your clothing. Fred’s brows suddenly furrowed and he looked at you, concern radiating from his face.

“Y/n, did I—-did I do something wrong?”

“No, no. I did. I have to go.”

As if it were a race against the clock, you quickly stripped out of Fred’s shirt and found your jeans on the floor. You pulled them on, moving next to find your grey sweater. Tears were rolling down your cheeks quickly, and you felt your breath becoming harder to take. It may have been your mind, but you could have sworn the walls of the hotel room were collapsing in around you. You felt dirty and shameful - like every shred of decency you had for your husband was nonexistent.

“Baby.”

You said nothing, shoving your phone and wallet into your purse.

“Baby-“

“Don’t call me that, Fred. I’m not your baby.”

Your words hit him like a sucker punch. He recoiled, but still looked worried.

You laid a few bills out on the table for the housekeeper and quickly rushed out of the room. You heard Fred calling after you as he had moved to open the door in an attempt to catch you.

“Y/n!”

As you hurried down the long hotel corridor, it became harder and harder for you to bring air into your lungs. You just about knocked a businessman over as you rushed into the elevator, hitting the button for the first floor as quickly as you could.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

September 24th. 

“George,” you shook your husband’s shoulder quickly. Your throat felt tight as you hoped and prayed he would wake up soon. Your hand was pressed to your stomach, eyes clenched tight as another cramp ripped through you.

One of his brown eyes opened and he sat up a bit. “Honey?”

“Something...something’s wrong.”

You had been startled from your sleep in the middle of the night to intense cramping, and now the blood wouldn’t stop. Sharp pains were shooting across your lower back. You knew you had to wake George to get you to the hospital.

Just a few weeks earlier, you had made it through the first trimester. You and George had already made plans to tell the family, bursting at the seams with excitement. During the first three months, you hid your condition well, politely declining fire whisky at get-togethers and wearing looser dresses. You had assumed that you had made it through the riskiest part of your pregnancy. For that reason, a few gifts were sitting in the corner of your bedroom. A grandma tee-shirt for Molly and a gift for Fred, too. You and George had agreed there would obviously be no other option for the baby’s godfather.

At the hospital, you were told the news you were dreading. George held onto you as you wept, barely listening as the doctor told you what would happen next. You begged to be allowed to go home and pass the pregnancy naturally. It wouldn’t be possible according to the professionals. George tried to calm you down as the nurse gently prepped you for the procedure.

It was over fairly quickly. George had waited for you in the waiting room, sipping on cheap coffee, and wondering if he should call Molly. He decided against it, knowing she would just be beside herself for weeks. Eventually, a charge nurse came to tell him everything was done.

“We’ll give her some pain medication and she’ll be as good as new in a few days. You’ll want to keep on eye on her though, dear, you know, emotionally.”

George nodded, tossing his empty styrofoam cup into a nearby trashcan and bounded toward the elevator. Upon walking into Room 493, he noticed how pale you looked. He walked over slowly and you looked at him. The anesthesia was just wearing off. You felt woozy, but had a sense of peace as George leaned over to kiss your forehead. He stayed down close to you, moving your hair from your face a bit.

“You did great, sweetheart. You are so brave. I love you. Come on, we’ll get you home, okay?”

The drive home was dead silent as you stared at the window. Rain splattered against the windshield. You wanted to dissolve into thin air, thinking to yourself that ceasing to exist would be better than the ache you felt. It was dawn and you felt yourself staring mindlessly at the cars passing you. Off these people went to work or school, while you had just lost a baby. It was impossible to recall an emotional pain like the one harboring itself in your heart. A deep, hollow sensation sunk its way into you as tears began trickling down your face. Hermione, Fleur, and Ginny all knew the joy of being a mother. But what about you? Why not you?

You pressed your cheek against the glass, letting out the tiniest whimper.

George glanced over at you and reached to grab your hand. The broken noise you had made had distracted him from the road. You clutched his hand to yours, letting your sobs echo against the dashboard. George felt his own tears begin to slide down his cheeks. The realization hit him all at once that you would never be the same - a part of you permanently and profoundly changed.

You laid in bed for days, only leaving to shower. Occasionally, you allowed George to sit you up and give you something to eat. It wasn’t that you were physically in pain. No, the doctors had given you a good amount of painkillers to ease the physical soreness. Rather, a dark storm cloud had enveloped your heart and mind, forcing you to do nothing but lay and stare at the wall. You would weep, sometimes for hours. As if on cue, George would slide under the covers next to you and pull you close to him.

With your face buried deep into his chest, you would allow your whole body to shake, almost screaming. “M-my baby,” you would weep, gripping your hands into George’s shirt. It wasn’t just once that this happened - but for days on end. George would fight his own tears from coming, willing himself to be the strong and protective husband you deserved. The woman he loved had entered that hospital and he wasn’t sure she had come back out. But he would do anything, he promised himself, to be what you needed.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

December 29th. 

The Saturday morning sunshine poured through your window. You stretched contently, noting that George was already gone. Saturdays served to be the busiest days at Weasley Wizard Wheezes. People had more time to shop on the weekends, of course. Therefore, Saturday also happened to be the day you would whip up some food for the twins and head down to help out. You busied yourself mostly with the register and bookkeeping, giving Fred and George more time to be present with customers and take care of other duties.

This Saturday felt different. The feeling Fred had given you the night before was still fresh in your mind as you stared in the bathroom mirror. You looked back at yourself, letting out a deep sigh. Dark circles were present beneath your eyes, no doubt from the restless sleep you had. You laid awake, looking at George, thinking to yourself that whatever category was the worst, you were in it.

__________

The bells of the shop jingled as you walked in. Fred looked up from where he was arranging a fixture of love potions. Your eyes locked in a longing gaze momentarily before George came out of the backroom. Fred immediately diverted his stare. He attempted to look busy as he listened to your conversation.

“The caffeine has arrived!” George greeted, coming over to take one of the three coffee cups you were carrying.

“And you know, your wife comes along with caffeine, George. Cream and two sugars,” you smiled, allowing him to give you a kiss on the lips. While you were mostly joking, you did feel somewhat hurt.

Fred walked over to you next, taking his coffee from you. Up close, you could tell Fred looked exhausted.

“Black with four sugars?” He asked, taking a sip.

“‘Course, Freddie,” you said curtly, heading toward the register as fast as possible. “So what time do we open?”

“Nine,” George said, taking another gulp of his drink.

George glanced at his brother and then back at you, feeling a weird sense that you two were angry at each other.

“Everything alright?” George asked, watching as you busied yourself with wiping the counter down.

“Yes, dear,” you sighed.

“Hey, don’t forget. Ron and Hermione’s New Year’s Eve party is tomorrow, and the three of us are expected to make an appearance.”

George was next to you now, close behind your shoulder. You had made the amateur mistake of wearing a v-neck top. He noticed a small lovebite just above your breast. Or was it a bruise? Surely, it must have been, because you hadn’t been intimate with him in weeks. You did have a tendency to be clumsy. In fact, it was a running joke.

“I know,” you and Fred said in unison. You looked over to see George staring at your chest. You pulled your top-up a bit, hoping he was just enamored with you.

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 5x01- Previously on...

Welcome back!! I’m so excited to be writing one of these again. I think this hiatus has been the longest I’ve gone without new Diane Lockhart content in ten years, and it sure feels like it. A lot of important stuff has happened in the time since TGF season four ended (not concluded—ended). Most notably, CBS All Access became Paramount+ and suddenly started offering a lot of content I care about! I kid. 2020 was quite an eventful year, so I was curious how television’s most topical show was going to take it on. TGF is always forward-looking, but too much happened in 2020 to be ignored. And while I didn’t think TGF would have much to say about the pandemic, it seemed impossible to imagine a season five that pretended it never happened. Going into this premiere, I was expecting that they’d either skip COVID entirely or include very few references, but after seeing this episode, I feel like the writers took the only approach that made sense. And that is why they are the writers, and I'm just some girl on the internet who writes recaps.  

Anyway, before I dive into the episode, I should also note that my pandemic boredom spurred me to actually pay $30 to watch this episode early as part of the virtual ATX Festival. Yes, I paid $30 on top of the money I spend every month on Paramount+ for this show. But I write tens of thousands of words about each TGF episode—are my priorities really that surprising? I note this not to brag or even to poke fun at myself, but because watching the episode before I knew a single thing about it (not even the title!) completely changed my viewing experience. I’ve never had an experience like this with TGW or TGF. I’m one to search for critics tweeting cryptically about screeners and refresh sites looking for background extras (haven’t done this in the TGF era, though) and read every single piece of press I can find. For any big episode, I usually know the outline of what to expect going in (I even knew about Will before the episode aired in the US!). Not this one! So, I got to be surprised, and I had to—gasp—formulate my own opinions before I knew what anyone else thought! It was really pleasant, actually. I think the structure of the episode worked extremely well for me because it caught me by surprise... and also because I’m the kind of person who somehow managed to write a college paper about Previously On sequences.

I see Tumblr has made it so that “keep reading” expands the post in your dash instead of opening a new tab. I absolutely hate this. Here is a link to the post you can click instead of the keep reading button! 

The ATX stream started mid-sentence, meaning I missed the “Previously On... 2020...” title card and skipped right to Adrian saying “I’m retiring.” It was pretty easy to pick up on the device (the directness of the scenes at the start, their cadence, and their placement in the episode made it clear this was meant to mimic a Previously) but the second title card hit way harder because... well, I had no idea if this was meant to be 2020 or some moment outside of real time until a bit later in the episode.  

Man, before I get any farther into this, two things that I don’t know where else to put. First, this episode had to cover so much ground. They had to write out both Adrian and Lucca—more on that later--, figure out how to deal with all of 2020, figure out how to either wrap up or continue all the truncated season 4 plotlines, and set the stage for a new season... in 50 minutes.  

Second, just wanna shout out the Kings’ other Paramout+ show, Evil, which you should absolutely be watching even if you hate horror. Evil is a Kings show, so it is unsurprisingly topical (sometimes evil takes the form of racism or misogyny or Scott Rudin) and at times very, very funny. I would be recapping it if Paramount+ weren’t attacking me personally by airing it at the same time as TGF. Ever hear of too much of a good thing, people?! (On that note, I am VERY upset with myself for not having made a Good vs Evil joke about the Good shows and Evil. I didn’t even think about it until Robert King made the joke on Twitter, and it was right fucking there. How did I fail so miserably?!)  

So STR Laurie, who wants a 20% downsizing, is still a thing. Noted.

This scene with Landau is the only one in this previously that is actually old footage, right?  

Unexpected Margo Martindale! Yay! (Ruth Eastman is a character who is so much more effective on Fight than she was on Wife and I’m quite glad they’ve had her appear on Fight several times. It kind of redeems season seven. Kind of.)

I don’t think the writers intentionally chose for Adrian’s book deal to be with Simon & Schuster because it is the most politically fraught publisher (the number of stories about controversial memoirs they’ve picked up in 2021 alone...) but I kind of like that Adrian’s Road Not Taken involves S&S. My guess is they chose S&S because it is owned by ViacomCBS.  

