#tell me why they said I would get in trouble and marked as absent if I did school that way

[chronic--experiences]

I was just hit with a memory from high school from when I asked if I could zoom into class on days that my chronic illness/pain was so bad that I couldn’t attend school, and they said no because it was only for people who had Covid :)

[myrulia]

About the Kokushibou x Muzan little sister ask can I get prompt 8 please 😅 sorry for the inconvenience.

.｡.:*✧Prompt 8: "It feels right, promise I don't mind."

.｡.:*✧Warnings: Slight sexual tension

╰╴⇢｡.:*✧A/N: If an appearance/personality is made evident, then it is because you are related to Muzan.

`` [Y/N], my beloved sister, have you considered ever finding a suitable partner such as I did? ``

Your elder brother, Lord Kibutsuji Muzan, spoke as you both were seated in one of the many rooms of the Infinity Castle that was well away from everyone else since your discussion held private matters. 

`` Brother, you made your past wives go insane, and the one you have now is a fake. So therefore, it does not count. ``

Muzan let out a huff of annoyance at the same time you did, the habit being something you both inherited unfortunately which led to the Upper Moon Two to tease you about, which led to him becoming disciplined right after.

`` That is not the point. [Y/N], I do not want you to be alone- ``

`` But I'm not alone, I have you and the other Upper Moons..- ``

`` Ah yes, the Upper Moons you say? ``

There was a glint of mischievousness in Muzan's eyes that you became all too accustomed with, knowing he was coming up with a great plan that you know utterly nothing about. Truth be told, finding a partner would not seem like the worst thing, but your stubbornness has stopped you from giving into your older brother's wishes.

`` Since you brought up the Upper Moons, I'll start from there. ``

You quirked a brow up in response to his choice of words, crossing your arms habitually and holding the same accursed scowl Muzan would also make during his meetings.

`` Why don't you get to know them, `` he started, referring to the higher ranks. `` The Upper Three ranks would make suitable partners and would have no trouble protecting you when I am absent. ``

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose trying to see a somewhat decent future with any of them. Sure, the idea had its pros, but far too many cons, especially with Douma. He was tall and handsome, sure, but had little to no emotions whatsoever and was too much of a masochist for you to handle.

Then there is Akaza. He was respectful to women and you actually found that trait attractive, but he was too focused on becoming strong and probably would not even give you the attention you would need.

Lastly, Kokushibou. An even taller demon who was quiet, well reserved, and surprisingly good looking despite having three sets of eyes. For once, you did not know the male's motives due to his nature, which allured you to him further. You have tried to strike up a conversation but he was quick to end it and would disappear somewhere else in the Castle.

`` Muzan, I would never consider Douma suitable, Akaza is a 50/50 chance, but Kokushibou- well..- ``

`` Well? ``

You wanted to voice out your opinion of the Upper Moon One to your brother, but knowing him, he would rat you out instantly just so that your relationship with him would get a move on so he can be satisfied.

`` Actually, nevermind, I'll take some time to think about it brother. ``

You got up from your chair and exited from the large room, jumping from the balcony and onto another platform. You repeated this process until you were well away from Muzan's quarters.

You were not even set on a destination, you just wanted to clear your head of his desire to find you a future husband. The idea was not a bad one, in fact it was a smart move in the first place, but it felt forced and not genuine to have to pick based off your brother telling you to.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you did not notice the large figure just in front of you, and before you knew it, you bumped right into the figure's back, causing it to fall over with you on top. 

`` Who- ``

`` I apologize! `` You blurted out before the voice could finish. `` I was not looking where I was going and ended up tumbling onto you so I'm sorry. ``

You quickly got off of the large figure who also stood up and adjusted his hakama accordingly that got slightly messed up in the fall. Once the figure is turned around, you are met with 3 pairs of eyes glaring down at your shorter form. It was none other than Kokushibou, or better known as the Upper Rank One based on the kanji in his eyes. You look stunned as you take in his appearance. You expected a much more piercing gaze due to him usually having one, but instead of that, his face was more relaxed and dare I say neutral.

`` There is no need princess, `` the male said as he bowed in respect, not daring to leave unless you order for him to do so. The demons that lurked around the Castle were ordered by your high and mighty older brother to refer to you as "Princess" since he deems himself as the king. You objected of course, but in this moment you had no ounce of rejection to give. Usually you would dismiss the demons that call you such a thing, but it felt different with Kokushibou.

`` Still I bumped into yo- nevermind. Kokushibou I can trust you right? ``

Your question came out of the blue for the demon. Why were you suddenly asking if you can trust a man like him? Of course he did devote his life to both you and Muzan but his inner feelings and self doubt block himself from doing so fully. You always made things difficult for him.

`` Yes, you can entrust me with your life. ``

`` Are you only saying that because my brother told you to, or are you genuine? ``

The demon was rather taken aback by your bold choice of words, his eyes slightly enlarging before going back to a neutral expression. He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, confusion taking over his features.

`` Why would I not want to protect someone dear to me? ``

You took a singular step back, desperately fighting the heat rushing to your cheeks and so to not embarrass yourself in front of him you covered the bottom half of your face and feigning a look of pondering. 

`` If you are genuine as you claim to be, then I shall tell you. Muzan wants me to find a suitable partner. ``

You were blunt yet again, believing that sugarcoating information only draws away time that could be spent doing something much more worthwhile. You removed your hand from your face, now holding a stern look with the much taller Upper Moon whose expression has shifted. A visible vein was pulsing on his neck that you learned was due to annoyance.

`` Have you found anyone? `` Kokushibou said with no clear indication of aggravation, but you knew of the male's habits from the years that you have you have to learn of the Upper ranks and their habits. You stepped closer towards him until your chest dangerously brushed against his, your hand reaching up to his hand and grabbing it gently. Kokushibou tensed up at the feeling of your soft hand being interlocked with his, so much so that he could not take his eyes off of your enticing ones. 

`` Yes. You. ``

You stood on your tippy toes just to move closer to his face. His height may have been an obstacle but you succeeded, leaving the demon to be well enough flustered for it to be noticeable. Your little manipulative tactics resembled those of Muzan's, you are siblings after all. You tugged your hand away from his, sliding it up his forearm ever so slowly and to his chest, resting there and not daring to break the eye contact you have built.

`` Even though I am directly blood related to Muzan, would you be willing to be my partner and love me for who I am instead of who I am related to? ``

Kokushibou was well aware of what you meant with those words, after all he himself is very intelligent and could see through your advances. But even so, he found himself falling for them time and time again. You could simply be doing your hair and his mind would wander to how your raven locks would feel in between his fingers. With you being his Lord's younger sister, he thought it would be practically sinning to think of you in such ways, but now that the opportunity presented itself, he would not let it slip from his grasp.

`` It feels right, promise I don't mind. ``

`` That's all I needed to hear from you Kokushibou. `` 

It took one small lean forward for your lips to land on his. Kokushibou instinctively returned the kiss as if he was programed to do so, except it was his full will driving him forward to finally have you as his own. To be able to have you by his side was almost a dream come true for him without even realizing it. Demons are essentially deprived of any real feeling so to have you return his feelings of infatuation fed into his desire all the same.

Although before the kiss could turn into a much more scandalous one, you retracted, but cupped his face in your hands.

`` Would He approve of this? `` Kokushibou asked whilst peering into your enchanting eyes again. His hands had moved to your waist but were quickly removed after the kiss, his own fears blocking him from allowing himself to submit to your enticing touch.

`` I don't need his approval, I am my own person who can make her own decisions. But, it was his idea so there is no need to worry. ``

`` That is all I needed to hear. ``

Kokushibou was the one who leaned forward this time, but before your lips could connect, he went to your neck and bit on your skin harshly which was bound to leave a mark. You gripped at his hair and tugged him away from your neck after you let out a small whine since your greed was increasing.

`` I am simply marking what is mine now, isn't that right, Princess? ``

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

The Odd Rumble of Thunder - Thor x Reader

(A/N)

Hey guys! I wanted to personally thank you all for the kind comments and messages, they really inspire me to continue writing more and the support truly means a lot! Also, I just found out how to access post replies, I apologize I haven’t gotten to reading them since my first story, I’m still trying to figure out the gist of things here on Tumblr! Anyways, recently I’d only been posting more on Poseidon, so here’s a special one for our Norse god of thunder (aka the god I simp for the most). This idea came to me while out on a camping trip, I hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback would really be welcomed and appreciated!

This is for entertainment only. Record of Ragnarok belongs to Shinya Umemura, Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

The Odd Rumble of Thunder

Thor x Reader

Even before the news spread like wildfire, Thor had become under the tyranny of a good habit to bringing his wife with him wherever he may go. It stood to reason that he would never be so careless to invite you over to danger, hence why, at a god’s ephemeral notice, he had stopped seeking direction for his combative side, but when, at last, he had to venture, he made much quicker work of it than when he would have otherwise.

Inarguably, if you’d wanted to lay down and rest instead, it was a surety you’d receive your meals in bed, unbothered. But for Thor there was no guarantee he’d ever have to worry about you, so the whole of Asgard knew by now he’d drop whatever he was doing to accompany you, uncaring about diplomacy in the first place.

Not that Odin nor Loki minded either; especially since the Allfather knew more about the concerns of a father expecting their first child. Moreover, Loki enjoyed shapeshifting into his cousin during days he was absent. It was much more fun to cause mischief legally, as he would say.

Today, Thor stood by his wife who sat comfortably in her rocking chair on the porch, allowing a full view of the hills that sloped gently down to the grand gardens. You were seven months along, approaching the eight month, the swell of your stomach now far more prominent.

At the very moment you had begun to show, you had a companion of whom would almost never leave your side, your husband’s absence in the kingdom gradually becoming more frequent, more lengthened, till at last his presence among his people became an exception. Despite your constant reassurances that you would be fine, Thor insisted on staying, casually sweeping aside your thoughts regarding his habitual sense of duty.

“I would only be gone for nine months to tend to my wife and child, they should fare well on their own lest they are more incompetent than I would’ve thought.” Thor had told you once before, and you’d decided not to question him further on that. You understood your husband’s concerns, to be truthful, you had a few of your own as well, so having Thor assist you alleviated some of the stress and worry concerning your child’s safety.

Especially now that you were nearing your due date. For instance, you were having the toughest time moving, suffering primarily from the weight in your belly and pains in your back and legs that made walking and even standing difficult. What made the physical strain worse too was your child’s eagerness to know you and Thor both, unable to stay long in one position, much like their father’s enthusiasm for battle.

“How are you feeling?” Thor’s question rested upon a rather precise calculation of the last time he had asked the same only a short moment before. It was quite visible in his actions that he did not want to cause any negative feelings if he could help it, though desiring you to avoid stress as much as possible.

You smiled. “Come close. You’ve been standing there for ages just ogling at me.” You opened your arms out wide. “Are you not tired?”

Truth be told, despite Thor’s constant need to remain close to his wife, he felt a real, undeniable fear of touching you, specifically, your abdomen. He closed the distance between until he was right in front of you, staring down at you with hard eyes. Longing leaped like a flame reaching out in his celestial yellow orbs.