“Years ago, I wanted to create a law firm run entirely by women, but it never worked out. So, why not now?” Diane says to Liz. One of the advantages of having twelve (!!!) seasons of Diane Lockhart is that we’ve seen what she’s talking about. And we’ve seen her put this idea forward multiple times, too. I have my reservations about Diane’s brand of feminism, and I’ll say more about how fraught a Diane/Liz firm would be as the show explores the potential issues there, but on the surface I’m kind of excited about the prospect of a Diane/Liz led firm. Diane has wanted this for ages, Liz is a good partner, and this actually makes sense (unlike the nonsensical Diane/Alicia alliance of late season seven, where the only rationale was “well, Alicia needs to betray Diane in the finale, but they’re not on good terms. So maybe we make them business partners so then the betrayal stings more?”). Plus I fully love that Diane would end up running a firm with Alicia’s law school rival.

(Has TGF mentioned that Liz and Alicia were law school rivals? No. Am I still clinging on to that as a large part of Liz’s character? ABSOLUTELY.)

Julius is on trial for Memo 618 reasons; Diane is defending him. So this is still happening. (There’s more old footage here.)  

Do they put these references to one/two party consent in these episodes as a wink at the fans? It has to be intentional. (Please do not ask me what the actual law is on this, this show has thoroughly confused me.)  

I knew Cush was filming stuff for TGF, but I didn’t know it was for the premiere. She was just posting about it a few weeks ago, so either they shot a lot of it right before air or she posted a while after filming. Anyway, yay Lucca!  

Bianca’s still around. And, TGF gets to shoot New York for New York, since Bianca is there. I do wish TGF could do more location shoots; there’s something about seeing an actual skyline that feels more real.  

Bianca wants Lucca, who has never been outside of the country (except to St. Lucia, as Bianca reminds her) to go to London and buy her a resort. It’s supposed to be a three week stay and Bianca’s already arranged childcare. Speaking of children, because of COVID and filming constraints, that’s Cush’s real kid in this scene! You can’t really see him, but I recognized his curly hair from Cush’s Instagram, and the Kings confirmed in an interview.  

Adrian wants to write a book about police brutality cases he’s worked on. Ruth very much does not want him to write that book. She wants him to write a book without substance about how white people and black people can work together. He, understandably, has no interest in writing this book. (Also, you can see in the background that Ruth doesn’t think Biden’s odds of winning the Democratic primary are good—there is a big down arrow next to his picture, which definitely dates this scene.)

Oh, David Lee is in this episode. He acts like an asshole towards Marissa when she’s trying to help him.  

Marissa, not happy with the lack of respect, calls Lucca for advice “for a friend.” Lucca mentions she’s in London and Marissa does not believe her and keeps going on and on about her frustrations and her new desire to become a lawyer—quickly.  

Marissa wanting to become a lawyer because she “hates being talked down to” is not a plot I would’ve expected but it’s also one that makes a lot of sense. I think Marissa’s used to being respected and praised even when she’s doing things that aren’t glamorous, so I see how she’d get very restless when she’s no longer outperforming expectations and is instead taken for granted.  

Bells toll in the background on Lucca’s side and Marissa asks where she is. Lucca again notes she’s in London and Marissa still doesn’t believe her.

I’m going to miss Lucca so much, especially since we’ll also be losing a lot of the Millennial Friendship scenes with her. Cush is fantastic (even if she never really got enough to do here) and she plays so well off of the rest of the cast. I even sometimes liked the writing for Maia (who?) when she had scenes with Lucca, Lucca is that good.  

Jay wakes up sweating and unable to breathe, so he deliriously calls his father-figure Adrian. This whole scene is shot like something out of Evil and (I’m getting ahead of myself here) this plot is the only thing about this episode I felt was a misstep.  

“I think you’re my father,” Jay says to Adrian. Heh, I didn’t catch this line the first time around (maybe subliminally I did, since I just called Adrian his father figure lol) but I love that it is included here. Adrian and Jay’s relationship definitely deserves a goodbye.

Adrian calls an ambulance and also gets to Jay before the ambulance somehow. Adrian notes that Jay might have “this thing from China” and... we’re doing the pandemic, y’all. (Minor nitpick: on March 13th, 2020, when this scene is dated, COVID was not “this thing from China”-- we were all aware of it. March 11th was the day Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson announced they’d tested positive and the NBA shut down and travel was restricted and every single brand that had my email sent me a message about their plans and measures. March 12th was the last time I was in my office, and we’d been getting emails telling us to wash our hands and prepare to work remotely for weeks. I went to San Francisco in mid-late February and distinctly remember deciding to leave a burrito unattended on a table while I washed my hands because I was paranoid about COVID... and then I remember making a specific trip to Walgreens to buy hand sanitizer so that didn’t happen again. My point is, Adrian lives in the same world I do. On March 13th 2020, he would not be treating COVID like it was some new thing he’d vaguely heard of.)  

(I am going to nitpick this timeline, but please know that I’m only doing it because I can, not because I think it’s necessarily a bad choice. Lines like this do feel a little forced, but I see the reason for introducing COVID as something new rather than going for the line that’s exactly historically accurate. I also am pretty sure there are references to dates in March/April in s4 of TGF that are now going to be contradicted by this episode, but I truly do not care. The writers get a pass on this one.)  

We skip slightly back in time to the beginning of March after the MARCH 13TH title card, or maybe this is supposed to be after March 13th and my own memories are preventing me from believing these face-to-face interactions were happening. Who knows.

Michael Bloomberg is... here, again, I guess? He asks Diane to assist with a Supreme Court case about gun control. I guess it does add some weight to the plot and make the stakes feel higher.  

Oh hey, this case is the 7x17 case!!!! Love that continuity.  

Diane and Adrian are both at the office late, working, and there is an unnecessary split screen that feels even more unnecessary when you consider that the editing alone was enough to create the parallel.  

Diane and Adrian have a nice convo (which I’ll really miss, their dynamic is great and this really feels like a successful partnership) as they wait for the elevator. When the elevator dings, they nearly tumble down into nothingness because... the elevator never came. Apparently this is a reference to an law old show I’ve never seen that killed off a character this way, and it’s meant to be a wink at how they are not going to kill off Adrian.

I do not know why I remember this, but I do: after they killed off Will, a critic (Noel Murray; I just googled to confirm my memory) who didn’t want to spoil things tweeted, “Exactly 23 years and 2 days ago, Rosalind Shays fell down an elevator shaft.” Please tell me why I remember this reference that I didn’t even understand well enough to have tracked down the original tweet in under a minute. (https://twitter.com/NoelMu/status/447942456827326464)  

Back on this show, Diane and Adrian share a drink and talk about their wishes. Diane wants to argue in front of the Supreme Court, and Adrian encourages her to speak up. His own near-death experience motivates him to trash the book Ruth has him writing, and Diane trashes the (bad) legal strategy someone else prepared for the Supreme Court.

DIANE IS WEARING JEANS!!!!!! Tbh, I think my favorite part of this episode is how many slice-of-life scenes and settings we get. These are always my favorite moments. I love the satirical and political stuff too, but the character moments are what get me invested enough to write these. (Yes, Diane in jeans constitutes a character moment.)  

Diane tells Bloomberg she wants to be involved and advocates for herself. Kurt gets a call on their landline (hahaha) from Adrian.

God, I love Diane and Kurt. Not only is their banter fun, you can just see a different, more relaxed side of Diane in these scenes. Diane tells Kurt she has good news for herself, but bad news for him since she’s arguing for gun control. She asks him to help her prep for court, too.  

So this is before Jay is rushed to the hospital, because now we are back at the hospital with Julius, Diane, and Marissa. I do not believe any of these people would be setting foot in a hospital like it’s any other day on March 13th, 2020. But I'm trying not to nitpick.

I get why they chose to give Jay a rather severe case of COVID. I just don’t get literally anything else that follows from the initial shock of Jay having COVID.  

I see why the writers chose March 20th (the actual Illinois stay at home order) as the next date for this timeline. I still do not believe that people were in this particular office on that date.  

You know what else I don’t believe? That RBL just shut down for two weeks and was like, no work is being done. Did law firms really do this? I can believe it if it’s an excuse to cost-cut, and I know there were massive layoffs, but this seems... really weird???  

Why are they setting up a teleconferencing infrastructure (didn’t they have one at LG? In season five?) if they are not planning to do work?  

Lol Diane explains what Zoom is, very slowly. She asks everyone to “download a program called Zoom.com” which is one of the first Zoom jokes I’ve chuckled at in a while.  

Marissa is not happy to hear that there’s no work for her in a work-remote world (this I believe 100%), so she calls Lucca again with more questions about law school.

Love these NYC and London location shots. Wish they could do that for Chicago.

Lucca asks Bianca to help get Marissa into a law school, fast, and Bianca tells Lucca to use her name... then offers her a job.

Marissa is at the office, alone, boxing up her things, when one of the office phones rings with some dude offering her a spot in a law school class. I guess we are really all-in on this! (Why would Lucca have given a firm phone number not specific to Marissa, though?)

Adrian and his corrupt girlfriend decide to shelter in place together. I still do not understand why he is okay with her being corrupt. I also don’t really understand why they’re going from talking about sheltering-in-place to George Floyd. How did we just skip from late March to late May? Are Adrian and corrupt gf having a conversation about sheltering-in-place two months into sheltering in place?  

Okay, I am not doing so good at this no-nitpicking thing. Again, I understand why they need to merge several scenes into one to keep things moving. And I guess they could just be getting around to this conversation.

I’m going to nitpick again, I can’t help myself. How did we just go from a scene of Adrian specifically talking about sheltering in place to a scene of Adrian bursting into a bustling and maskless DNC headquarters room? How!? The only masks in this scene are on TV!! There are like ten people in this scene!  

Anyway, more importantly, Adrian tells Ruth off and screams at her that she needs to listen to him instead of acting like she knows the way forward. He is completely right.  

Why is travel from London closing down in May 2020? Is it because this scene is supposed to be at a different place in the episode? Liz is asking Lucca to come back home from her three week stay in London (which has now lasted three months but travel is just now closing down), and Lucca’s hesitant to come home.

This is all happening via Zoom, btw. Lucca’s in her hotel, Diane and Adrian are at their respective homes, and Liz is in the office. All of this feels right. There is a chat off to the side of the screen where you can see Adrian and the others discussing how to unmute on Zoom. Very real. Though probably not very real in late May 2020. Feels more like April. I am convinced this scene got spliced in later to help the episode flow because everything in this scene (except the TV footage that definitely was added later) feels like it should be happening in the March section.  

Lucca mentions that Bianca offered her a job, and at this point we as viewers know how things are going to go—Lucca's going to end up taking it. Liz types in the Zoom chat that they don’t want to lose Lucca. When Lucca tells them how much Bianca’s offering ($500k/year, go Lucca!), Diane types “Shit.” into the chat. “Shit’s right,” Liz replies. “Yes... What should our counter be?” Diane replies. Lucca is kind enough to point out the messages are not private (again, this feels like March not May) but I think knowing that their reaction to topping $500k is “shit” tells her all she needs to know.  