“Love, I am always grateful for your concern for me. And I am feeling much better just knowing you’re beside me.” You raised yourself up, pushing against the chair to try to stand. Thor rushed forward, held you then put his hands under your arms to lift you up. Your child was growing fast. “But how about you? How are you feeling?”

You inched closer, your fingers playing with the locks of his hair that you could reach. “Aside from the stress of waiting, I’ve noticed that you have something else weighing on your mind.

“Tell me, what is it?”

At the sight of you through his warworn eyes, his mind was filled with bliss. For that loving glance of yours, he felt a divine presence and holy atmosphere that seemed to pervade everything around you. Having an inkling of what you were hinting at though, he broke your gaze, in an attempt to avert the guilt you conferred on him.

“Please. We’re in this together, I would want nothing more than to help you back as much as you’ve helped me.” Thor felt you shift in his arms, get more comfortable. He felt the bulk of your child across his legs, the weight no doubt pulling you down. Seeing you in pain like that, was sad and unbearable, and the gnawing feeling grew stronger. And since he knew you were always so full of strength and determination, always unrelenting in your attempts to make him feel better, he began,

“I am afraid.” Red eyebrows drew together.

“Afraid of what?”

“That I might accidentally hurt you and our child,” Thor took a deep breath in then let it out in a sigh while taking a step back. “I do not want that to happen, even if I want to be at your side at all times. And this frustrates me to no end.”

Thor did himself a favor by giving attention to anything other than his wife, refusing to be a witness on the sadness and any he may have caused. Dealing with his own disappointment was nothing new, but he had trouble dealing with the fact that he was the cause of yourpain. He wished he could take his troubles which escaped, hanging in the air, and all the bad feelings on himself and let things continue as they were, but he knew it didn’t work that way. You needed to know that he only wanted you and your child safe and protected, even from himself.

He could not understand how the cosmos could play such a cruel joke on the both of you: you, bore so much pain because of one of the greatest affairs of life, and him, the strongest deity in the Pantheon, was powerless against the natural laws of existence.

Strong shoulders slumped, head bowing as stray strands of red hair fell over Thor’s brow. Not again. He did not wish to be reminded of the cautious sympathy his father and cousin had approached him with. His stomach lurched whenever the subject of your frailty came up. Dread and a terrifying fear overwhelmed his soul for the first time, the thought of losing you−

“Hey,” Your voice which lingered on the gentle breeze brushed against Thor’s face, pulling him out of his stupor. He refocused, turning his gaze onto your sweet face.

How were you able to hold yourself up well despite your obvious pain and suffering? Did you not bear the same nervousness as he did? The answer was obvious, practically screaming in Thor’s ears but became deaf following his guilt and clouded instincts. For a long time since you’d first told him about the news, he bore these worries in silence; but when at length he’d been perplexed by your introspection−or seeming lack of it. Why, in fact, did you concern yourself with him at all? Compared to you, there was hardly any threat to his own life posed. Why had you always done more to make him feel better when you were the one who needed it most?

Cutting through the haze he found himself in was the shape of you, or maybe your hair billowing in the wind, a wisp of it across your face, and then suddenly the feel of your skin, the sense of your head on his chest. Even if it were fleeting, that alone brought him the possibilities of comfort that he’d so needed. Oh, how he missed this; you cupped his big callously marble hands around yours, caressing them so tenderly, as if he were fragile and might break, so short it could never be pulled back.

As he relished the warmth of the blaze you gave him for the winter of unease, he’d realized much sooner that the coldness that inched its icy fingers up his spine still threatened to battle your kind words, you, his very own wife, and he detested himself for being unsure whether or not it was of his own doing; was he pushing you away when you’d only wanted to offer your help?

Thor’s immediate impulse was to pull back from you, abruptly halted by your fingers which slipped between his now splayed hand. You wrinkled your nose in a delightfully unguarded manner that caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Do you remember the first time we said our vows?” If only you knew the way Thor perceived you: in his eyes, your radiant smile reflected the morning sunlight of Valhalla, for a split second picturing the moment you’d walked down the aisle, that headpiece on your head instantiating the paradox of mystery that once lifted revealed your beautiful face, marking it the best day of his long life. Something warm bloomed in his chest once again and spread its heat out through every vein in his body. He remembered the smooth feel of the veil against his cheek after sealing your promise with a kiss, his lips parting with a breathless sigh.

“Your hands caressed my fit of nerves with light, tender touches and then inspired me with hard, passionate embraces,” With effortless ease, you lifted your intertwined hands to your mouth and kissed his knuckle. Thor watched with great admiration your every move, the desire to distance himself was now but an afterthought. Nothing would ever separate him from you when all you’d ever done was pull him closer than ever.

Then, you sought out his hand, kissing his palm as he stroked your face. You clung onto his arms, gripped at his chest as if you were searching for warmth, as if you needed his touch, and much like him, couldn’t bear to be even an inch away. His mind was still slowing its racing to let him mutter something in response, so he allowed himself to be entranced by how smooth and sure of yourself you were, with nothing to mar the calm serenity of your features. Your smile seemed to be a natural adornment, the utter gentleness in your eyes, reminded him of every morning when he woke up, he would see you by his side, as well as your sleeping snoring face. Right at that moment, the silly scream finally made it to the deaf god’s ears:

He was your haven,

The place you called home and went to find peace.

As Thor immersed himself in your smell, your sparkling eyes, he felt the excruciating cold all melt away in your warmth. No more seeds of doubt with which to sow and seek his destiny. Slowly, he began to see his surroundings from a keener point of view, realizing, then appraising them: from the passing wind your hair messed which he pushed aside, tucking it behind your ear, to how his sash seemed to fit him better indeed, rather than cling onto his skin even tighter as brutally as it had done before. He noticed the minute changes since he’d last taken a good look at you months ago: a little flusher on your skin, lines around the eyes a little deeper, a little increase in body temperature.

He pulled you closer, his actions not arising from calculation instead led by instinct. You let him take more of your weight, your belly pressed against his stomach as you sighed, his fingers working wonders on massaging the muscles that had been much abused in carrying the baby’s weight. A sudden wrenching through his sash struck Thor’s heart and had him holding his breath.

The baby had moved, and he’d felt it.

Bending down, he buried his nose in your hair, closing his eyes as he drank in your scent. Your arms wrapped around his back as he connected in this loving embrace, feeling his heart beat in rhythm with your own.

“Our child would no doubt love to be enveloped in their father’s safe arms,” With a light, gentle touch, your fingers ran through Thor’s hair, making him shiver with delight.

On that day, only the beautiful gardens of Asgard became privy to nothing more than a moment in which husband and wife reached for the same comfort and their concerns met. These gardens were simultaneously the very same place where Thor had first avoided the problems that plagued his mind, but also became exactly the same place where he’d find solace in the arms of his lovely wife.

Resting his hand on where his child was, he recognized that familiar feeling turning up, but upon realizing the bittersweet irony of and within these gardens, the revelation came to him: happiness could also come from the very object of fear.

And as you had an unmovable trust in him, there was an unspoken mutual understanding that he too, should put his trust in you.

[babybluebex]

good doctor kreizler ch. 2: book of revelations

summary ↠ sequel to good doctor kreizler // the case of the murdered boys continues, and you're suddenly overcome with terrible emotions for seemingly no reason. but laszlo knows why. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 3.3k warnings ↠ explicit language, mentions of menstruation, nausea, and pregnancy, descriptions of violence against children (yknow how the alienist works lmao) a/n ↠ enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

You sighed heavily and pressed your palm to your diaphragm. Your corset was causing more discomfort than usual, but you could look past it. There were deeds that needed to be done. You stood up from your chair and moved to the telephone on the wall, and you caught the side-long glance that an officer gave you. Perhaps it was some sort of confidence that being with Laszlo gave you, but you found yourself saying, “Can I help you, sir?”

“D’ya need help with that telephone?” the man asked, puffing at a cigarette. The smell of it made you feel ill, especially the way he blew it nearly directly at you. “It can be awfully difficult for a lady.”

You gave him a plantative smile, and you said, “I can manage. Thank you, though.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Because I’d be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Really,” you said, taking up the end of the telephone. “I can do it.”

The man took a step closer, and he placed a hand on your waist. “You think, because you work for the police, you can be a bitch?” he hissed. “If a gentleman offers you help, you take it.”

The door to the room swung open, and you turned to see your lover there, wearing your favorite emerald-green suit and black coat. Laszlo was a gift from the gods, for sure. He made sure you knew that you were worthy of what you were given in the world, and he strived to give you more. Every time he presented you with a new dress or necklace, you always kissed him to show your gratitude, but reminded him that such gifts were not necessary. “You’re the only thing I ask for,” you would remind him. You knew that the thought of it troubled the good doctor, that he was worried that he wasn’t enough, but, every night, you kissed his shoulder and arm and assured him that he was more than what you deserved. You trusted Laszlo with your body, soul, mind, and heart, and he did the same of you.

Which is why you were thankful for the little fibs he would tell every so often to save face. “I would greatly appreciate it if you removed your hand from my wife,” Laszlo said firmly, his accent stronger than usual; his German gravel was intimidating to those who only knew him from stories in the newspaper. “New York’s finest and all…”

The officer took a step back from you, and Laszlo moved closer to you. “What do I owe this visit, sweetheart?” you asked, pressing your hands to his chest. Laszlo bent down and swiped his lips along your cheek, and you felt yourself grow warm at his unusual display of public affection.

“You left a file at home,” Laszlo said. “I remember you talking about transcribing it.”

You cooed softly, and Laszlo reached into his coat and extracted the file folder for you. “You’re so good,” you told him. “What can I do to repay you? I’m sure I’m making you late to the Institute.”

Laszlo tilted his head as he thought, and he put his hand on your waist, right where the officer had put his. Laszlo was hardly a jealous man, but the moments where his mood matched his suit made you giggle. He was a world-renowned alienist, but he was truly just a teenage boy in mind and matter. “Let me take you to dinner tonight,” Laszlo said, and you groaned. “And the opera. Please, my beloved, just one night.”

“Las, I told you, I don’t like when you spend your money on me,” you grumbled. “Just, please. I’m perfectly happy taking dinner at home. In fact, I prefer it more!”

“More than Delmonico’s?” Laszlo asked. “What if I invited John and Sara and the Isaacsons?”

“No, Laszlo,” you giggled, and you pressed your thumb into the little dimple in his chin. “The problem certainly will not be solved by adding more people. Can we just stay home tonight and listen to an opera on the gramophone? We’ve both been working very hard lately, I’d just like a simple night with you.”

“A simple night,” Laszlo said softly, pulling the words around in his mouth. “My beloved, I am not a simple man.”

“Boy, that’s the truth,” you chuckled, and you moved from his grip to return to your desk. “Maybe next week, we can go to the opera. Alright?”

Laszlo chuckled lightly, and he tugged you close and laid a kiss on your forehead. “Whatever you’d like, my beloved,” he told you. “When can I expect you at the Institute?”

You pulled Laszlo’s left arm up to your face and looked at his watch, ticking away at half noon, and you said, “Around three or so. Would you mind having some tea ready for when I get there? I’m feeling plain awful today.”