Diane’s background still says that RBL is a division of STR Laurie. Weird how little we are hearing about the overlords except the 20% staff cut.  

Liz and Adrian chat and decide the only way to keep Lucca is to make her a partner. Which, yeah, if you’d just made her a partner years ago when you told her she was in the running for partner and then offered it to fucking MAIA, maybe she wouldn’t be considering Bianca’s offer. Lucca is definitely one of RBL’s stars, and I don’t think she’s wrong to feel like they don’t value her enough. They treat her well enough to be upset about losing her, but not well enough to have already made her partner and not well enough to actually give her authority (even though she runs a whole department). I’d be pretty unhappy too. It kind of feels sometimes like they take her for granted, and I don’t know that Lucca is one to feel like she owes a company anything. She’s more of an “I’m out for myself” type.  

Madeline and the other partner we’ve seen a few times who isn’t Liz/Diane/Adrian, walk into the office (wearing masks! Which they take off as soon as they enter a room with Liz! Without asking her if she is okay with this! TV logic!) and ask who is replacing Adrian. They think this is a good time to reevaluate having a white name partner of an African American firm, and they are spot on. Liz tries to deflect, noting that Diane is already a name partner and was before Liz even joined, but Madeline and other partner (whose name I really wish they would say so I can stop calling him “other partner”) won’t let up. Their position is that Diane shouldn’t have been made a name partner then—all she did was bring in ChumHum, an account that quickly left the firm. Good point.  

“What is this firm if it’s not African American? It’s just another midsized all-service Midwestern law firm, one of 50,” Madeline argues. The other partner says Liz needs to remove Diane and promote two African Americans to name partner. Liz laughs and asks if they mean themselves. Madeline does not—she's concerned about the number of black associates they’re letting go. Liz heads out, but this conversation is very much ongoing.

And I think it’s a very interesting dilemma! There’s a lot of mileage the writers can get out of this, because I don’t think there’s a right answer or a wrong one. It’s all about what Liz decides she wants the future of the firm to be. If Liz chooses Diane, she might be choosing something that works for her personally or that she thinks is a safer financial bet—but she’ll be choosing to work at a firm that can no longer be thought of as a black firm, and she’ll be choosing to move away from her father’s vision for the firm. And since the plot hinges on what Liz will decide rather than what’s objectively the right path forward, there’s a lot of interesting tension there I can’t wait to see.  

(My favorite thing about Adrian leaving is that Liz will likely get more to do, especially when it comes to managing the firm. Adrian tends to speak up first, but Liz is more than capable of managing without him and I’m so excited to see what she does when her ex-husband isn’t constantly talking over her.)  

Marissa and Lucca video chat with Jay. He’s still in the hospital. One thing that bugs me about how this episode handles COVID is that I never really get the sense that any of the characters are particularly afraid of the virus. Maybe none of them were. But you’d think you’d see a little of that fear, the weird dance of trying to assess others’ comfort levels with masking, etc., in an ep specifically about living through this time. ESPECIALLY since someone they all know and are close to has been hospitalized for MONTHS with this thing! It’s just so weird to go from a scene where people wear masks until they come in contact with other people (when masks matter the most) to a scene of someone in the hospital with COVID.  

And now Jay’s weird hallucinations start as his battery dies on the video chat. I really, truly, hated these hallucinations. I was ready to be done with these from the second they started. They’re weirdly shot, they go on for too long, and they feel like the clunkiest parts of Mind’s Eye when Alicia starts having a debate in her mind about atheism mixed with the (far superior) hospital episode of Evil.  

I don’t have much to say about these hallucinations except that I hated them a lot. When there’s the reveal that Jay is hallucinating a commerical, I almost came around on the hallucinations because that’s kind of funny and inspired. And then several more hallucinations popped up and they had a round table and Jesus got added to the mix and I was like, nope, this is bad in a very uninteresting way. I reject this.  

I feel like the Kings didn’t have much to say about COVID, the actual virus. This episode is definitely more about what the characters’ lives were like during COVID and not the pandemic itself. I think they likely got a lot of their COVID commentary out of their system with their zombie COVID show The Bite (I have not seen The Bite due to it airing on Spectrum On Demand, which I have no way of accessing. Like, I would have to move and then decide to pay for cable in order to watch it.) I also suspect a lot of their commentary on COVID isn’t going to be specific to the virus and is instead going to be about things like mask-wearing and vaccinations becoming political. And, really, that’s just a new variation on talking about polarization... and they’ve been talking about polarization for years.

In fact, they even wrote a whole series about an outbreak of a (space-bug-spread) virus that caused political polarization before Trump was even elected. BrainDead is basically commentary on the pandemic before the pandemic even happened. Soooooo I get why they are more interested in recapping 2020 than in doing a Very Special Episode about themes they’ve been talking about for years. (I still think they would’ve benefitted from at least one character being afraid of getting sick or getting their family sick.)  

There is likely some interesting content in these Jay hallucinations. I hate them so much I cannot find it. You know when you’re just on a completely different wavelength than the writers? This is an example of that.  

Also I’m not a fan of the shadowy directing. I think this is meant to look cooler than it does.  

Have I mentioned yet that I absolutely love the “Previously On” device for this episode? It’s such a fun, propulsive way to get through the slog of 2020. Scenes can be short and to the point, and each scene has to do a lot of lifting to fill in the gaps. I think that leads to scenes that are better constructed and telling on lots of levels—where are people when they’re quarantined? Who’s wearing casual clothes and when? What about this scene defines this character’s life at that moment in time?  

Bizarrely, even though this episode is pretty much all plot (this happens! Then that!), I actually found this to be one of the most character-driven episodes TGF has ever done. There’s a lot of story, but most of that story is about how the characters reacted to 2020 rather than overarching plots that will weigh on the rest of the season. This episode covers a lot of ground, but it does it with character moments that resonate.  

Now it’s July and Diane’s prepping to argue in front of the Supreme Court. Kurt’s helping her witness prep and it gets a little personal... and that ends up turning Diane on. Good to see McHart hasn’t lost its spark. (Remember how Kurt cheated on Diane in season 7 of Wife? No, me neither, because that never happened.)  

Corrupt judge is back. Adrian playfully tries to distract her from work. Then he takes a video call from Liz, who updates him on the conversation she had with John (so that’s his name) and Madeline. I guess that part of May was close to July? Anyway, Adrian isn’t surprised to hear that people are upset at the prospect of Diane being one of two name partners.  

Liz is at the office in workout clothes and I love it!

They’re losing 15 black associates (and Adrian and Lucca) and 4 white ones, Liz says. This sounds like a very big problem. (I’d be curious to know what that is as a percentage of the firm and how the racial composition shifts.)

Liz knows it’s not exactly up to her if Diane stays on as name partner (the other partners get a vote, but I think Liz knows she has a lot of sway here). She’s also wondering if Biden could win, and if so, would it be to the firm’s advantage to be black-owned? Interesting.  

“Well. If you’re thinking it, then Diane’s thinking it, too,” Adrian says. He’s right. “White guilt. It runs verrrrry deep on that one, huh?” Ha. He is right about that, too. I actually can’t decide which of these interpretations is correct, because it could be either even though they seem contradictory. (1) Is Adrian saying it with a hint of mockery because he knows Diane will fight for her partnership even as she would say she’s a huge supporter of black businesses? (2) Is he saying it because he knows Diane would have enough white guilt to realize what her presence as a partner means and think through the implications? I think it is, somehow, a combination. I’m interested in this line because this whole dilemma (from Diane’s POV) is something that’s very familiar. Diane’s always been an idealist who will betray her ideals for personal gain. That sounds like an attack, but I mean that as neutrally as I possibly can. There are so many examples of this that this is kind of just a character trait of hers at this point. Usually those ideals are about feminism, but this situation seems closely related.  

Adrian overhears Corrupt GF talking about Julius, Diane, and Memo 618. You would think she would wait to have this conversation until there is no chance of Adrian overhearing, because if Adrian overhears, he might...

... do exactly what he proceeds to do and hop into a car with Diane to give her a heads up. (I think I’m just going to have to accept that the mask usage rule on this episode is “we use masks to show that the characters would wear them, but we don’t want to have scenes where characters are fully masked because that’s annoying.” If that’s not the rule, then why else would Adrian be masked outside... and then take off his mask as soon as he gets into a confined indoor space with Diane?  

Baranski looks ESPECIALLY like Taylor Swift in this scene.  

Adrian tells Diane what he knows. He dug deeper after overhearing Charlotte, so he has even more info. “If you tell me, I will use it,” Diane warns. Adrian knows that, so he takes a moment to decide. And he decides that he cares more about Diane and Julius than about his relationship with a corrupt judge.  

Diane and Julius are masked in court. Visitor and the judge are not. They use masking in a clever way in this scene: Diane uses being masked to her advantage because it means no one can possibly read her lips, so she can use the info Adrian fed her against Charlotte without any fear of spies. Charlotte, who is unmasked, guards her lips with a folder, as the Visitor watches interestedly.  

Diane convinces Charlotte to recuse herself. Charlotte says she’s making a mistake; Diane does not care.  

The new judge is, unfortunately, the idiot who doesn’t know anything about the law. Uh oh.

Charlotte decides she’s done sheltering in place with Adrian. He tries to talk through the conflict, but Charlotte says “You made your choice, Adrian. Julius Cain over me.”

“The choice was about right and wrong, Charlotte,” Adrian tries to explain. I mean, yeah, but if you’re dating a judge who has admitted she’s totally corrupt, didn’t right and wrong go out the window a while ago?

Adrian seems to think the other people involved in the events are bad and Charlotte is good. I am not convinced. I don’t think she’s the big bad, but I don’t think she’s good.  

Charlotte points out that he invaded her privacy. She is right about that. “You said the choice was between right and wrong. Turning over my emails was the choice,” she said. I get her POV. But also, she is corrupt.  

I do not like the way the part of the scene where Adrian physically restrains Charlotte to keep her from leaving is shot. I don’t think this is an abusive scene but I think it should’ve been shot from a little farther back so we could see it’s more like Adrian reaching out in desperation than trying to choke Charlotte. Because it very much looks like he is trying to choke Charlotte.  

He tells Charlotte he loves her. She says it’s too late and leaves. “Maybe you won’t be with me. But you keep down this path... you’ll be done, I’m telling you, you’ll be done.”

I think something that I’ve been missing in these interactions is that I didn’t quite realize until this scene that the Adrian/Charlotte dynamic is more interesting than Adrian liking a corrupt judge. I think he truly believes Charlotte is a good person who got caught up in some bad stuff, and that she can bounce back from it. I’ve always seen Charlotte as someone who is corrupt for herself and then ended up going along with the corruption of others, too, so I’ve dismissed her and the relationship. This is the first scene that has felt real to me, and the first scene where she’s felt like more than a caricature. Kind of sad it’s the last she’ll get with Adrian—now I’m actually starting to find her interesting. Notice how in these last few sentences I’ve used her name instead of “Corrupt GF”!  

Charlotte says she loved Adrian too, but that’s not enough. Awww.

He can’t really be surprised though, can he?  

Now it is August and we get to see Diane and Liz react to the announcement of Kamala Harris as Biden’s VP pick, and I would like to thank the writers for giving me the opportunity to see Diane and Liz react to this. It’s kind of fan-service, but it’s also a nice tie-in to the girl-power theme of the Diane/Liz alliance.

Diane and Liz realize that Adrian’s probably not a good candidate for 2024 if the DNC only wants one black candidate and Harris is the clear front-runner. Liz suggests keeping him on as partner instead, in a way that very much implies this would be her ideal solution. Diane, being Diane, says she was liking the idea of an all-female firm. Liz hesitantly says she was too, and Diane senses the hesitation.

“Let’s look again at which associates to fire. I’m worried we’re losing too many African Americans,” Diane switches the subject. How have they still not made this decision? If any employees know downsizing is coming, and they’ve had months to act on it, assuming there are jobs elsewhere, people would’ve been jumping ship by now.  

But that’s not the point of this scene. The point of this scene is that Liz corrects Diane: “Black. You can just say Black people.” Very nice moment underlining the tension. Diane means well, but she’s still acting like a white lady who doesn’t know how to act around black people... and she wants to (and, I guess, already does) run a black firm. Major yikes.  

Marissa and Lucca are talking again. Marissa does not want to be in law school—she just wants to be a lawyer. Lucca won’t accept Marissa’s refusal to memorize meaningless rules: “Marissa. I know that you know how to play the game, but you have to pass the bar to get into a position to play the game.” Why does this line make me love Lucca? This line isn’t even anything amazing. It’s just a line that cuts through the bullshit and makes a good point.  

Marissa keeps going, insulting all of her peers and teachers, and Lucca figures out how to cut through that, too: she tells Marissa that she’d hire her as a lawyer if she killed someone, but only if Marissa passes the bar. Marissa is instantly intrigued.  

“Why are you leaving here? I’ll miss you,” Marissa says.  

“Because they won’t pay me what I deserve,” Lucca says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Anyway, I thought they fired you.”  

“But they didn’t mean it. It’s like the smoothie place—they kept trying to fire me and I just kept showing up,” Marissa replies. That checks out. (Love the callback!)  

Lucca tries to get Marissa to come over to England. Marissa shuts that down as Lucca gets a news alert—and it’s not good news.  

Our next date is September 18th, 2020 and I will get my nitpicks out of the way up front! I don’t really know why it is daytime for Lucca when she reads the news, considering it was already the evening in the States when the RBG news broke. And, also, it was Rosh Hashanah, so Marissa probably would not have been sitting in her bedroom studying... she most likely would’ve been with family or friends. OK I’M DONE. FOR NOW.  

Diane is getting ready for her arguments in front of the Supreme Court. It’s almost time! She’s in casual clothes but has on a wonderful mask. She’s standing in front of Kurt’s guns to make a point (love that she’s using her video call background to her advantage) and there are several people in her bedroom getting the tech all set up. I have noted before that they only built one set for Diane’s apartment, and it’s just a massive bedroom. Diane choosing to be in front of the guns does a nice job of cutting off my question about why she’d be arguing in front of the Supreme Court from her bedroom rather than the home office she absolutely would have.  

Kurt walks in and tries to shake hands... he’s clearly not very COVID paranoid, and Diane seems to be, and... that’s something I might have wanted to see? How was Diane okay with Kurt taking risks that also affected her?

Diane confirms she intentionally chose to stand in front of the guns. That’s when Kurt gets the push notification. He pulls Diane into the bathroom to show her the news. He hands her his phone and Diane’s face falls. She starts tearing up. “2020 just won’t let go,” she says, speaking for us all.

Normally I hate things that are like, we’re going to contrive this so the news hits at the worst possible moment! This works for me, because the Supreme Court plot for Diane feels more like something that exists to be a through line for the episode. It would also be a little hard to work in RBG’s death as a main plot point—and it is definitely important enough to be a main plotpoint—if it didn’t also affect something in the world of the show.  

Also, another reason I like this contrivance is that it makes it all the more powerful when Diane says, “It’s over. He gets to nominate someone. Another Kavanaugh! We’ll have a conservative court for the next 20 years. My whole fucking life!” She’s not thinking about how this affects her case (and that case is basically a life-long dream for her). She is thinking about way bigger things, and knowing that her mind goes to the bigger things before the personal with news like this really underlines how big of a deal RBG’s death was.  

Diane tells Kurt, “I don’t deserve you. You don’t agree with me.” “I can still feel bad for you,” he responds. He holds her while she cries.

Jay’s hallucination thing is back. Now Karl Marx is here. So is Jesus. I’m so done with this. It’s nice to get a break from writing.

Malcolm X is also on the roundtable and now they’re talking over each other in that way that everyone on this show always does. (RK gave an interview about Evil where he said he likes having the children on that show talk over each other because he grew up in a household like that. I did not need to read that interview to understand that RK likes scenes where people talk over each other.)  

If anything happened in those hallucinations, I missed it, because I didn’t pause the episode. Because I do not care about the hallucinations. Because I hate them.

Now it’s November 2020... Diane’s watching election results and rocking back and forth. She tells Kurt he can go watch Fox News in the other room (so they do have more than one room!). He says he’s fine—he thinks Diane needs it more.  

“Yes, but Kurt, if you stay, I know this isn’t sensible, but... Trump seems to get more votes whenever you’re sitting on this couch,” Diane tells him. Ha, I relate to this kind of superstition so hard. “Are you serious?” Kurt says. “I am so deathly serious,” Diane responds. “Whenever you’re sitting here, Arizona goes for Trump. Humor me, please. Just go in the other room.”  

When Kurt tries to kiss her, she pulls away: “No, no, no. No kiss. If you kiss me, we’ll lose Georgia.” This scene feels so, so real and perfectly captures what it was like (at least for me, though I don’t have a Republican husband or anything) watching election results come in.  

“Uh, if you lose, we’ll be fine, right?” Kurt asks. “Kurt, let me just say this. I’m only saying that we won’t be fine so that the universe will grant me a win,” Diane responds. This scene is so fun and so good! It simultaneously captures a relatable mood, adds some levity, gives us a window into Diane’s life, and shows some of the tensions in her marriage?! I want this all the time!  

Kurt leaves the room. Diane pours more wine.

Later, with Diane still rocking back and forth with anxiety (just you wait for the several more days this will drag on!), Kurt brings in the champagne. “That was for when Hillary won. I can only drink it if Biden wins,” Diane protests. Did I also refuse to drink any celebratory alcohol until things were absolutely certain? No comment.  

“It’s odd you progressives resisted religion. You seem to have a hundred religions to take its place,” Kurt says, speaking on behalf of the writers’ room. (This joke doesn’t get written if the writers don’t believe this and probably even see it in themselves.)  

“Go away, Trump. I mean Kurt,” she shoos him away. Have I mentioned yet I love this scene?  

“Love me even if you lose?” he jokes (though I do wonder if this isn’t that joking? I think it is, but he keeps saying it!) as Diane gestures at him to get out.  

I could do without the joke about Diane’s heart on the TV for a couple reasons. One, it goes on too long. Two, I was very worried something would actually happen to Diane. You’d think that would make the scene feel more tense, but it does not, because it takes me out of the moment.

“Ok, God. You know I don’t believe in you. But I will believe in you if Joe Biden wins. I’m sorry. I know that that’s not what Jesus taught. There’s nothing in the New Testament that says, ‘Believe in me, and I’ll make sure your candidate wins,’ but I need Joe Biden to win. I’m sorry, God, but I just do. I need some faith.” This is a little much but... yeah. Also, is this the first time Diane’s flat out said she’s an atheist? I think it is, though I’ve assumed as much for quite a while.  

The next day in court, masks are no longer required if you’re a series regular and votes are still being counted. I remember those days. Marissa thought Diane was checking in on Jay... Diane was not. She was checking on vote counts.  

Apparently Jay’s finally being released from the hospital!

Bad news for Julius—the idiot judge finds him guilty of some nonsense charge and sentences him to seven years in prison.  

Diane says not to worry, and Julius asks “Why not?” Good point.

Then we have election results! We skip, specifically, to December 14th and the electoral college vote. I’m a little sad we skipped over the huge party that was November 7th, but I get why they’d rather keep things moving along. I think showing November 7th in an uncomplicated way would’ve just been too close to fanservice. But, man, what a day.  

Diane, in a red hoodie with leopard print that she somehow manages to still look classy in, is ready to pop champagne. Then she hears that on January 6th, a joint session of Congress will count the electoral votes and there might be a debate. “Nope. If I open it now, something bad will happen,” she reasons. “I’ve waited four years. I can wait another few weeks.”

It’s been almost a year and they’re still somehow negotiating with Lucca, but I understand why they’d space this out across the episode. Otherwise we’d have to say goodbye to Lucca in the first like, 15 mins of the episode and all those scenes would be in a row. I can forgive (and still nitpick) choices like this when the reasoning behind them seems sound.  

Adrian says they don’t want to lose Lucca. He, Liz, and Diane are all in the conference room, and they ask Lucca for a yes or no on their latest offer by the end of the call. Diane offers Lucca partner—she'll be the youngest partner in the firm’s history—and she’ll get a $500,000/year salary. Adrian tries to sell her on being part of American history by being part of the firm.

“We are a black firm, Lucca, and we need you,” Liz says with a lot of passion for someone who knows she might very well partner with Diane. Diane looks at Liz with a bit of suspicion at this, wondering if Liz is showing her cards.  

Lucca manages to make the wifi malfunction (or she gets very lucky) and uses the disconnection to call Bianca for a counteroffer, even though they said they needed a yes or no on the spot.  

“They used George Floyd because they want you for less. They have never appreciated you as much as I do. All those scars, all that time being taken for granted and undervalued has made you a fighter. It’s made you someone I now want,” Bianca tells Lucca. She gives Lucca a counter offer of $1.3 million and the title of CFO. Lucca takes it. Is there really another choice? (If she were concerned about loyalty to the firm and the partnership was what she wanted, she probably would've just taken it.)  

(Also, the partners can’t really act like Lucca is making history by being the youngest partner ever when they passed her over for partner two years earlier and offered it to Maia! To MAIA! Who had like three years of work experience! And yes I was fine with Alicia and Cary getting partnership offers with four years but, one, that was a scam, and two, Alicia and Cary actually worked. Oh, I see I still hate Maia with a passion. Back to THIS season...)

Lucca apologetically informs Marissa she’s leaving and the offer was just too good to turn down. I believe it. I also believe Lucca wants that job more. What has loyalty to RBL gotten her? She's someone so talented and good at her job that she just gets job offers from acquaintances all the time (starting with Alicia!). RBL appreciates her, but just enough to appease her while still undervaluing her. I don’t know that I would’ve believed a plot where Lucca actively job hunts, but I definitely believe this.