“What’s wrong?” Laszlo asked, and you smiled at the sudden emergence of Dr. Kreizler. While his degree wasn’t exactly in physical medicine, he always liked to be the first to examine you for maladies if they arose.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed, waving your hand dismissively. “Just a bit of a stomach ache. I assume it’s nearing that time of the month for me, Las, you know how I get.”

“Of course,” Laszlo said softly. “You know, you could have just told me that’s why you didn’t want to eat at Delmonico’s tonight.”

You looked around quickly, finding the small space empty void for you and your lover, and you carefully took the furred lapel of Laszlo’s coat between your fingers and tugged him close, close enough for you to smell the lavender pastile that he liked so much. “Truly, my reason was more than that,” you whispered. “I wanted you to ravage me tonight, for as long as we both can bear.”

You almost missed the way that Laszlo’s breath hitched in his throat, but you were glad you noticed it. “It is getting to be that time, isn’t it?” he said carefully. “Increase in libido is a common side effect of menstruation.”

You hummed softly and pressed your fingers to his cheek. “I love it when you talk like that,” you said. “You’re so wonderfully smart, Las, I wish you wouldn’t be ashamed to show it.”

“I’m not,” Laszlo said. “You just choose to ignore my intelligence.”

“Now, why in the world would I do that?” you laughed. “You ought to be getting to the Institute. I’ll see you shortly.”

Laszlo gave you a warm smile and kissed your cheek, and you felt yourself shiver at his lips. God, you could hardly believe how much you loved him. You felt your stomach flutter, and you heaved a sigh. “I love you,” Laszlo said softly, and he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you soon, my beloved.”

You fixed your jaw and swallowed down the ungodly feeling in your throat. Something was wrong, you could tell. The usual air of the parlor was not there, the cheerful if slightly remorseful lightness. Instead, the parlor was overtaken with a heady sadness that completely outweighed the macabre curiosity.

“Laslzo,” you said quickly, dropping your briefcase by the table, and you joined your lover at the window. He was smoking his pipe, something you had only ever seen him do a handful of times before, and you immediately ran your hand soothingly down his back. “What’s happened?”

“Another body,” Laszlo mumbled. “Another child.”

You bristled. “But-But I thought we had figured it out? The murderer followed Catholic holy days?”

“That was a suitable theory at the time,” Laszlo said. His gaze was fixed to the outside world through the murky glass, and you looked around the room. John was sitting at the long table, absently sketching something, and Sara was studying the chalkboard that was covered in Laszlo’s neat script. “But he’s gone off schedule, and we might as well be back where we started.”

“Not really,” you said softly. “I mean, so he jumped ahead a few days. If the body bears the same marks, if the victim is the same as the others, I don’t see why a change in date--”

“Of course you don’t,” Laszlo scoffed, and he stepped away from you.

You were stunned silent, and you watched Laszlo move back to the table with the heaps of paperwork. “What does that mean?” you asked.

“You’re not looking at the entire picture,” Laszlo said sharply. “You’re only focused on the way he changed the date, not the why. Why did he change his schedule, why is there another body weeks ahead of the next holy day? Now we have to be concerned if it’s even the same murderer. Is it a copycat murderer that hasn’t pinned down the schedule as we have? There are many moving parts to this that you don’t seem to comprehend.”

“Las, I do see that,” you countered. The way he doubted you stung your chest, but that was Laszlo. When he was angry, he lashed out. You had come to accept him, even if the words he said truly hurt. You saw Sara turn to look at you, a hint of pity in her blue eyes, and you sighed. “Look, do we have records of the new victim’s body? Perhaps that will give us insight.”

“Yes,” John said quickly, not even giving Laslzo a chance to answer and cut your feelings even deeper. Why had his admonitions hurt so much more than usual? You were afraid that, if he spoke to you like that again, you would start crying. And then they would be right, everybody would be right: a woman was too delicate to handle crimes like this. “I visited the morgue as soon as I heard. I sketched what I could manage, and took notes of everything else.”

You moved around to join John at the other side of the table, choosing to ignore Laszlo. You could feel his eyes follow you as you bent towards John to look at his sketches, and your eyes followed the charcoal lines of a young boy. Like the others, his eyes were plucked out, his throat slit, and his hand cut off, but a few errant marks on the boy’s stomach made you tilt your head. “What’s this?” you asked, gently tracing the lines with your finger. Soot of the charcoal came off on your fingertip, but you paid little attention to it.

“Our murderer made gashes in the boy’s stomach,” John said. “This one--” he pointed to a particular line, “Was deep enough to view the intestines. Four in total, but they don’t seem to follow a pattern.”

“Everything follows a pattern, John,” Laszlo said quickly. “We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Four…” you mumbled. “And this sketch is accurate to scale?” John nodded, and your eyes studied it for a moment longer. Four of them, two of them a bit shorter than the others. Those two were situated at the bottom of the boy’s belly, right where the V of his hip bones would be, and the one of them was at the top, just under his breastbone. The fourth, the biggest, longest, deepest, was straight down the middle, bisecting the boy’s navel.

Your vision became blurred. Your breath came in gasps, and you felt dizzy. A terrible sickness crawled up your throat, and you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to stop the flow of vomit. Vomit. You never vomited, not even when you had viewed past victims’ bodies in person. The smell of corpses wasn’t even enough to make you ill, but your heart quickened when you cast another glance to the sketch.

You fell into a chair besides John, and you gasped, “I think I’m gonna be sick--”

Sara came to clutch your hand in an instant, and John hurried to hide the sketch. “Las,” you mumbled. “Can you get me some water, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Laszlo said quickly. Your other hand was filled by his, and you cast a glance upwards at him. Now, instead of the tepid malice that he had had in his eyes, he had complete worry.

“I’ll get you some water,” John said. “Laszlo, watch over her. I’ll be back.”

“What happened?” Sara asked. “You started to sway and turned a ghostly pale. Did you see something?”

“J-Just those gashes,” you mumbled. “They-They looked like scars my mother had.”

“Scars?” Laszlo asked. “What do you mean?”

You sniffled, and took your hands from both grasps to wring in your lap. “I was born via Cesarean section,” you said. “M-My mother had been sick and fragile since before she was pregnant with me, and her doctor advised against natural childbirth. She had a scar right down the middle of her stomach in the same fashion as the body… A-And, when I was still in school, a doctor found a series of tumors in her ovaries. It had spread through the rest of her, but the doctor tried to combat it by removing the original tumors, and… The scars on his waist match the ones my mother had. I-I just-- Why would the murderer give this poor boy a woman’s scars?”

Laszlo bristled at this. You hardly ever mentioned your family, or him his, and he knelt down in front of you. “There’s something more than that,” he said softly. “My beloved, please speak to me. What’s troubling you?”

You chewed your bottom lip, and you gave a gasp as you tried to steady your breathing. “Sara,” you mumbled. “Can you give us a moment?”

Sara squeezed your hand and nodded, and she quickly excused herself. You waited until the door closed fully before sobbing and leaning forward to rest your head against your knees. “I’m sorry, Las,” you mumbled. “I-I just-- I can’t bear the sight of that today. I’ve felt ill all day, and now all of this, it’s far too much for me right now.”

You had nearly forgotten that you had requested tea earlier in the day, and you watched Laszlo rise from his knee and retrieve the tea cup. He quickly took note of your quivering hands, and he lifted the porcelain tea cup to your mouth. You sipped at it, hoping that it might soothe you, and you wiped your tears from your cheeks. “Laszlo, what’s wrong with me?” you sniffled. “I-I’ve never done this before, why now?”

“You already said that you feel ill,” Laszlo said carefully. “Maybe the sight of the body and the state of it was a shock to your system. Has the nausea passed?”

You shook your head quickly. The ugly feeling of it still sat in the very back of your throat, and you reached out for him. Laszlo set the tea cup aside and came to you, and you buried your face in his stomach from where you sat. Your arms circled his waist and you held him tightly, and you keened up into his hand as he began to stroke your hair.

Suddenly, Laszlo began to move with quickness, pulling you to your feet. You hardly had time to ask what he was doing before his fingers began to undo the back of your blouse. “Laszlo!” you cried. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Trust me, my beloved,” Laszlo said quickly. With his one arm tight to his body, he pulled your blouse off of you, then started at your corset. That sick feeling back came, and you reached forward and braced yourself against the table. Your head hung as you tried to control your nausea, and you whimpered, “Laszlo, what is this?”

Your lover gave a growl, one of deep frustration, and he grabbed your corset by the bottom hem and shoved it down your body, past your waist, to expose your breasts and stomach. You couldn’t help but sigh at the release of pressure on your middle, and Laszlo turned you around to see your bare skin. He knelt down in front of you and pressed his forehead against your stomach, and you watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. You hardly understood what he was doing, but, if the half year courting him was any indication, he knew what was best. “When was the last time you menstruated?” Laszlo asked, next pressing his cheek to your bare stomach.

Your hand instinctively went to cradle his cheek, and you shrugged. “Several months ago,” you said. “I… They come and go, I suppose. Is that normal?”

“And your breasts?” Laszlo asked next, and you grimaced.

“What’re you getting at?” you asked.

“My beloved,” Laszlo said carefully, and he looked up at you from his place on the floor. His dark eyes were glistening with tears, and your heart sank and adrenaline rushed bitterly into your mouth.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Laszlo, no, I-I’m not-- I can’t be--”

“I think you are, beloved,” Laszlo said. He stood up and shucked off his suit jacket, and he laid it across your shoulders to hide your body from the cold room. “I think that you’re pregnant, my beloved. That would explain every malady you have: the aches, the irritability, the nausea, the delicateness, the increase in libido. Pregnancy offers an explanation for all of these.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, but a smile came with them. “You…” you started, and you sent a weak punch to Laszlo’s firm chest. “You absolute bastard!”

Laszlo laughed and tugged you into him, and you hugged him tightly. Laszlo, your wonderful Las, the father of your child. “Oh, my beloved,” he sighed, kissing the side of your head. “How did I not see it before?”

“Men can tend to be blind to such things,” you said. “But I feel as if a special blockade is up for you when it concerns me.”

“I agree,” Laszlo said. His hand came up to rest against your face, and you leaned into his touch. “My dearest girl…” he hummed, and he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours. You pressed back, letting a smile grace your lips. “Marry me, my beloved.”

It was hardly even a question. “Of course, Las,” you said softly. “How could I say no to you? It would ruin your reputation, having a child out of wedlock.”

“Thta's true,” Laszlo shrugged. “But I think you would want to marry me regardless.”

“How dare you act as if you know what I want,” you said, but you kissed the tip of his nose anyway. “But, yes, Laszlo. I would love to marry you. Mrs. Kreizler… Is that something you ever thought you’d hear?”

“Not from you,” Laszlo chuckled. “I never thought that you would want the burdens of marriage. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that upon our first meeting.”

“How could you manage any thought during that interaction?” you giggled. “If what you told me was true, you were quite distracted that day.”

Laszlo gave a soft little grunt, and he snuffled his face into your neck. “Yes, well, a man has to learn to multitask,” he said. “Oh my God, I cannot begin--”

The door to the parlor banged open, and you hurried to cover yourself. “Marcus,” Laszlo said firmly. “Give us a moment, will you?”

“Doc, this is pretty important--”

“I am having a private conversation with my fiancée, Mr. Isaacson,” Laszlo said, his voice rising just a bit. “You can tell me whatever you wish as soon as I finish this conversation.”

You looked over your shoulder to the younger Isaacson twin, and your face grew hot when your shoulder slipped from the jacket. Marcus’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he put his hands up in a plantation gesture. “Right,” he said quickly. “Um, sorry, Doc. I’ll be--”

“Do hurry it up, Marcus,” you said, pulling your fiancé’s jacket tight around you. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”

You watched Marcus leave the room and shut the heavy door behind him, and you scoffed and dissolved into giggles. You buried your face into Laslzo’s warm chest and kissed just over his heart, and you sighed. “I’d love to speak more about this at home,” you said. “I love you to absolute death, Laszlo.”

“And I love you more,” Laszlo said softly.

[delimeful]

Helpless (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, spiders/arachnophobia, mild violence

-

Halfway through the woods, Patton heard the distinct sound of someone mumbling.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head to listen with a fair bit of curiosity. The mumbling was quiet enough that he couldn’t make out any individual words, but he could more or less tell which direction it was coming from.

Whatever the source was, they sounded a little frustrated.

He hesitated. Virgil was always emphasizing how careful Patton needed to be in the woods, though how much of that was due to actual danger and how much was the drider being a worrywart over Patton’s ‘chronic inability to defend himself’, he wasn’t sure.

Either way, this didn’t sound like a dangerous wild animal, so it would probably be okay to take a little detour and see what the matter was!

He followed the noise off the trail into a thick copse of trees, eventually coming upon intricate silvery threadwork that wound between them. He was proud to say he only barely shuddered as he ducked past them, his fear of spiders mostly overcome by his affection for his friend.

The webbing got thicker the further he went, and eventually he came upon the source of the mumbling, which appeared to be a whole person, stuck against the outer edge of one of Virgil’s larger webs.

They looked up upon spotting him, eyes bright for a moment before taking him in and visibly dulling with disappointment, which, aside from sorta hurting Patton’s feelings, seemed an odd response for someone in need of help.

“Hello there,” he greeted, waving. “My name’s Patton, I live over at the nearby town. You seem to be in a bit of a prestickament!”

“No, I did this myself,” the stranger corrected, already looking past Patton with disinterest. “It is an attempt to meet with someone I would like to speak with, and they seem the skittish sort, so I would appreciate it if you moved on.”

Patton hummed, more than a little confused. Something about this seemed familiar. “What are you going to do if this person doesn’t show up, though?”

“My arms are free,” they responded, frowning at Patton’s persistence as they wiggled the fingers of their free hand demonstrably. The other hand was occupied with a worn-looking journal. “I will be able to eat and drink, and thus am in no danger.”

“My friend says these woods can get mighty cold at night,” Patton countered, undeterred. “Can’t you meet your friend in town, instead? Why does it have to be a drider’s web?”

And, oh, that was it! Virgil had just been telling him the other day about someone who’d gotten stuck in one of his webs just like this, a mage who had been all-too-delighted to see him. Patton had hardly registered how they’d met, since he’d mostly been very upset to learn that some people would try to use his friend’s body parts as potions ingredients.

“That’s because the drider is the one I’m hoping to speak with,” the stranger replied, as though it should be obvious. “I sincerely doubt they would appreciate an invitation to town.”

Patton stared at the little notebook for a moment, and abruptly put the pieces together. This must have been the stranger that freaked Virgil out so badly!

And he was lying in wait in one of Virgil’s webs… In that case, there was no way he could leave things like this.

“I don’t think the drider is around,” he offered cheerily. “Sometimes they migrate to different areas for different seasons! You won’t meet anyone while hanging around, so I’ll help you down!”

He circled around the tree where most of the webs were rooted, approaching the stranger’s edge of webbing, and found to his surprise that they really were stuck. How they planned to ambush Virgil while stuck in a web, he wasn’t sure, especially since the gambit hadn’t worked on the first attempt either. Magic, maybe?

“How do you know that?” the stranger asked, craning to look at him with sudden interest. “About drider migration cycles.”

Patton shrugged as he plucked at the threads of the web, testing each one to see where they led. “I’m a good listener, so I pick things up here and there. What do you do?”

It seemed to be the right question to ask, since the stranger perked up, distracted from his inquiry.

“I am a researcher,” they informed Patton. “I’m seeking out information on the more reclusive creatures that live in these lands, like driders! This is the first one that I’ve met in person, so if they’re leaving, I need to catch up right away.”

Patton slid the sheath off of the little paring knife he’d taken to carrying and started sawing at one of the threads. “Are you going to try to capture him?” he asked, keeping his voice as even as he could. “You know, for your research.”

“I’m not a bounty hunter,” they replied indignantly. “The behavior of any being would be unnatural and stilted while imprisoned, especially a sapient one. My research is meant to increase humanity's understanding of driders, not to put them on display for entertainment.”

Patton blinked at them, slicing through another strand. “You… aren’t looking to hurt them?”

“No!” They honestly sounded offended by the idea. “I don’t think I ever could, anyhow, the one I met was very large, and they would likely be able to incapacitate me without any trouble.”

“Weren’t you scared?” Patton asked, remembering the terror that had swept through him during that first encounter, when he’d thought the drider was a giant creepy crawly death dealer. Even after he realized, when Virgil yoinked him with his two front legs, Patton had been a little nervous.

“People are only scared of what they don’t understand,” they informed him, chin lifted stubbornly, “and I know more about driders than any other human. I don’t see any reason to be afraid.”

“Wow… You’re really passionate about this, huh?” Patton grinned as he sliced through the last of the support webbing, and with a few snaps, the researcher fell to the ground, only a few strands of silk clinging to them.

“Of course!” they replied, pausing to pull some of the softer webbing bits off of himself and folding them into a pocket of his bag. “The information compiled on them is often vague or outright misleading, and due to their reclusiveness and occasional aggression, nobody else has been able to correct these false accounts.”

They paused, studying the woods around them. “I am… uncertain on how I’m going to discern which area the drider has chosen to migrate to. I don’t suppose you have any idea?”

Patton patted their shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. I think there’s a friend of mine you should meet properly.”

—

“Virgil!” Patton called brightly. “I’m here!”

He had been leading the way through increasingly dense and shadowy foliage for a fair while, now. Logan glanced up from their connected hands to see exactly where he was being pulled to, his heartbeat picking up in speed despite the possibility that this was a cruel prank or even a mugging.

Sure, Patton had described the drider that he’d met a couple of days ago quite accurately, but that was no assurance that he was actually familiar with the being. Most of the townsfolk seemed peripherally aware of ‘Virgil’’s presence, after all, so Patton could have glimpsed him before. It seemed more likely than them being friends. Driders were notoriously solitary, and ‘Virgil’ had seemed quite averse during Logan’s encounter with him, after all.

There was a crack from above, like a branch snapping.

In the next moment, a heavy weight had dropped down from above, knocking Logan to the ground and forcing all the air from his lungs. As he gasped futilely, he realized there were two hands pinning his arms to the ground, and some very familiar fangs put on full display, mere inches from his face.

“Leave him alone,” a very angry drider demanded, his regular voice layered with harsh, gravely rattling.

Logan wheezed in response, absently noting that there were multiple small black eyes visible against the dark marks under the more human set of eyes and wondering just how the two different ocular sensory organs overlapped.

“Virgil, stop!” Patton’s hands appeared at the edge of Logan’s vision, pushing back against Virgil’s shoulders until he eased up, lifting his crouched spider half up only slightly, as though prepared to lunge at Logan again at any moment. “He’s fine! He won’t hurt you!”

Virgil’s glare finally flicked away, though it turned more bewildered-angry than murderous-angry once landing on Patton. Logan wasn’t sure, but he thought the smaller eyes remained locked on him. “This is the mage I told you about! It’s not safe, you need to get out of here--,”

“Mage?” Logan asked, his voice still coming out a little winded. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s not,” Patton said at nearly the same time, “I promise, he just wants to know more about you! Right, Logan?”

“I’m certainly not a mage,” he agreed, rubbing at his arm. The full force of a drider grabbing him… that was going to bruise. He wondered if there was a way to measure that power. “I’m not sure how you got that impression, I don’t have any of the tools mages often carry.”

Virgil looked back and forth between the two humans with clear consternation, and Patton was the one who answered. “Well, most people are afraid at just the sight of him. And… you weren’t.”

“Of course not,” Logan said, still trying to grasp the connection between his lack of fear and his alleged magehood. “I was enthralled. He’s very beautiful.”

Above him, Virgil made a choked-off noise and shuffled back, giving Logan space to sit up and regain full faculty of his senses. Virgil had turned his face away, and Patton was muffling a smile behind his hand.

“Was that… invasive?” Logan asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them. “I apologize, this is my first research voyage, so I may have become... over-enthusiastic.”

Virgil flapped a hand at him, as though trying to physically dispel his words. “What exactly does a ‘research voyage’ entail?”

Logan straightened up, trying to look as professional as possible while still sitting on the forest floor. He suspected there might be detritus in his hair. “It’s a journey undertaken by apprentice-level researchers to expand their knowledge in their specific field. Often, once they have thorough evidence and a compelling thesis, they will return to their teacher and present this in order to advance as a journeyman.”

Of course, Logan had no intention of doing that. He was going to spend as long as he could traveling and learning and compiling his knowledge, until nobody could argue that he wasn’t suited to the world of scholars.

“And your field is… spiders? Monsters?” Virgil asked, eyebrows raised dubiously.

“I am attempting to correct the misconceptions that are so rampant in bestiaries,” Logan corrected. “So many depend on them, but I’ve found very few actually capture the intricacies of the cultures and habits of nonhuman magical beings. They read more like old wives’ tales, passed down and warped with time, and both the scientific community and the beings in question suffer for it.”

“Huh.” Virgil tilted his head slightly, and Logan realized that at some point his smaller eyes had closed, the dark creases vanishing amidst the pockets of shade under his eyes.

“That sounds like the bestiary way to help people!” Patton added, and Logan watched in disbelief as Virgil’s expression relaxed further, the drider snorting softly.

“So all I’d have to do is… be a drider in front of you?” he asked, one of his back legs tapping against the ground in a remarkable imitation of the way a nervous human might tap their foot. Logan nodded. “I guess… it could work. And it’d be nice to have someone else around who won’t scream at the sight of me.”

“New friend!” Patton cheered, looking perhaps more delighted at the idea than Logan’s presence really warranted. “Only the spidaring are cool enough to be friends with Virgil.”

“Is the wordplay going to be a regular thing with him?” Logan asked, his face pinching sourly.

“Better get used to it. He’s punstoppable,” Virgil replied, grinning toothily when Logan shot him a betrayed look. Logan thought he seemed pleased, going by the subtle twitching of his pointy ears.

Logan hid a small smile of his own. Perhaps following Patton wasn't the unwisest decision he'd ever made, after all.

[peachy-panic]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 3: “WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

This is the next chronological piece of Do No Harm, continued directly from this chapter.

Tag list: @whumpervescence  @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump

WARNINGS: Medical procedures, referenced/implied noncon, slavery setting, the usual.