“Marissa, we don’t have to work together to be friends,” Lucca tells Marissa. I’m going to miss this so much. Why is this the best material Lucca’s gotten in ages?! I think one of the things that makes Lucca such a great character is that you can see why everyone instantly wants her on their team. She’s a fantastic friend (without giving too much of herself), she’s not a pushover, and she is incredibly sharp and able to get to the heart of any situation. I love her and I’m sad we won’t get to see more of her.  

(On that bit about friendship—I can’t write about Lucca’s departure without writing about the moment I realized just how great of a character Lucca was. It was in 7x13, when Alicia has her breakdown that’s seven seasons in the making... and Lucca supports her. But the writing, and Cush’s performance, never make it feel like Lucca exists to be a part of Alicia’s story. Lucca seems like her own fully formed person who happens to be supporting Alicia at this moment. I don’t think I can overstate how tough of a task it is to get me to care about the other person in a pivotal Alicia scene, especially when that other person was added to the cast in the final season and many suspected she’d just be a replacement for a different beloved character! Anyway, Lucca’s been great for years, and I’ll miss her.)  

Just when I thought I couldn’t hate the hallucinations more, we get a hint that they are going to continue: Jay sees one right after he learns that Marissa’s used her quarantine to start law school and he’s done nothing.  

Jay says he carries a gun now and it’s “performative.” I have no idea what that means and Marissa and Lucca don’t seem to, either.  

Another thing I like about Lucca’s final scene is that it isn’t rushed. We have time for all that, and also for Lucca to tell Marissa about the time she stole her breakfast sandwich, and for Marissa to react to it, and for Marissa to find Lucca’s Birkin bag, and for Lucca to tell Marissa to keep it, and for Marissa to react to that, and for Lucca to sappily say “think of me when you use it,” and for Marissa to nonsensically reply, “you think of me when I use it,” and there’s still a little bit more of the scene after that!  

Marissa’s silly line makes Lucca tear up. “God, I’m gonna miss you guys,” she says. “I’m gonna miss this. You make me smile. I didn’t smile much before you guys.” Awwwwwww. This is also so true to character! Her friendship with Alicia aside, Lucca’s definitely said before she’s not one to have friends (which is hilarious because she is, as I've said like 100 times, a fantastic friend and also just like, the coolest person??? Who wouldn’t want to be HER friend?!).  

She says she has to go because she’s getting too emotional and says goodbye. She’s also super sappy and when Marissa says, “you were the best,” she responds that they were the best TOGETHER! Awwwwwww.  

What a nice, fitting goodbye for Lucca. There’s no bad blood or fireworks—she just makes a change like a lot of people do. I’d like to think she’ll still be friends with Marissa and Jay after this. I don’t want too many Lucca references in future episodes, but I would really like it if we see Marissa and Jay update each other on the latest from Lucca, or if a scene begins with Marissa closing out an Instagram post from Lucca of her kid, or something. I wouldn’t want clues about what Lucca’s up to, but I’d love to see that she’s still a part of Marissa and Jay’s lives.

Now it is January 6th. Liz, Adrian, and Diane sit on the floor of the mostly empty office, watching TV coverage and drinking. It’s so relaxed it’s almost surreal, and it, like many other moments in this episode, feels like a slice of life. Everyone’s dressed casually and no one is worried about appearances or looking like the boss.  

“God, have you ever seen anything like it. It’s so fucked,” Diane says. Adrian’s more optimistic—the courts rejected most of the challenges to election results! “System worked,” he says. “Yay.” Liz says in response. She’s not as optimistic as he is.  

“Liz. Liz. Sometimes when things work out, there is no parade. There’s no congratulations, but I’ll tell you this: We live to fight another day,” he explains to her even though she makes a good point that a system just barely hanging on doesn’t bode well for the future. (She doesn’t say all this, but that’s a very loaded, “Yay.”)  

“Yeah? Then why are you leaving the law?” Liz asks. Diane seconds to the question.

Adrian announces he’s still retiring—and he’s moving to Atlanta. He wants to go to the south to help “create and consolidate political power.” He’s excited to start over and inspired by Georgia going blue. This is a very nice exit for Adrian. I fully believe that he’s interested in political organizing, that he’d be good at it, and that he’s ready for a change. I don’t think he’s always the most progressive person (of the three in this scene, Liz is absolutely the most progressive one, though Diane probably thinks she is!), but I absolutely think he thinks of himself as an activist and I believe that if he’s going to step away from the law, he’d do so to make a move like this.  

Adrian—and Lucca, but especially Adrian—probably both got better exits thanks to the events of 2020. If Adrian had just left to be groomed by the DNC, that would’ve been a predictable and boring ending for him. His candidacy would, obviously, go nowhere, and the whole thing felt weird from the minute it was introduced. But this? Adrian being energized—like so many others were—by the ways the world changed in 2020 and using his already announced departure from the firm and recent breakup as a chance to start over and make change? This is great!  

Adrian asks Liz and Diane what’s next for them. Liz says that she thinks the Biden admin will be better for black businesses. Adrian asks if they’re replacing him, and Diane says, “I think the big question is, are you replacing me?” She’s smart. I like how this scene goes from friendly to tense very fast, with everyone kind of testing the waters. Adrian tries to force the conversation, Liz opens with something vague yet pointed, and Diane speaks what’s previously been unspoken.

Liz says it’s not her intention to push Diane out. “I can’t change the color of my skin,” Diane replies. “I know,” Liz laughs. Audra’s delivery is fantastic on that line.  

“Hey, I’m gonna fight for my partnership,” Diane says. “I know,” Liz says. The tone of this scene is so different from previous partnership drama on these shows and I’m excited about it. This is just a bunch of adults talking about business decisions with each other and treating each other as equals?? It's not backstabbing?? Or drama?? No one is hiding things?? It’s refreshing and I hope this plot stays like this. We’ve done so much partnership drama that I think drama that stems from a real, pressing question that has no easy answers and isn’t anyone’s fault is going to be much more fruitful for the show.  

Adrian heads out—ah, I see now this scene is set in his empty office and this is why they are on the floor—and gets a nice last moment with Diane. And then they give him a last moment with Liz, which I knew they would but was still glad to see.  

Liz asks if he knows what he’s doing—he says he’s not sure.

Adrian asks if Liz knows where she stands regarding Diane. “It’s going to be interesting,” Liz says. I don’t think she’s decided what she’s going to do yet.

It wouldn’t be an Adrian and Liz scene if Adrian didn’t have some unsolicited advice. “Diane’s a terrific lawyer, but this firm belongs to you.  Your dad built it. He did, Liz. Despite all his faults. You got to run this place the way you want. This is a black firm. And after today, the world needs black firms. You got me?” He tells Liz. He makes it seem like Liz gets the choice and then tells her what to do. She says, “I got it,” signaling she understood him but not that she necessarily agrees.  

I cannot wait to see what Liz does next!!!!!!! About this but just in general!!!!! Without Adrian there giving her constant advice I feel like she can grow so much and the show will have to give her more to do!!! I think Adrian, for all his many wonderful qualities and all he brought to the show, can suck all the air out of a room with his charisma, and Liz usually ends up suffering as a result. She’s such a capable lawyer in her own right, but Adrian has a way of making it always seem like he’s right—even in arguments she wins. I’m excited to see Liz lead (or stumble at leadership; she is fairly new to management) without Adrian’s direct influence.  

Liz walks Adrian out and it’s cute. They run into Marissa and Jay. “Everybody fun is leaving,” Marissa notes. Liz is minorly offended, but playfully. Heh.

Adrian asks Jay how he’s doing; Jay says he’s a long-hauler but he’s doing okay. I like that they included that moment in Adrian’s goodbye sequence. It’s a very little thing, but it underlines that Adrian cares about Jay.  

Then Liz interrupts to note that Trump pardoned a lot of convicted and corrupt Republican officials....... including Julius.  

Everyone celebrates, but especially Diane and Marissa. Diane lets out her wonderful laugh and then we, finally, get to the credits. Because now that the previouslies are over, it’s time for the real show.

The credits are absolutely delightful, btw. I was a little worried some of the kittens would blow up, though! Once I relaxed and realized what they were up to—literal puppies and kittens because Biden won—I couldn’t get enough of these credits. They work so well because they accurately capture the way I (and all of these characters, except maybe Julius and Kurt) feel about the election results, but it’s so exaggerated that you know the kittens and puppies aren’t a realistic representation of our new reality. They’re just too good to be true, but you may as well enjoy them for a minute. I’m sure we’ll be back to exploding vases next week.

What a great episode! My timeline nitpicks and whatever they’re trying to do with Jay aside, I was blown away by how well the writers managed to move on from season 4, tie up loose ends, and write out two main characters. And they did it all while making me revisit the events of 2020, a year I don’t think many of us want to spend much time thinking about! This episode was enjoyable, fun, emotional, and clever. I don’t know what to expect from the rest of the season, but I’m definitely excited about the show in a way I haven’t really been in quite some time.  

This season’s naming convention seems to be titles that end with ... and only have the first word capitalized. I want to see more. 

Season FIVE? There have already been as many TGF seasons as there were TGW seasons prior to Hitting the Fan?! Time flies. 

Please writers: No topical episodes this year-- no pee tape, no Melania divorce, no Epstein. None of that business. 

Sorry if I repeated myself here. I never proofread these things, and I wrote half of this on Saturday and half of it today (Wednesday) and the days in between were an absolute blur so I cannot remember if I said the same things about this episode twice. 

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Whenever commie is no longer busy and have time (and ofc would want to write it), would you be willing to make a complete list of those who would kabedon; and the list of "who would and would not say the f/curse word"?

Oh man, you want a complete list? Well, ok, let’s go show by show here, I’m gonna get really lengthy with it. Like, I can’t go through every character in every show, but I’ll hit what I think are the major points.

Fair warning before you mash the read-more: I did, in fact, go through nearly every show I’ve seen. This post is long.

We will start with Kamen Rider.

Kamen Rider 1号: I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you heard my grandpa say a cuss. Go on. I dare you.

Kuuga

Godai Yusuke: is capable of saying fuck, but does not, because he’s too polite. He might kabedon, but not for any romantic or sexual reasons, just because he likes to be close to people and he gets excited about stuff.

Ichijo Kaoru: says fuck on a regular basis. I think he would kabedon unironically but only in the heat of the moment.

Ra-Baruba-De: doesn’t cuss because it’s beneath her. She’d kabedon Ichijo, but would follow this up with an attempt to kill him.

Agito

Tsugami Shouichi: does not swear and cannot kabedon, although someone else might do it to him.

Hikawa Makoto: might say fuck in a moment of stress, but rarely swears otherwise. He could and would kabedon, but only in situations where doing so would get a comedic result related to his strength and clumsiness.

Ashihara Ryou, the sexiest man in the world: probably swears like a sailor and would absolutely kabedon. The very thought makes me go weak at the knees.