The young doctor seems a bit skittish and far less cruel than the other Facility employees, and that comes with the dangerous notion that perhaps he doesn’t plan on hurting him. But that notion requires a naivety of which Jaime is no longer capable. He, of all people, is aware that cruelty can disguise itself in many shapes and sizes. Just because it isn’t obvious doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and that only makes it all the more dangerous.

There’s no use in hoping either way, he decides. Dr. Tate will either hurt him or he won’t, will either touch him or he won’t, and Jaime can’t — won’t — react. He has already made that mistake once today and will certainly pay for it later in ways he doesn’t want to think about now. He would do well to remember that he doesn’t hold any power here. Not in this room, this building, this life. And that, despite any arbitrary written rules, Dr. Tate is free to do as he pleases. 

At least he had removed the restraints from his mouth and wrists. Jaime can console himself with this small mercy. 

Those had always been the worst part of nights with Mr. Torley, on the all-too-frequent occasions he decided to use them. He was clearly very into them, and even more into Jaime’s fear of them. In addition to the claustrophobia they stoked in him, the use of restraints in bed had always felt something like a mockery. What use was it to restrain someone who can’t fight back regardless? The binds on his wrists and ankles were nothing more than accessories. The shackles in his mind did all the work to keep him still. And Mr. Torley knew that.

He does his best not to think about that now. Not to think about Mr. Torley at all, since that was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Distantly, he wonders how long the influence of his first Keeper will continue to stain Jaime’s existence beyond the termination of their six-month contract.

Dr. Tate, who has been buried in the cabinets above the sink for several minutes, turns back to him sporting bright-blue gloves that adhere tightly around his slender hands. He meets Jaime’s eyes for half a second before his gaze darts somewhere just to the left of his shoulder. 

“We need to run a couple of tests,” he says in a detached, clinical voice, all notes of lightheartedness from earlier removed. “I’ll need to collect some samples from you.”

Jaime nods once in acknowledgement, squeezing his fingers tightly, unconsciously around the edge of the table. There’s an unnatural pause in his cadence, and Jaime when looks up, he watches a slight twitch of movement in the doctor’s jaw. 

“Please remove your pants and underwear,” Dr. Tate says, his voice taking on a lower pitch. “You can leave them on up to your thighs, if you’d like.”

The slight shift in demeanor sets Jaime on edge, but he doesn’t hesitate at the command, even as a familiar panic claws at the inside of his throat. He drops forward from the table, his legs taking his weight. His thumbs hook the waistband of the thin, cotton pants he had been returned in, and he doesn’t allow himself a moment of hesitation before pushing them unceremoniously off his hips. He takes Dr. Tate up on his merciful offer to keep them partially on his body. The cold, sterile air inside the clinic is sharp against his exposed skin.

Jaime’s eyes find the ceiling as he prepares for the touch he knows is coming. He doesn’t look to see whatever tools and instruments Dr. Tate is laying out on the silver tray beside the exam table. He doesn’t have to. “We need to run a couple of tests.”  Whatever foolish hypotheticals Jaime once held in regards to WRU — what they did and didn’t know about the treatment of their wards — had long been shattered. 

Of course they needed to test him for sexually transmitted diseases. They can’t have a Domestic Companion spreading something to the next paying customer that buys their time and exposing their innocent charade. 

There’s a pause in Dr. Tate’s movement, but Jaime doesn’t look away from his spot on the ceiling tile.

“I’m going to touch you, now.” Dr. Tate’s voice is low and measured. “I need to examine you for bumps or sores, any abnormalities.” He clears his throat. “And I’ll take a swab from your urethra. It might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt you.” Another pause. “Please, tell me if it does.”

Jaime’s grip on the table tightens, but he otherwise doesn’t react. Distantly, he is grateful for the warning, the bare explanation, mortifying as it is. He knows that the doctors here are not obligated to explain anything to the Companion patients, to seek consent in any form. Their consent was implicitly given in the contracts they signed at intake. He just as easily could have left Jaime gagged and bound to the table and gone about the procedure without so much as a word to him. Jaime is glad he hadn’t. 

Instead, Dr. Tate’s touch is light and professional. His gloved hands don’t linger, they don’t poke and prod to get a reaction from him. It seems, even, that he touches him as little as possible. Almost as if he is as eager to get this over with as Jaime is, which doesn’t feel quite possible. 

The fluorescent strip of light next to his focal point on the ceiling burns at the edge of his vision, but he doesn’t look away, using the mild discomfort as an anchor to hold himself steady. He concentrates on that instead of the gentle touches, gritting his teeth against any traitorous urges his body might provoke. Mr. Torley had loved that about Jaime — his responsiveness to touch — but not as much as he loved using it against him. 

His stomach sours at the memory, fresh humiliation creeping into his cheeks at the idea of something similar happening now. He doesn’t think Dr. Tate would tease him the way his Keeper had, but he still doesn’t relish the idea of becoming physically aroused in front of this young doctor, who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him and, in another life, Jaime might have found pretty. 

The thought is gone almost as soon as it comes, too painful to linger on. The idea of another life. A normal life. A life at all. These are thoughts Jaime is forbidden to have. The phantom sting of an electric shock lights up the column of his throat and Jaime winces.

“Sorry,” Dr. Tate said quickly, misunderstanding the movement and withdrawing his hand. Jaime’s eyes finally fall to his as the doctor takes a step back, inserting the long swab into a glass tube and sealing it with a cap. “The worst part is over.”

Jaime is numb all over, but he nearly laughs. He knows that having stepped foot in this facility again, the “worst part” has not even begun. 

“I’ll need to collect another sample from your mouth,” Dr. Tate continues, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, and Jaime absently wonders why they even bother wasting extra product on the patients here. “And we’ll draw some blood—” 

Something catches his voice mid-sentence and Jaime’s eyes flick up to his again. Dr. Tate looks at him, and then pointedly, hurriedly away. Jaime swears he can see his pale cheeks reddening.

“You can— We’re finished with that part.” He stumbles out. “Feel free to cover yourself up.”

Jaime does as he’s told, finding it somewhere within himself to be grateful that the doctor had kept the procedure professional. He couldn’t say the same thing for every encounter he’d had in the facility clinic before. 

********

Sebastian knows what happens next, and that’s why he finds himself taking his time with the rest of the visit. As soon as he’s completed the mandated intake exam, he is supposed to mark the patient as cleared in his chart and alert the handlers to come collect him. To take him back into the part of the facility where Sebastian has never set foot; the “residential” wing where the unclaimed Companions are housed between contracts. On all the promotional advertisements, it’s depicted as a dormitory-like accommodation. Now that Sebastian knows just how little truth exists behind their lies, he can only imagine it’s nothing of the sort. 

His mind conjures images of iron-barred cells and concrete rooms, of medieval dungeons with chains and darkness and filth. It’s a sensationalized version of what he assumes is probably the truth, but that doesn’t mean the reality is any less horrible. After what he’s seen in his time here and everything he’s heard, he has no doubt that the people who are forced to reside here between Keepers are subject to the company’s own brand of horror. Frankly, he’s in no hurry to turn his patient back over to their hands a moment sooner than he has to.

The boy is silent and entirely pliable throughout the whole exam, allowing himself to be moved when necessary and not so much as flinching when the needles for the blood draw break his skin. Sebastian is glad when the more… invasive parts of the exam are over. The boy had been no less compliant during them, maybe even the opposite, but Sebastian hadn’t missed the subtle changes in his posture, the way the muscles in his hands clenched and released around the edge of the table as he touched him as little as possible. 

He had looked up at the ceiling instead of at the wall behind Sebastian, as he had done previously, and Sebastian had silently prayed that the position wasn’t intended as a way to hold back tears. He doesn’t know how he could live with himself if he made this kid cry.

When the blood has been drawn, the test samples submitted for lab processing, and a full physical performed, Sebastian has run out of ways to delay the inevitable. He closes out of the boy’s patient profile on his screen and turns to him, hands folded professionally in front. 

“I’ll need to alert the handlers that your intake exam is complete,” he told him, probably unnecessarily. He hadn’t looked to see how long he had been in the system, but from his behavior, he assumes it’s been long enough to break his spirit. He probably knows these protocols better than Sebastian ever wants to. “They’ll come and escort you back to the residential quarters.”

110750 nods once without looking at him. “Thank you,” he says flatly. Then, there is a moment of pause before he lifts his eyes and seems to level Sebastian with something more sincere. “Thank you for… for letting me get cleaned up.”

Sebastian feels like shattering into pieces all over the cold linoleum. Instead, he tries for a smile and lands somewhere in the realm of a tight, thin line at his lips. “Sure,” he says, a bit mortified to hear the crack in his voice. 

He watches 110750 take slow, measured breaths as Sebastian makes the call he desperately wishes he didn’t have to make. He tries not to stare as they wait in tense silence for the handlers to arrive. Of course, Sebastian could leave the room if he wants. The intake procedure is done, and so is his minimal obligation to patient care. But something feels wrong about leaving him. More than that, something feels utterly wrong about this boy being taken out of the clinic, away from his line of sight, where he can’t see what will happen next. He only knows it won’t be good. 

A split second before he hears the clinic doors whoosh open, Sebastian steps closer to his patient, lowering his voice to a quick, urgent whisper. “Keep an eye on that broken nose,” he advises. “If you have any trouble breathing as it heals, please don’t hesitate to let your assigned handler know that you need medical attention, okay?”

The boy hitches in a breath but doesn’t respond. Sebastian takes half a step closer. 

“Look, you have a right to medical assistance,” he says, the words feeling like treason on his tongue despite knowing their written truth. “Even here. Even now. You can always come see me here if you need to. They can’t legally prevent you from requesting care. Do you understand?”

Unexpectedly, something dark flashes in the boy’s eyes. Something less like the fear and dread he had witnessed earlier, and something much more akin to anger. Anger at Sebastian?

Before the interaction can go any further, they are interrupted by the unceremonious swing of the exam room door. The same two men who had brought him in - one with a fresh bandage on his face - push their way in, stepping between Sebastian and his patient. 

“Up you go, 7-5-0,” Handler Hernandez barks, and the boy is on his feet before he can finish the command, his hands behind his back, head bowed. 

“Oh, look who finally decided to behave,” the other one - Smith, maybe? - taunts as he sizes him up in a way that makes even Sebastian’s skin crawl. Just as he had prior to the visit, the man shifts his gaze to him, a sneer permanently embedded into his expression. “Does he get a lollipop for good behavior? Maybe a sticker?”

The boy doesn’t look up at him, but Sebastian thinks he sees his throat move. He feels a swell of rage rise into his throat, coming to a boiling point for the second time since he entered the room with this boy, but he swallows it back, keeping as level an expression as he can manage. 

“He was perfectly agreeable,” he responds tightly, refusing to play into whatever mockery he’s initiating. 

Smith answers him with a dismissive snort, turning his attention back to the boy like a predator who just found fresh meat. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He asks, the thick rubber of his boots squeaking against the tile as he takes a step too far into the boy’s personal space. “Think we can go the easy way back, or would you prefer to do things the hard way again?”

The beat of silence in the room is painful as they await his response, which comes eventually in a subdued voice, through slightly gritted teeth and with his eyes on the floor. “The easy way. Sir.”

A snort from Hernandez breaks the tension. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, he is escorted from the room and seems to take with him all the air in Sebastian's lungs. Naively, desperately, he hopes for the briefest moment of eye contact before he’s taken away from him. But his eyes stay downward, even as a large hand curls around his bicep and makes him stumble in his gait as he’s yanked forward. Sebastian watches helplessly as he disappears from sight, one singular thought slicing through his mind on a loop:

Who did this to you?

[doyumacy]

ʀɪᴅᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ - teaser

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you have been gone for a year, but very little has changed. your half bother’s still a legend in underground races. the same girls hate you. the same boy still makes your heart race, but this time you won’t let him get close enough to hurt you again. not again. not like before.

mark lee has just arrived to town and he’s only staying long enough to set up a few street races, make some money, and have fun. but he might stir up some trouble when begins hanging around with his sponsor’a half sister, and it’s not just her brother he’s pissing off.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷,𝟿ᴋ

ʀᴇʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ: ᴀᴘʀɪʟ 𝟹, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷

three years ago

you slide out from under the car you've been working on when you hear an unfamiliar engine approaching the garage. it must be a customer, you think as you go to the front desk to help them.

"can i help you?" you ask, freely.

"i have a faulty spark plug and my garage is on the other side of the planet. they told me this was the best place in town."

"and it is. go ahead and go into the store."

"don't mechanics normally keep people waiting in the office?" he asked amused.

"only when the person doesn't know anything about cars. obviously you do, so you have to keep me company while i fix it," you smirk.

"what's your name, suh? -he asks, using the last name on your work shirt.

"y/n. yours?"

"yuta. nakamoto yuta."

"nice to meet you. let's get that car fixed, shall we?"

a few minutes later, the black car is with the hood open in the garage. yuta, on the other hand, is helping you by handing you the necessary tools. you let his fingers brush a little more than strictly necessary when yuta hands you a wrench.

yuta smiles and leans back against the car once you're done. "how much do i owe you?" he asks quietly.

it takes you a second to really register how close you are to each other. you look him in the eye. "how about you take me out to dinner and the debt is settled?" you ask in a sudden flare of audacity.

fortunately, he smiles.

"my thoughts exactly. what time will you be out here?

“six.”

he looks down at that ridiculously nice black gold watch.

"it's only an hour from now. how about i keep you company until then?"

"i'd like that."

"so what were you working on before i showed up?"

"my charger over there. there are some bastards who want to compete with me saying their luxury imports can beat it. tonight they're in for an ugly surprise."

you assume yuta has heard about your garage, knows about your regular clientele. they consider themselves the best store around to the fellow street racers. but to everyone else, it's just a small garage.

"that sounds like something i'd like to see. mind if i stay and watch you kick their asses?"

"it'd be my pleasure," you smile.

as expected, you end up following yuta back to his apartment after winning the race by a solid car length. the endorphins from winning the race flood your senses, and yuta is amazed that he had managed to stumble upon such an amazing girl. someone like him.

sl walking, you find yourself wrapped in warm arms and leaning against a hard chest. you caress the dragon-shaped tattoo on his right shoulder and plant a kiss on it.

a quiet moan tells you she is waking up. his arm tightens around her. he plants a kiss on your forehead.

"good morning to you too," you say.

yuta rolls you onto his back and rests his torso on top of yours. "good morning."

"you look happy.

"i woke up with a beautiful, bad-ass, street-racing woman in my arms. how could i complain?”

you laugh. "well, i could say the same thing. it's not often i get to wake up next to a hot guy and that brother would probably beat up if he knew where i spent the night."

he barks out a laugh. "you're most likely right..." he bites his lip. "there's something you need to know."

your smile disappears. "you're not married, are you?"

"no! god, no," he replies instantly. "i just want to know if you want it to be more than a brief fling."

you are silent for a moment as he thought.

"yes, i think so. i mean, we could get to know each other better but yes," you explain.

"then we're on the same page," you nod absently. "do you want to have breakfast before we go on with our talk?"

you can't help but get a little nervous. what does he have to say?

"what do you want for breakfast?"

"uh..." you sit up, holding the black sheet against your chest to cover yourself. "whatever. i'm not particularly picky."

yuta nods and gets out of bed, pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants. he leaves his room and you lie back down on the bed. your cell phone rings somewhere in yuta's room and you grunt getting up to look for it. you find it inside your jeans.

"y/n! where the hell are you?" johnny asks as soon as you answer the phone. “you didn’t come home last night, and jaehyun said there was a guy watching you the entire race.”

“don’t worry about it, brother. that guy was my date last night. i’m at this place right now,” you grin.

“hold on, you had a date?! who? why didn’t you tell me?” johnny bombards you with questions.

you sigh. you saw this coming.

“everything all right?” yuta asks, entering his bedroom.

“my brother,” you say with your mouth. “johnny! easy with the questions. i’ll tell you later, bye!”

“be responsible!” it can be heard from the phone and you hang up.

you exhale dramatically and fall back on the bed.

“trouble, dear?” yuta inquiries.

you raise your head to look at him. “big brothers are tedious,” you announce after a minute.

“i wouldn’t know; i’m the older brother.”

“oh?”

yuta smiles warmly. “i have a younger brother. the idiot used to fight older bullies in the yard, and i was the one who had to finish them off.”

you smirk. “you protected him. my brother’s the same way.”

“let’s eat, okay? i still need to talk about something important,” yuta declares.

you nod and he tosses you slightly one of his shirts. you put it on and grab your panties putting them on.

yuta made sunny side up eggs and french toasts. between bites, yuta begins to speak. “i work for the korean mafia.”

“huh?” you stop eating and stare at him. “you what?”

yuta laughs lightly. “i work for the korean mafia.” he repeats. “i bet you’re wondering what a japanese guy is doing working for the korean mafia.”

“not exactly my first thought but yes,” you shrug. “what do you do?”

“let’s say i’m a middleman between the korean mafia and the yakuza,” he confesses.

you frown. “so you buy goods from them and then sell them?”

yuta raises an eyebrow at you. “what are you? a businesswoman?”

you laugh and have a bite of your toast. “i went to business school, but i dropped out this semester.”

“hot,” he plants a kiss on your lips. “so yes, that’s my job. aren’t you scared?”

“of what? you? your job?” you snort. “i’ve seen way worse in the underground. i gotta say i’m surprised because i thought you were a good boy.”

yuta chuckles. “i am good at other things,” he winks at you.

you push the plate aside and sit on his lap. “i can’t recall, do you mind refreshing my memory?”

yuta grins and places his hand on your ass cheeks. “aren’t you too sore?”

“pain is my best friend,” you nip at his lip and he groans.

yuta kisses you and his hand goes to your throat tilting your head to the side and biting your neck harshly. you whimper at the painful yet pleasurable sensation. yuta shushes you and darts his eyes to you. “i thought you enjoyed the pain, baby girl.”

ONE YEAR AGO

you’re standing in front of his gravestone and place the flower bouquet next to it, remembering how you two met. the only sound is the wind, rustling through a nearby copse of trees. it has been five days since yuta died and the hole in your chest only gets deeper.

it hurts.

you’re broken.

your life without him means nothing. the city without him means nothing. nothing makes sense without him.

“you shouldn’t have died,” you say. “we could have been better.” you mumble, sitting in front of the grave. “it’s weird, today i woke up and i thought i heard your voice. am i going crazy?” you scoff.

you stare at the gravestone and then lower your heard. “i came to say goodbye. i can’t stay here anymore. everywhere i go i see your face. everyone reminds me of you.”

you feel tears streaming down your face. “i’ll never forget you, yuta. i love you so much.” you burst out crying.

you leave town that same night, leaving everything and everyone behind.

[yutahoes]

3Bs Project #2 : Band Member

3Bs are known as the three male professions that women should avoid to date in Japan: a biyoushi (hairstylist), a band member, and a bartender.  

pairing : band bassist! Yuta Nakamoto x  band leader’s sister! Y/N 

word count : 3.3k words

genre : fluff, angst

summary : Band members break your heart but bassists crush them.  

warning : alcohol, character death, cheating

taglist:  @ailoveyuta @aiforyuu @yutazen01 @2-3-t-i​ @cosmiclatte28  @readers-posts @ytzvivi @onefoureightfive    

I don’t have anything against band members and bassists. I also don’t condone cheating or any sort. This is inspired by Shut Up Flower Boyband.  The band leader, Y/N's brother, doesn't have a name in this fic. He's also not a NCT member. You'll find out why.

“Thank you and goodnight!” the lead singer of the band shouted that made the girls in the audience scream their lungs out. The other members just smiled at the overwhelming reaction that their fans had given them, liking the atmosphere that the underground club had given them. Once the boys went off the stage, female audiences were swarming around making Johnny, the playboy of the group, delighted. 

Taeyong, Jaehyun, and, Yuta weren’t interested in these things so they decided to grab a drink and just watch the other members interact with their fans. “At this rate, we might not go home with leader-nim again.” Taeyong joked that made Yuta laugh. 

Their silent pianist suddenly smiled. "Look, he fished someone already." Jaehyun noted while pointing at the band vocalist who was hugging a girl. Yuta did a double look at the girl, she's really pretty. This girl is their crazy leader's fangirl? 

"Hyung, who's the girl with leader hyung?" Mark, the maknae, asked. 

Taeyong drank on his glass, taking all the liquor. "Y/N." He stated. "His sister." Of course, Taeyong would know that considering that he and the leader of the group were childhood friends. 

The guy in question came to the table. "Guys, my sister." He introduced. Johnny was about to shake hands with the girl when the other spits on his hand. "No touching."

Y/N giggled then bowed at the guys. "Hi, I'm Y/N." She introduced with a smile. Yuta looked around the guys, do they hear his heartbeat? "Annyeong Taeyong oppa." She greeted with a wave. And suddenly Yuta wanted to be Taeyong. What's happening to him?

"Annyeong, I'm Mark!" The maknae greeted brightly that made Y/N laugh. 

"You play the guitar earlier. You're so amazing." She complimented that made the youngest beam widely. "All of you are amazing and handsome." Yuta didn't know why but when they had eye contact, the girl just smiled at her and he was cursing himself for looking like a fool. 

Something inside Yuta changed when he met her, he was looking forward to every performance just to see her but go home feeling defeated. He tried hinting to their leader that he wanted to see his sister but as crazy as he is, he wouldn't let the girl to their gigs. 

Until the start of classes arrived. Even if Yuta is active as a member of a band, he's still a college student and education should be his priority. He was famous at school, being a cold city guy every girl likes. He would always be seen seated by the window, wearing his earphones just like now. He didn't bother much when the seat next to him moved but removed his earphones when the teacher came in. "Oh new student, welcome!" The teacher greeted, looking at his seatmate. He took a glance and was surprised. 

"Neh. I'm Y/N, please take care of me." She said then bowed at her classmates. Yuta's heart has been doing flips, they're in the same class? Now, he has a reason to stay at school. The flips had been going crazy when he realized that they're so close to each other that he could feel the heat of her skin. 

"Nakamoto Yuta!" The teacher called that made him surprise. "Present but mentally absent, are we Mr. Nakamoto?" 