Kino Kaoru: definitely says “fuck,” but I don’t think he does fuck, and he certainly doesn’t kabedon.

Ozawa Sumiko, however: both says “fuck” and does it. She will kabedon, and she will stand on Omuro’s shoulders to get enough height for it.

Ryuki

Kido Shinji: always wants to swear, but doesn’t actually do it. He could kabedon, but only in anger; the thought of doing so in a romantic or sexual context would make him blush and stammer.

Akiyama Ren: can and will say “fuck” at a moment’s notice. You know he kabedons.

Kitaoka Shuichi: says “fuck” quietly, when no one can hear him except maybe Goro. He would kabedon gently and think himself very sexy.

Yura Goro: is a sweet, sweet man who neither swears nor kabedons.

Asakura Takeshi: is saying “fuck” at this very moment. He would only kabedon as a prelude to stabbing.

Tezuka Miyuki: is on this list because I love him, but he does not say “fuck” and could not be induced to. He could be kabedon’ed.

555 (we haven’t finished this one so I can’t guarantee that all characters will be included)

Inui Takumi: I’m pretty sure he could say “fuck” but I don’t think he’s actually inclined to. Kabedon’ing requires a level of investment in whatever situation that I don’t think he’d want to admit to.

Kusaka Masato: oh, absolutely.

Sonoda Mari: swears all the time. Doesn’t kabedon because she expects someone to do it to her.

Keitaro Kikuchi: is a very nice boy who does neither of these things.

Kiba Yuji: contains vast lakes of suppressed rage, and if he says “fuck” even once it might all come out. Does not kabedon for the same reason.

Osada Yuka: says “fuck,” but only in her heart. Does not kabedon.

Kaido Naoya: says “fuck,” but only when he can’t find a more ridiculous option. Absolutely kabedons at a moment’s notice.

Smart Lady: does not say “fuck.” Will definitely kabedon you, and moreover she’ll do it with her leg to make sure that the situation is just, uncomfortably sexual.

Blade

Kenzaki Kazuma: is breathtakingly earnest but nevertheless does, on occasion, say “fuck.” Doesn’t kabedon because he’s too sad.

Aikawa Hajime: has neither the inclination nor the desire to say “fuck” or to kabedon.

Tachibana Sakuya: can say “fuck,” but mostly doesn’t. Also too sad to kabedon.

Kamijou Mutsuki: would say “fuck” to get someone’s attention. He wishes he could kabedon.

Kurihara Amane: is in so much trouble with her mother for saying “fuck.”

Hibiki

Hibiki/Hidaka Hitoshi: is An Dad, and thus is theoretically capable of saying “fuck,” but if he does then it means the situation’s gotten pretty serious. (Or he’s hit his thumb with a hammer.) He can definitely kabedon, but we’ll never see him do it, because that means the situation’s gotten a different kind of serious.

Ibuki: has too much self-control and dignity to say “fuck,” but said it when he was younger. Doesn’t kabedon because it’s just...not the right vibe for him.

Todoroki: has considered saying “fuck,” but the prospect makes him blush. Cannot kabedon to save his life but desperately wishes that he could.

Zanki: comfortable with the word “fuck” but uses it sparingly. Doesn’t seem like a kabedon type.

The Children: Asumu, Kyosuke, and Akira can all definitely say “fuck” just by dint of being high schoolers brimming with all kinds of messy emotions. Kyosuke would definitely attempt to kabedon someone, although he might not do it well.

The Tachibana Sisters: anyone who runs a restaurant can say “fuck.”

Kabuki: like Miyuki, above, is included because I adore him, even though he’s a movie-exclusive character. Definitely says “fuck.” Might kabedon in the process of tricking someone, but wouldn’t do it seriously.

Kabuto

Tendou Souji: feels that saying “fuck” is beneath him. Wouldn’t kabedon so much as he’d very gently brace himself against the wall and lean in, which, let’s be real, is much sexier.

Tendou Juka: you know that comic that people have done all those redraws of? I think this one is the original? This is an accurate representation of what would happen to someone, possibly Kagami, if Juka said “fuck.”

Kagami Arata: is all the time saying “fuck,” at least in his head, but doesn’t often say it out loud because it would draw the wrong kind of attention. Would kabedon Souji, probably, who would be surprised and then quietly delighted.

Kusakabe Hiyori: unlikely to say “fuck,” and if she did I suspect Tendou would take it badly (see above entry for Juka). Might be kabedon’ed, but would definitely knee the perpetrator in the groin.

Kamishiro Tsurugi: my beautiful son does not know what the word “fuck” means, but would definitely kabedon because he’s excitable.

Yaguruma Sou and Kageyama Shun: get one line because they do things together--imagine, if you will, Yaguruma saying “fuck” and Kageyama echoing him quietly a moment later. They would also kabedon together.

Kazama Daisuke: would say “fuck” very quietly. Does not kabedon.

Den-O

Nogami Ryotaro: cannot say any swear words without suffering a potentially fatal nosebleed. May have kabedon’ed once in a dream, but the thought of him attempting it in real life is actually laughable.

Hana: says “fuck” as an adult. As a child, says it more. Does not kabedon, because why bother?

Naomi: can do whatever she likes and I will support her.

Momotaros: says “fuck” regularly and with gusto. Kabedons as a greeting.

Urataros: does not use any curse words because women find them off-putting--unless the woman he’s with swears, in which case he does too. Will kabedon if it is situationally appropriate for getting laid.

Ryuutaros: see, again, this comic, but this time the person doing the shocked face and then later the punching is me. He does not know what a kabedon is.

Kintaros: is probably asleep. Believes that excessive swearing is unmanly. Doesn’t see the point of kabedon.

Sieg: believes that excessive swearing is unfit for a prince, but will very occasionally say “fuck” if it’ll get every eye in the room on him. Unaware of kabedon.

Kiva

Kurenai Wataru: does not.

Kurenai Otoya: does both, vigorously.

Asou Megumi: says “fuck,” doesn’t kabedon. Would encourage someone else to kabedon her though.

Asou Yuri: absolutely says “fuck” all the time, might kabedon Otoya to shut him up.

Jirou: I actually don’t think he swears? Definitely kabedons though.

Nago Keisuke: says “fuck,” but feels bad about it afterwards. Might kabedon from anger, or if induced to by Megumi.

Nobori Taiga: is far too polite to say “fuck,” but occasionally thinks it. Does not kabedon.

Decade

Kadoya Tsukasa: there is no question that he says “fuck” all the time. Not the romantic kabedon type, much to Daiki’s disappointment. May kabedon in other situations, though.

Kaitou Daiki: says “fuck” only occasionally, but with feeling. Would like Tsukasa to kabedon him.

Hikari Natsumi: says “fuck” regularly and energetically. Will sit on Yuusuke’s shoulders to kabedon Tsukasa.

Onodera Yuusuke: does not say “fuck” at all. Cannot kabedon because he is too busy giving Natsumi a boost.

W

Hidari Shoutaro: believes that saying “fuck” is unbecoming of a true man, but still says it if he stubs his toe. Kabedons unintentionally and then blushes when he realizes what he’s done.

Philip: has said “fuck” a total of once and then went down a rabbit hole looking into its etymology. Kabedons intentionally and with forethought, and then completely loses the thread of things as soon as Shoutaro starts blushing.

Narumi Akiko: says “fuck” just to shock Shoutaro. Definitely kabedon’ed Terui at least once, which he was unspeakably charmed by.

Terui Ryuu: is not open to questions about whether or not he says “fuck.” Only kabedons out of frustration.

OOO

Hino Eiji: neither says “fuck” nor kabedons.

Ankh: both says “fuck” and kabedons, and both are generally directed at Eiji. In fact, since he is only a hand, kabedon is an important part of his physical vocabulary.

Izumi Hina: does not say “fuck.” Would break a wall if she kabedon’ed, and thus it’s fortunate that she isn’t inclined to anyway.

Gotou Shintarou: would blush terribly if he ever said “fuck,” or for that matter if he attempted to kabedon.

Satonaka Erika: considers the word “fuck” an important part of her vocabulary, to be used sparingly. Kabedons Gotou, and at least once Date.

Date Akira: says “fuck,” but not in, like, an aggressive way? Just as an expression of mild distress. It does not occur to him to kabedon.

Fourze

Kisaragi Gentarou: is not legally allowed to say rude words. Would kabedon out of an excess of enthusiasm and then be deeply confused if the recipient blushed.

Sakuta Ryuusei: says “fuck” sparingly and only when it’ll have an impact. Does not kabedon.

Utahoshi Kengo: says “fuck” frequently and with enthusiasm. Doesn’t see the point of kabedon.

Jojima Yuuki: like Gentarou, is not legally permitted to curse. Kabedon would not occur to her unless it could be some way related to space.

Kazashiro Miu: says “fuck” occasionally. Kabedons when appropriate, which is rarely.

Daimonji Shun: wishes he could say “fuck,” but can’t quite bring himself to.  Doesn’t kabedon anymore, but he used to.

JK: only says “fuck” deniably. Strictly a receiver of kabedon.

Nozama Tomoko: doesn’t use curse words, she uses curses. Doesn’t kabedon, but appreciates it when she sees others do it.

Wizard

Souma Haruto: definitely says “fuck” sometimes. Prefers a flirtatious lean against a convenient wall over kabedon.

Nitoh Kosuke: says "fuck," but only if his grandma can't hear him--unless there's a notable archeological discovery in the offing, in which case all bets are off. Thinks he's too slick to kabedon, but he's not.

Fueki Koyomi: no.

Nara Shunpei: absolutely not.

Daimon Rinko: has said "fuck" on occasion and would certainly do it again. I can't imagine a kabedon from her though.

Gaim

Kazuraba Kouta: seems like he secretly swears kind of a lot. Does not kabedon because he is, at base, a deeply non-aggressive individual.

Kumon Kaito: says "fuck" at least once a day. Absolutely kabedons, but mainly because he's annoyed and slapping a person seems tactically unsound.

Kureshima Mitsuzane (Micchi): says "fuck" to sound edgy. Would like to kabedon but no one would take it seriously.

Kureshima Takatora: will use the word "fuck" sparingly, and only to indicate that The Situation Has Gotten Bad Indeed. Does not know what kabedon is.

Sengoku Ryouma: says "fuck" occasionally, and with malicious good cheer. Does not kabedon, but if he would like to give it a shot, I am available.

Takatsukasa Mai: says "fuck" quietly but with frequency. Doesn't see a good reason to kabedon anyone.

Oren Pierre Alfonso: only swears in French. Dismisses kabedon as a thing for callow youths, but despite this he did once have a heated dream of doing it to Takatora.

Drive

Tomari Shinnosuke: says "fuck" if he's hit his leg on a table or something, but in more serious situations he does not curse. I cannot possibly imagine him trying to kabedon, it's impossible.

Shijima Kiriko: doesn't swear as much as one might think; "fuck" is for special occasions. Will use a kabedon to get someone's attention.

Shijima Gou: says "fuck" all the time. Would like to kabedon, but hasn't found the right person yet.

Chase: does not swear. Does not kabedon--he's interested in human behavior but that's just nonsense.

Sawagami Rinna: is a professional engineer and thus uses the word “fuck” as punctuation. Might kabedon, but it’s unlikely.

Mr. Belt/Krim Steinbelt: mutters “fuck” quietly when Shinnosuke isn’t paying attention. Does not have arms.

Heart: has said "fuck" experimentally but didn't like the mouthfeel. Delighted by the very concept of kabedon but hasn't done it yet.

Brain: believes that swearing is a sign that you have nothing constructive, intelligent, or amusing to say. Provided Heart with the comics from which they both learned about kabedon, and since then the thought of Heart doing it to him has occupied his every waking moment.

Medic: has thought about saying "fuck" but isn't sure that she really wants to. Stole those comics from Brain and now she, too, would like Heart to kabedon.

Ghost

Tenkuuji Takeru: the thought of saying “fuck” has genuinely never entered his head. More someone who is kabedon’ed than someone who does it himself.

Fukami Makoto: can theoretically say “fuck,” but mostly doesn’t. Would maybe kabedon if the moment seemed appropriate.

Alain: thinks saying “fuck” is sort of uncouth but does it anyway. Wants to know what kabedon is, please tell him about it.

Tsukimura Akari: does not get enough sleep or lab time for anyone to be able to stop her from saying “fuck.” Has kabedon’ed out of excitement, but never for romantic reasons.

Yamanouchi Onari: tries not to say “fuck” because he’s supposed to be setting a good example, but sometimes it just slips out. Definitely doesn’t kabedon, but that’s more out of cowardice than a sense of restraint.

Fukami Kanon: see the comic previously linked to for reference for what would happen if Makoto found out that someone had taught Kanon how to say “fuck.” Reads comics in which there is the occasional kabedon, kind of wishes Alain would do it.

Ex-Aid

Hojo Emu: doesn’t say “fuck” because he works with children. Doesn’t kabedon because it’s not his style.

Parad: absolutely says “fuck,” if only to see Emu drop something in surprise. Thinks kabedon looks fun.

Kagami Hiiro: is too uptight to say “fuck” and too shy to kabedon.

Kujou Kiriya: uses “fuck” as an expression of low-key dismay. Does his best flirting from across the room, but might kabedon if it seemed like the reaction would be entertaining.

Hanaya Taiga: barely even thinks of “fuck” as a word, it’s just a noise he makes when he’s annoyed. Kabedon’ing would require him to get much closer to people than he wants to.

Dan Kuroto: definitely says “fuck,” are you kidding? Even before he was a cackling supervillain he was, at least partially, a software engineer. Does not kabedon.

Poppy Pipopapo: no.

Saiba Nico: says “fuck” all the time as long as Taiga’s not looking. Will not admit to reading the kind of comics where a kabedon might occur, but definitely does.

Graphite: thinks all of this is human nonsense and yet is, despite himself, intrigued.

Build

Kiryuu Sento: probably says “fuck” more than any other main Rider. Yes, even Tsukasa. Is kabedon’ed.

Banjou Ryuuga: says “fuck” because MMA guys have foul mouths, although he did clean up his language a bit when Kasumi was still alive. Kabedons.

Isurugi Misora: if Misora says “fuck” then something terrible is about to happen. Would laugh at anyone who asked if she knew how to kabedon. Would knee anyone who tried it on her in the groin. Kazumi knows this well.

Takigawa Sawa: considers the word “fuck” an essential part of her vocabulary, to be used frequently and sometimes at a great volume. Knows how to kabedon due to spy training but does not use it in her personal life.

Sawatari Kazumi: says “fuck” all the time, unless Misora is paying attention to him. Thinks that kabedon is very sexy and that he’s very good at it; mileage may vary on whether this is actually true.

Himuro Gentoku: says “fuck” softly and solemnly when something really bad has happened. Maybe he kabedons, I’m genuinely not sure.

Evolt: probably does both, but I’m not getting close enough to check.

Zi-O

Tokiwa Sougo: doesn’t swear because it’s not kingly. Does not kabedon.

Myoukouin Geiz: surprisingly, does not tend to curse. Definitely kabedons, not always romantically.

Woz: doesn’t say “fuck,” because there are more roundabout ways to express his frustration. Kabedons, sometimes for romantic reasons and sometimes just to be weird about things.

Tsukuyomi: specifically uses the word “fuck” to indicate that things have gotten serious. If Geiz isn’t going to get around to kabedon’ing her, she’s going to do it to him.

Zero-One

Hiden Aruto: look obviously I can’t really comment on these characters because I haven’t watched that show yet but just from the clips I’ve seen I think Aruto would spontaneously combust if he said “fuck.”

Saber

Kamiyama Touma: says “fuck” sometimes, especially if he’s very tired. Thinks kabedon is kind of a tired plot device.

Sudou Mei: doesn’t think saying “fuck” is that big of a deal, uses it to express irritation. Agrees with Touma that kabedon is overused as a plot device, but likes it nonetheless.

Shindo Rintarou: oh my god no, definitely not.

Fukamiya Kento: uses the word “fuck” the way other people might use the word “moist”--it’s not a word he likes to say, but it has its place. Not generally aggressive enough to kabedon, but might if it seemed useful.

Akamichi Ren: is a teen edgelord and thus says “fuck” a lot. Talks a big game, but is secretly too shy for a successful kabedon.

Ogami Ryo: has tried to clean up his language since becoming a dad and been pretty successful with it. Doesn’t kabedon anymore, but did once.

Daishinji Tetsuo: says “fuck” when he’s working on things. Kabedon generally involves prolonged eye contact, so no.

Sophia: good heavens no, can you imagine?

Tassel: might be a divinity of some kind, can swear if he wants although he’d probably do it in French, but if he kabedons then I’m a walrus. I love Tassel.

All right, that’s Kamen Rider done! Now on to...

Super Sentai

AkaRed: if AkaRed ever said “fuck” I think something in the multiverse would be profoundly damaged--oh, hell, this is how Zenkaiger happens, isn’t it?

Dairanger

Ryo of the Heavenly Fire Star: doesn’t say “fuck,” but you might when you taste his gyoza. They’re the best in the world, you know. It has never occurred to him to kabedon.

Daigo of the Heavenly Illusion Star: is too gentle to say “fuck,” or for that matter to kabedon. (Besides, anyone who tries to kabedon Kujaku is going to be in for some difficulty.)

Bullet Shoji, Warrior of Love: used to say “fuck,” because he used to be in a gang, but doesn’t anymore. Doesn’t kabedon because he tries not to intimidate people.

Kazu of the Heavenly Time Star: doesn’t say “fuck,” he just kinda makes a hiss noise if he’s irritated. Doesn’t object to kabedon in theory but not interested in doing it himself.

Rin of the Heavenly Wind Star: does sometimes say “fuck,” much to her uncle’s dismay. Does not kabedon.

Kou of the Howling New Star: is a horrible child and says “fuck” regularly. Too immature to be allowed to kabedon.

Kakuranger

Tsuruhime: does not say “fuck,” because if she’s mad she can just smack someone. She is fairly sure that people don’t actually kabedon in real life.

Sasuke: has said “fuck” once or twice but mostly tries not to. Too friendly to kabedon.

Saizou and Seikai: get one line because they’re attached at the hip. They are too goofy to say “fuck,” and would only ever manage to kabedon each other.

Jiraiya: not only does he say “fuck,” he will actually be saying “fuck” and not a Japanese equivalent, because he is more comfortable speaking English. I cannot imagine this man attempting to kabedon.

Ninjaman: is tremendously excited to learn about modern cursing, but never actually uses the words he’s learned because his teachers would be mad at him. Naturally too large to practice safe kabedon.

Hurricaneger

Please know that I’m not very far into this series yet, so this is based on fairly early impressions.

Shiina Yousuke: does not say “fuck” but often wants to. Doesn’t kabedon because it seems really aggressive, especially if you’re trying to kiss someone.

Nono Nanami: sometimes thinks the word “fuck” but doesn’t say it. While she’s read a few comics which contain kabedon, the thought of putting the concept into practice has never occurred to her.

Bitou Kouta: would never say “fuck” because children might hear him. Doesn’t kabedon because he’s a gentle soul.

Kasumi Ikkou and Kasumi Isshu: I just met these boys last night but I know in my heart that they both say “fuck,” and moreover they mean it. They also definitely kabedon.

Furabijo and Wendinu: can call me, please, I’m apocalyptically in love with you both.

Gekiranger

Same as Hurricaneger--I’m not that far in, we don’t even have the extra guys yet, but I sure do have some thoughts about the folks we’ve got so far.

Kando Jan: doesn’t even know the word “fuck,” probably has some cute repetitive term for sex that he uses instead. Doesn’t know what a kabedon is either.

Uzaki Ran: may say “fuck” very occasionally if she sustains an injury during training. Not inclined to kabedon.

Fukami Retsu: will pretend that he’s too in control of himself to swear, but does on occasion say “fuck.” Sees no reason to kabedon.

Mele: says “fuck,” but never when Leo can hear her. Doesn’t kabedon, would like someone else (*coughcoughLeocoughcough*) to do so though.

Leo: says “fuck” like he’s chewing on something and spitting it out. Definitely kabedons, but has no idea that this might have romantic or sexual implications.

Shinkenger

Shiba Takeru: does not say “fuck” anymore, because once he said it in front of Jii, who lost his mind. Could kabedon, he’s capable of it, but he’s a little too wound up in himself.

Ikenami Ryunosuke: would never say “fuck.” Not a kabedon type because it seems rude.

Shiraishi Mako: used to work with children, and thus didn’t say “fuck” for years, but now does occasionally--mainly while cooking. Doesn’t kabedon because she has other ways of getting in your face.

Tani Chiaki: is a Gamer and thus definitely says “fuck.” Nonetheless, respects women too much to kabedon them and the only men he might kabedon he is slightly afraid of.

Hanaori Kotoha: is a sweet, precious girl, very dear to my heart, who certainly does not swear or kabedon.

Umemori Genta: only says “fuck” if he cuts himself while preparing fish, or while arguing with fish vendors. Might kabedon to be goofy, but never seriously.

Kusakabe Hikoma/Jii: definitely had kind of a wild youth. Takeru once heard him say “fuck” to a kuroko while working on the clan accounts and has never recovered from the shock. Doesn’t kabedon anymore, but he did once.

Shiba Kaoru: doesn’t actually know the word “fuck” or anything about kabedon, and isn’t going to learn if Tanba has anything to say about it.

Gokaiger--one of the ones I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for

Captain Marvelous: I think we all know that the answer is yes on both counts.

Joe Gibken: says “fuck” quietly in serious situations, and loudly if Marvelous is deliberately getting on his nerves. Does not typically kabedon.

Luka Millfy: uses “fuck” as a general intensifier. Likes guys she can intimidate a little, so she does kabedon, but she mainly does it to Doc and Gai.