He bowed at the teacher then glanced at his seatmate once again. "You're the guitarist from my brother's band, right?" He nodded which made her smile. "What a coincidence."

What's happening to him? Now, his stomach is churning. Is he nervous? Without any word, he left the classroom to run outside. He didn't care if this has detention written all over it but he can't stay close to her. His heart will go haywire if he stays too close. "You're in love," Jaehyun claimed then hung up the phone. The other three: Taeyong, Mark, and Johnny all muttered the same thing. Is he really in love? 

"You should ask her out." their leader suggested. Of course, Yuta didn't tell the older that it was his sister they're talking about. "Get yourself a girlfriend, kiddo!" He suggested then hung up. Why does everybody end their calls suddenly? And does he really look that desperate?

The class ended when he came back in the classroom but Y/N was still sitting there, writing. He was busy admiring her that when she stood up that made them both surprised. "What happened to you? The teacher was asking where you have been." 

Yuta was blank. 'I'm out asking my friends what's happening with my heart whenever I see you.' Should he tell her that? "I'm not feeling well, I went to the clinic."

She nodded. "Are you alright now?" She asked that made him nod. "We have an assignment. Here." She said then gave him a piece of paper. "I'll get going. See you later Yuta-shii."

"Wait," Yuta called which made her turn back at him. "Do you want to have lunch together?" Y/N gave him a curious look. "So that we can do the assignment together." 

The girl just smiled then nodded. "I'll see you at the cafeteria."  

This is bad. If her brother knows that they’re eating lunch like this, he will kill him. But then, it’s just lunch. And it’s not his fault that they’re in the same class. Maybe it’s destiny playing things on him. The simple lunch turned into endless lunches together and since they share the same class, they spend more time together. Students on campus were all saying that they look good together, even calling them the ‘power couple’ but she would always shrug them off and say that Yuta and her are just friends. 

Yeah, just friends. For now. 

His bandmates had no idea that he's hanging out with her. They just knew that he likes someone, a classmate, because of all the love songs he had written for the band. And he planned to not tell them about her and him. If there even is a her and him. 

It was that day, at the coffee shop, with their books sprawled in front of them when a sunbae approached them asking for her number. He was in a school band, Yuta remembers. "Oh, I'm sorry sunbae. I'm not interested in band members." She answered without even looking up from her book. The sunbae left but Yuta kept on looking at her. That hurts. 

"What?" She asked when she looked at him. Yuta shook his head. This is really just plain friendship, he's sure of that. But why? Her brother is a band member, why isn't she interested? "Yuta, just ask your question. Are you having trouble?" She leaned closer to check his book, creating a small distance between their faces. 

But he likes her. So much. All he can ever think is her. And all those songs, they were for her. His confessions that he cannot tell her. Can he even tell her his feelings? "What's wrong with dating a band member?" Y/N glanced at him and he took every ounce of self-control not to kiss her there and then. 

"Rockstars break your heart." He felt a bullet on his chest. It's ironic now, a wannabe rockstar has his heartbroken. "That is what oppa always says and my parents are the best example of that."

He heard about the story of their parents from Taeyong. Their dad was a bassist of a band and he chose his dream, leaving his wife and children. Their mom killed herself because of loneliness, leaving the two kids alone in life. Now, he understands where she's coming from. It must really be painful for her. 

Yuta stared at her for a while. There's still something that he can do. "But your brother hasn't broken your heart yet." 

"I'm going to kill him if he..." 

"I'm not going to break your heart." He quickly regretted the words coming out of his mouth. Fuck, this is a confession. 

He held his breath when she stared at him, the curve of her lips curling up. "We'll see." 

Yuta was hopeful at her reaction. She didn't say no, not even rejecting the idea of the two of them together. They kept on hanging out, every single time, and when she came to one of their gigs, they had to pretend that nothing was going on between them. Which is entirely impossible because of the small smiles and the light hand brushing whenever they would stand next to each other. 

"That was a great song," Y/N commented after singing one of their newer songs. "It's my first time hearing about it." 

Jaehyun chuckled then pointed at Yuta. "He wrote that for his girlfriend."

"There's a girl in his school that hyung likes." Mark teased. "He's been really inspired lately." 

Johnny chuckled then drank his beer. "Isn't she a transferee? You never actually told us her name." 

Y/N chuckled then leaned closer to the referred guy. "I didn't know you have a girlfriend." Yuta gave her a knowing smile. "Is she pretty?"

"The prettiest." He whispered, "And I'll introduce her to you if she becomes my girlfriend." A smile was plastered on Y/N's face which was changed when she glanced at her brother. He was looking at the two of them. He knows. 

Their bond became stronger. They had been inseparable at school, just at school. They're together during lunchtime or break, they sit next to each other at class. It was that one day, she was seated on the rooftop and he lay his head on her lap when he asked her to be his girlfriend and she said yes. It was quick that Yuta cannot believe it. They're together now. She's his girlfriend now. 

"I promise to not break your heart, Y/N." 

"Yuta, don't promise anything. Just do it." And he nodded, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the lips. It felt right, everything feels right. "What will we tell oppa?" Then it occurred to him, like being awakened from a wonderful dream. Her brother.

During one of their gigs, Yuta invited her to hear the song he made for her and she came to support the band. His eyes were on her the entire time and she would give him a smile whenever their eyes met. A gesture that the lead vocalist had noticed. When the band went to their table, Yuta sat beside Y/N and announced that they were indeed dating. 

Taeyong was the first one who congratulated them, then Mark and Jaehyun. Johnny glanced at their leader who downed a glass of beer then smiled at the couple. Y/N lightly glanced at Yuta and he gave her a reassuring smile, holding her hand tight and not even letting go. 

The days were fine, the whole campus seemed to rejoice at the thought of them together. Yuta was assured that everything is perfect. That was when he got a call after class, Y/N's brother. He was nervous, to say the least, but he knew he needed to talk with him. "Are you really dating my sister?" The crazy leader asked the moment he saw Yuta, which made the younger nod. "Do you love her?" Yuta nodded again. "Breakup with her."

"Hyung?" 

"I don't want my sister to marry a band member like me or our dad." He knows that, the reason why he did everything to stop the girl from watching their gigs. But why? He can prove that he's different. "Sooner or later, you might hurt her." He stated that made Yuta surprised. "So just break up with her."

"Hyung, I love her more than my life. What makes you think that I could hurt her?"

The older stared at something in front of him as if seeing a ghost in the air. "You said before that the band matters to you more than anything in this world." 

"I said that before I met her."

"How can that change because of my sister?"

"I love her." And he badly wanted him to see that. 

"I also love her. She's my sister. But I will do everything to make sure that the band succeeds." The leader thoughtfully exclaimed. "I can only accept you as my brother-in-law if you make the band successful." Yuta smiled and was about to answer when the older raced him to talk. "Because by that time, all the fame will be in your head..." he said, his fingers like a gun pointing on Yuta's temple. "And you will forget about my sister."

Can he just punch this guy? Just one punch? How are he and Y/N siblings? "Yuta." The older one called. "Just make the band famous before I die." What the heck is he talking about? 

The two were crossing the street when suddenly a black car overtook another car. Everything was fast, Yuta was in shock seeing the bloody leader lying on the streets. The crowd was gathering around them and the injured boy just smiled at his friend. "Do it, for me." Now, his mind is in chaos. Should he follow his heart or the crazy leader? 

Yuta hated that he couldn't show himself to her and his bandmates as they grieved over the death of their friend. This guilt is killing him. This was all his fault. He should have saved him, he should be the one dead now. Not him. Y/N needs him. It broke his heart more seeing the girl he loves crying over the only family she had left and he can't do anything. 

His plan was simple at first. He knew about the entertainment representative that has the hots for him, maybe flirt with her a little then let her know about the band. Once the band gets a little famous, find a new bassist and he'll leave them. Then maybe, just maybe, he can go back to her. Take care of her and build a new family with her. 

But the girl is more cunning than he thought. After a series of drinks, he was knocked out black. His clothes were gone and the girl was naked beside him that made him curse angrily at himself. He needed to leave immediately, this isn't it. This is a bad idea. 

He took a shower to remove the dirt he's feeling. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why is he doing these things? "Oh, Yuta. He's in the shower."  He heard someone say and he quickly went out of the shower room although he's dripping wet. "I'll tell him you called, Y/N." Fuck! "She said she's the sister of your bandmate." 

He quickly dialed her number, sitting on the bed, when he felt a hand on his chest. She picked up the phone but he was so distracted that he dropped it on the bed. "What the hell are you doing?" 

"Don't tell me you didn't like this, Yuta. You were all over me last night." She kissed a spot on his chest as he moved away from her, covering his naked body with the blanket. "I'll make some calls and your band will play mainstream as you wanted. Just be mine." 

He saw the phone blinked, a message from her. 'Please don't see me again.' He hated himself for breaking her heart like this. He doesn't deserve her. So this is indeed better. 

Yuta's cheek was hurting when he came to see the boys, Johnny landed a punch on his face and Mark isn't even talking to him. "What happened to you, Yuta?" Taeyong asked but he just shrugged, Jaehyun handed him a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his lip. The bassist handed them a piece of paper that surprised Taeyong, a record deal from an entertainment agency. "What is this?" 

"This was hyung's dying wish." Yuta said then gave them music sheets, "My final gift. Please make the band successful." 

Mark stared at him in surprise. "Hyung, what? Are you leaving the band?" 

He nodded then stood up, "I already told Lee Jeno to practice." Then he was out of the door. Out of the band. And out of all of this. 

That was seven years ago. He quit the band, quit the entertainment circle, and just started doing some small business when Mark saw him once. "Hyung, it's our fifth debut anniversary. Can you come? I'm sure the other hyung wants to see you?" And Yuta just nodded, maybe everyone already moved on. 

But he didn't. Especially seeing Y/N talking to Taeyong when he came into the club. Mark introduced Yuta to the new members, Taeil and Jeno. He awkwardly greeted the members of the band but it was Taeyong who greeted him warmly. "You remember Y/N, right?" The girl laughed then nodded at Taeyong, making Johnny scoff. Jaehyun even reminded that they used to date which surprised Jeno. 

Yuta should have left after the party but he's here, seated by the bar and drinking his second glass of scotch. "Hi, Yuta." He hissed, how can he forget that voice? "Are you driving back? Maybe you should slow down on drinking." She even sat next to him. She moved on. But then, it was him who slept with another girl. He cheated on her. He broke her heart. 

He turned to her and she was just staring at him. "You look better." He complimented and she giggled. Why is his heart beating crazy at that sound? 

"You too." She said awkwardly. "How are you?" Yuta was about to answer when she continued, "I was surprised when Taeyong oppa told me about you quitting the band. What do you do now?" 

"Small business, here and there." He answered curtly. “I realized I’m not set to be in a band.” 

"I'm sorry Yuta." She whispered that made him surprised, why is she apologizing? It should be him. "Me and oppa ruined your dream." 

He was surprised, ruined his dream? "It was I who broke your heart. I'm sorry." 

Y/N shook her head, smiling. "I know why you did it, Taeyong told me.” She sighed. “And thank you, for making my brother’s wish come true.” He shook his head and she laughed. “It really does happen thrice, being in pain.” She said more to herself and he wanted to apologize for that but she smiled widely at him. “Band members really do break your heart but bassists crush it. That makes them hot." 