Don Dogoier/Doc: if you hear Doc say “fuck” it’s probably the middle of the night and he’s repairing an engine problem. Certainly does not kabedon.

Ahim de Famille: cursing is unladylike--not that she always tries to be ladylike, but she just doesn’t see the point there. Doesn’t kabedon.

Ikari Gai: probably uses some sort of goofy minced oath like “fudge” unless in the actual throes of passion. Doesn’t really have the poise to kabedon.

Basco ta Jolokia: only says “fuck” when no one is listening, because otherwise he might seem less than poised. Would kabedon Marvelous to get a rise out of him.

Go-Busters

Sakurada Hiromu: seems like he’d probably drop the occasional “fuck.” I’m of two minds on the kabedon thing; I think that he could, but I’m not sure that he would.

Iwasaki Ryuji: says “fuck” if he’s working late on some problem. Doesn’t kabedon because he doesn’t want to scare people.

Usami Youko: says “fuck” specifically because it gets Ryuji to make a shocked face at her. Might kabedon if she found someone short enough. She will never find someone short enough.

Nick, Gorisaki, and Usada: no, definitely not.

Masato Jin: says “fuck” with the casual manner of a man who has definitely not just dropped a wrench on his foot. Doesn’t kabedon, but has joked about doing so.

Beet J. Stag (the “J” stands for “Jueki”): says “fuck,” but doesn’t know what it means. Who would he even kabedon?

Enter: only swears in French. Would kabedon with one of his creepy tentacles.

Kyouryuger

Kiryuu Daigo “King”: is a ludicrously perfect shoujo manga love interest, and thus does not say “fuck” but does kabedon in a sexy way.

Ian Yorkland: says “fuck” on dig sites but not in polite company. Might kabedon if it’d make the girl in question smile, does not kabedon men.

Udo Nobuharu: used to say “fuck” sometimes, but doesn’t now that he’s helping to raise Rika. Too busy and tired to kabedon.

Rippukan Souji: is too uptight to do either.

Amy Yuzuki: doesn’t say “fuck,” just makes irritated noises. Might kabedon if it would get someone to stop screwing around and pay attention to her.

Utsusemimaru: is familiar with neither the word “fuck” nor the concept of kabedon, although he might learn about the latter from some of Amy’s manga.

Yayoi Ulshade: says “fuck” when she’s working. Perpetually disappointed that she will never get Daigo to kabedon her.

Candelira and Luckyuro: my beautiful wife and her adorable son have no knowledge of these things.

ToQger

Right, Tokacchi, Mio, Hikari, and Kagura: are all children and thus are barred from engaging with these things. Although I suppose now they’re all fifteen or sixteen, so maybe some of them have started cussing, but I refuse to contemplate it.

Nijino Akira: doesn’t know the word “fuck,” but if he did he’d use it. Doesn’t know about kabedon either, and wouldn’t use it if he did, because that involves getting way too close to people.

Wagon: much like Smart Lady, would kabedon with her leg, but in her case she’s trying to be cute and fun, not creepy. Does not say “fuck.”

Emperor Zett: can in theory say “fuck,” but hasn’t found an occasion to do so. Would kabedon to intimidate, I think he’d kinda puff up like a little angry wren.

Jyuohger

Kazakiri Yamato: will only say “fuck” if he’s just been bitten by an animal he’s taking care of, and even then only if it really hurts. Doesn’t kabedon.

Sera: doesn’t say “fuck” because there’s always something more cutting available. Would bite anyone who kabedon’ed her.

Leo: says “fuck” as long as there are no girls listening. Has been bitten by Sera at least once as punishment for kabedon crimes.

Tusk: says “fuck” about paper cuts, but nothing else. Doesn’t kabedon.

Amu: doesn’t say “fuck” because there are cuter ways to get mad. Doesn’t kabedon herself, but will take any kabedon from someone else as an opportunity to get them to do something for her.

Mondou Misao: says “fuck” sometimes, always apologizes directly afterward. Far too nervous to kabedon.

Bard: says “fuck” at least once a week. Isn’t clear on what kabedon is.

Uncle Mario: you leave Uncle Mario alone.

Kyuuranger

Lucky: does not say “fuck.” Might kabedon in a moment of high spirits.

Garu: is a polite man who neither says “fuck” nor kabedons.

Stinger: says “fuck” frequently. Kabedons with his tail.

Hame: says “fuck” quietly but often. Doesn’t kabedon, and would just vanish if someone did it to her.

Raptor-283: says “fuck” very rarely, but at great volume. Dreams of being kabedon’ed, this is canonical.

Champ: doesn’t curse, and thinks kabedon looks dangerous.

Spada: only says “fuck” in the kitchen, where he can say whatever he pleases, grazie. Could be kabedon’ed.

Balance: says “fuck” if he’s panicking, but only then. Might kabedon for fun.

Naaga Rei: doesn’t do either, and would be terribly puzzled if someone kabedon’ed him.

Shou Ronpou: said “fuck” once when he got his finger caught in the Kyuulette. Isn’t familiar with kabedon, but thinks it looks fun.

Kotaro: is ten years old.

Ootori Tsurugi: doesn’t say “fuck” because it’s not grandiose enough. Definitely kabedons, we see him do it at least once in the show.

LupinRanger Vs. PatRanger

Asaka Keiichiro:  might say “fuck” if he’s really angry, but would feel bad about it. Would blush if he kabedon’ed Kairi, but would still do it.

Yano Kairi: has been saying “fuck” on the reg since he was twelve. Would kabedon to make Keiichiro squirm.

Hikawa Sakuya: might say “shit” on occasion, but never “fuck.” Wishes he was the kind of guy who could kabedon.

Yoimachi Tooma: doesn’t say “fuck,” but does think it loudly. Too reserved to kabedon.

Myoujin Tsukasa: could potentially say “fuck,” but chooses not to. Not a kabedon type.

Hayami Umika: mostly has pretty clean language, but will say “fuck” when she’s sewing, especially if she’s just stuck a needle into her finger, which hurts like a bitch. Doesn’t kabedon herself, might giggle if someone did it to her.

Takao Noël: only swears in French, but does so in extensive and exacting detail. Kabedons, but in a chill way.

Zamigo Delma: thinks the word “fuck” is extremely funny. Would kabedon Kairi to make him uncomfortable, but if Kairi’s unavailable then he’s welcome to look me up.

Ryusoulger

Koh: has never said a swear in his entire life. Doesn’t kabedon.

Melto: says “fuck” often, but quietly, so that the others don’t hear him. Seems kabedon’able to me.

Asuna: doesn’t actually know the word “fuck.” Wouldn’t kabedon, like, on purpose? But she’d definitely do it unintentionally, please see this comic for reference.

Towa: will say “fuck” sometimes if his brother won’t catch him at it. Overconfident enough to kabedon, but I don’t think it’d occur to him.

Banba: says “fuck” if things have gotten very bad. Kabedons only rarely, when he needs to be very serious about something. Yes, sometimes that something is “I think about kissing you with such frequency that it’s interfering with my ability to focus.”

Canalo: doesn’t say “fuck” because Mosa Rex would be disappointed in him. Would never kabedon, if he even knows what that is, due to his overpowering Respect for Women. (It has never occurred to him that one might kabedon anyone but a woman.)

Oto: might say “fuck,” and if she did then Canalo would specifically blame Melto.

Nada: uses “fuck” as an expression of dismay, like, “well, fuck.” Not into the whole kabedon thing.

Tatsui Ui: might have said “fuck” once, but then was so embarrassed that she got a case of hysterical giggles. Absolutely does not kabedon.

Super Sentai is done! That was exhausting! Wow! On to...

Ultra Series

I have seen very few Ultra shows, so this section’s gonna be short.

Orb

Kurenai Gai: doesn’t say “fuck,” does curse in some kind of alien language. Doesn’t kabedon, I bet it’d make him blush, although mostly he doesn’t seem like the blushing type either.

Jugglus Juggler: says “fuck” regularly and with relish. Was once described by someone very wise as having “big kabedon energy,” which is to say, of course he does.

Yumeno Naomi: definitely says “fuck” and doesn’t care who hears her. Will kabedon Gai and Juggler simultaneously, one with each hand, and they will both be impressed and maybe a little turned on.

Hayami Jetta: says “fuck” sometimes, but not as frequently as he’d like people to think. Might try to kabedon, although he wouldn’t necessarily succeed at it.

Matsudo Shin: does neither of these things, as they have no relevance to science.

Geed

I can’t really say much about Geed, since we’re not even ten episodes in, but what I can say for certain is:

Asakura Riku: is too nice a boy to say “fuck” and not intense enough to kabedon.

Toba Laiha: definitely says “fuck” on occasion. Would kabedon with her sword.

Pega: is a child.

Igaguri Leito: does neither of these things, he is a sweet man. And I think Zero would disapprove.

Fukuide Kei: says “fuck” with frequency. I think he would, theoretically, kabedon, but there’s no one on Earth he’d do it to.

Belial: I haven’t actually, like, met Belial, but I’m fairly sure his existence is a concentrated dose of the word “fuck,” in the sense of, “oh, fuck, it’s Belial.” If he kabedon’ed he could destroy the planet, please do not let him.

R/B

I’m even less far into R/B, since I’m watching it by myself.

Minato Katsumi and Minato Isami: they do not.

Aizen Makoto: is too weird to do either of these things.

All right, we’re done with the brief foray into the Ultras. Now, last but very much not least, we have...

Garo

Of which I have only watched the original continuity, none of the Ryuuga stuff yet, so it’s a slightly limited take. However, I love all of these characters dearly, so here we go!

Saejima Kouga: is way too upright (and uptight) to say “fuck.” Doesn’t know what kabedon is, wouldn’t do it if he did.

Suzumura Rei: is a man who swears colorfully and at length and uses “fuck” to add a little bit of pep to things. Definitely kabedons, with varying levels of success depending on who he’s trying it on.

Fudou Leo: is a soft-spoken man, but nevertheless does occasionally mutter “fuck” quietly when he’s working on a Madou device. Blushes and stammers at the very suggestion of kabedon.

Mitsuki Kaoru: might say “fuck,” but only in the absolute heights of fury, which are rare for her. Not inclined to kabedon, but even if she was, who could she even do it to? The shortest person she might kabedon is Rei, who is seven inches taller than her, and it only gets worse from there. She’d need a boost to reach, and my dude Gonza’s back is not good enough for that.

Jabi: believes too strongly in the value of language well-used to say “fuck” except when absolutely necessary. Could kabedon with her leg, probably, and would if she thought it’d be useful.

Rekka: says “fuck” sometimes, mostly to express irritation. Most likely to kabedon with a knife or something.

Saejima Raiga, Mayuri, and Crow: I only barely know these kids but I adore them. None of them are allowed to do any cursing. They do not kabedon.

Madou Ring Zaruba: is a ring, so obviously he can’t kabedon, but he can say “fuck,” and I think sometimes he does.

The Moral Of This Story Is: never ask me for a comprehensive list of anything, because I cannot be trusted to do anything but go completely overboard.