Yuta had to laugh at that. “Do you have a thing with bassists?” She shook her head and was about to say something when her phone rang, excusing herself to answer it. 

He lightly glanced at her but a glistening band on her finger captured his attention. Is she married? "Yeah, I'm here." She said then smiled at Yuta before glancing around. "Oh, I can see you. I'm by the bar." She dropped the call then turned to the person coming their way. 

“Are you...?” 

She nodded. “Two years ago.” Then she smiled warmly. “He picked up the broken pieces.” He did hurt her. 

He watched as the girl he used to love went to another man's arm. She really did move on from him. "Yuta, this is my husband Ji Hansol." He greeted the guy and Y/N introduced him to Mark who called for Yuta. "Where are the others?" 

"The backroom, noona." The younger answered and she excused herself and her husband to come and greet the other members. "Hyung," Mark called while laughing then hitting his shoulder. "Noona's husband looks like you." 

"Maybe she hasn't moved on from you yet." 

Yuta shook his head. She did. She looked happier now. 

And he's not in the position to take her back, seeing how happy she is. 

A girl leaned in the bar counter, asking for a drink from the bartender. "Hi, you look lonely." The girl whispered that made Yuta smirk. "I'm the bassist of the band earlier. Do you want to hang out?" 

He started laughing to himself. Band members would break your heart but bassists crush it. Her words kept repeating on him. Yuta shook his head, politely declining the girl’s invitation. 

He can’t bear to get his heart crushed once again. 

[eliemo]

Blood and Stars

Summary: Sometimes, Virgil doesn't know what to do without the pain. That doesn’t mean he ever wanted it in the first place. 

TW: Talks about self harm. Nothing too graphic, but please be safe. 

Masterpost

Taglist: @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222  @the-blue-recluse @bisexualdisaster106 (let me know if you want to be added or if I missed you)

Patton never would have brought it up again on his own.

He’d caught a glimpse of a nasty looking scratch along Virgil’s forearm while the two of them were doing the dishes after dinner. It didn’t look too deep- long, thin, and horizontal just beneath his wrist, but it didn’t look particularly pleasant.

“What happened there?” he asked, when they’d finished the dishes, not missing the way Virgil’s shoulders tensed as he quickly pulled his hoodie sleeves back down.

He hesitated, still tugging at the ends of his sleeves as he stared down at the sink, and Patton reminded himself not to push.

“I- I broke a mug,” Virgil muttered after a moment. “One of Logan’s glass ones. It was on the edge of the table and I, uh, bumped it. Accidentally cut myself on the glass when I was cleaning it up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry kiddo.” Patton was careful to keep his voice light, conversational, despite how badly he wanted to squeal with pride and pull Virgil into a bone crushing hug.

He was obviously nervous about this, about openly admitting a mistake and not immediately expecting screams or punches, but he was doing it.

“It’s fixed though,” Virgil added. “Or I...I asked Roman to fix it. No one was angry.”

“Of course not,” Patton said gently. “Accidents happen. And I’m proud of you for getting help.”

Virgil ducked his head, flashing Patton a tentative smile from behind his bangs, but the moral side noticed how he rubbed absently at the scratch on his arm.

“You got that cut all cleaned up, right?” he asked. “We don’t want it to get infected.”

Virgil blinked, staring blankly for just a second like he had no clue what Patton was talking about. It only lasted a moment, realization visibly dawning, and he pulled his sleeve all the way over his hand.

“Oh! Yeah, uh, I did. It’s fine, Pat. I’m all good.”

Patton didn’t want to risk stressing him out or sending him into a string of apologies for a mistake he hadn’t made, so he just smiled, squeezed his uncovered hand, and dropped the subject.

That had been a little over two days ago, and Patton honestly hadn’t given it a second thought. He’d confirmed the events with Roman that same day, both of them happy with Virgil’s progress, but other than that it hadn’t crossed his mind.

It was almost ten when there was a knock on Patton’s door, just after he’d changed into pajamas for the night, the sound small and hesitant.

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to find it was Virgil on the other side of the door, arms wrapped around himself, hood pulled up over his head.

“Hey kiddo,” Patton said softly. “What’s up?”

Virgil was silent for a moment, eyes glued to the ground, and Patton realized he was shaking. “I, uh- s-sorry I know it’s late I just...I think I need to talk to you about something.”

There was something about his voice, how scared and hesitant it sounded, like he’d done everything in his power to convince himself to knock on Patton’s door tonight.

“Alright,” he said. “Do you want to go into the living room? I know my room isn’t always the best place for you.”

Virgil nodded, stepping aside to let Patton into the hall, the two sides making their way downstairs in heavy silence.

The anxious side went straight to the couch while Patton made a quick detour into the kitchen to get them both some tea, hoping a hot drink would help to calm both their nerves.

But it was another five minutes before Virgil worked up the courage to speak, sitting silently beside Patton, staring blankly into the steaming mug, stiff and unmoving.

“I lied to you,” Virgil said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Patton frowned, taking in Virgil’s hunched and trembling shoulders, and forcefully pushed down his own uneasiness. “Well, I’m sure you had a good reason, kiddo. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“The cut on my arm,” Virgil said quickly, squeezing his eyes shut when Patton went very still. “I- I didn’t...it wasn’t an accident. I did it to myself.”

Patton’s breath caught, something heavy in his chest growing to a suffocating weight. He swallowed, turning the words over in his head, carefully setting his mug down on the coffee table.

He knew he should say something comforting, offer Virgil the reassurance and support he so desperately needed right now, carefully encouraging him to elaborate. But all that came out was a hushed, “Oh.”

Virgil winced at that, curling in on himself, hands shaking around the plastic mug settled against his knee. Patton saw him swallow, breath hitching before he spoke again. “I...I’m sorry.”

“Oh, honey…” he trailed off, suddenly at a loss. What was he supposed to say? That it was ok? It...it wasn’t. “I’m not angry with you, I’m just...how- how much have you--?”

“Just once,” Virgil said quickly, and Patton’s shoulders dropped in relief. “I swear, it was just one time, Patton I promise I didn’t...I- I’m not--”

“I believe you.”

Virgil nodded at that, letting out a shaky breath, trembling hands carefully setting down the mug, still not quite able to look the other side in the eyes.

“I...thought about doing it again,” he admitted. “That’s why I came and got you.”

“That’s good,” Patton said, reaching over to take Virgil’s hand. “That’s really good, Virge. Thank you for coming to me first.”

Virgil shrugged, making no move to look up from his lap. “I was worried about upsetting you. I just...felt too stupid to go to anyone else.”

“It’s not stupid, honey. Not at all.” He took a breath, squeezing the anxious side’s hand, choosing his words carefully. “Can...can you tell me why you did it? Did something happen?”

Virgil shook his head, staring straight ahead at the empty staircase. He was absently rubbing at his sleeve with his free hand, and Patton fought to keep himself from staring, from asking to see just to set his racing mind at ease.

It wasn’t his place. He was here to help, to move at Virgil’s pace.

And then Virgil was digging into his pocket, fiddling with something beneath the cloth. He hesitated for just a moment, before wordlessly reaching out a hand to drop a small object into Patton’s palm.

It was a piece of glass, sharp and jagged around the edges, painted a dark navy blue with tiny white specks that might resemble part of a constellation if it was put back where it belonged.

It was a part of Logan’s mug, the one Virgil had broken, a piece of glass the anxious side must have pocketed before he’d gone to Roman for help.

“Oh, kiddo.”

Virgil suddenly pulled his hand away, wrapping his arms around himself, and Patton felt the loss of contact like a physical ache in his chest.

He didn’t...he had no idea what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. Logan would know, he thought. Logan always knew the best approach when it came to Virgil.

But...but Virgil had gone to him. He’d been scared and confused and he’d gone to Patton first. That had to count for something, right?

“It’s ok,” he whispered, and then immediately winced at his own words. “I mean- I mean it’s not- obviously, but...but I’m not mad. I promise, I just...can you tell me why? Roman said you seemed...fine.”

“I was,” Virgil said, hoarse and unsteady. “I thought I was, but I...I was just staring at the glass and I...I knew it was ok. I knew it was just a mistake and I wasn’t in trouble but...God, Patton before if I had broken something of theirs? I wouldn’t have been able to walk for days.”

Just like he always did when Virgil mentioned how he used to be treated, Patton felt a little breathless, a dangerous type of protective anger fighting its way up to the surface.

But he forcefully pushed it back down, just like he always did. Virgil needed him right now.

“I know.”

“You don’t,” Virgil said. And again, just like always, he didn’t sound angry over his treatment. Just...hurt and resigned. “I’ve barely told you anything, Pat.”

“Kiddo, I…”

“They told me I deserved it,” Virgil continued. “You guys know that. And I...I know I didn’t. I- I know that now but I...I just kept looking at the glass and I- I couldn’t get that stupid little voice out of my head telling me I needed to be punished. That I...I deserved to be hurt for messing up.”

He was wiping furiously at his eyes, tugging at his sleeve despite it being nowhere near high enough for Patton to be able to catch a glimpse of the mark.

“That was how it was. I wouldn’t learn without pain. And if I didn’t learn...it would be worse. I know you guys would never, so I...I did it to myself. Without thinking, I just...hurt myself. Like they would have done.”

Patton ignored his own tears, the panicked beating of his heart, instead reaching out to touch Virgil’s trembling shoulder, freezing when the anxious side flinched away.

“Virgil,” he said softly, cringing at how unsure he sounded. “Nobody should ever be hurt over an accident. You shouldn’t...I’m so sorry you felt like you had to do that to yourself. That- that you wanted--”

“I don’t.” Virgil suddenly whirled to face him, eyes wide and brimming with tears, and he flinched when Patton involuntarily shrank back. “Sorry, I’m...s-sorry. I’m so sorry, Patton just...please don't think that. Please.”

“It’s alright, honey.” Slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, Patton put the piece of glass on the coffee table and opened his arms in a hopeful invitation.

Virgil crumpled, face falling with so much hurt and shame, slumping forward into Patton’s chest and letting out a breathy, panicked sob.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, desperate, and Patton quickly wrapped his arms around him. “I’m sorry, please don’t- please don’t hate me I don’t--”

“I could never hate you.” He tightened his hold, reaching up to cup the back of Virgil’s head. “Never. Don’t you think for a second that this changes a thing.”

“I’m not gonna do it again,” Virgil added, voice muffled from Patton’s shirt and the sobs they were both fighting to hold back. “I sw- I swear I’m...I won’t. I don’t want to.”

“I trust you,” Patton said, and he could only silently hope it was the right thing to say. “And we’ll be right here to help make sure you don’t. Just like we’ve always been.”

Virgil didn’t speak again, not for another few moments, the two of them huddled on the couch, trembling and wrapped up in each other.

When he held Virgil in his arms, sometimes Patton could only picture how life had used to be for him. Always terrified, always hurting, surrounded only by hatred and cruelty.

Had Patton been the first person to ever hold him? Before he came to them, had there ever been a time he was shown even a shred of kindness?

“I didn’t deserve it.”

It was so quiet, so small and sudden, for a second Patton thought he’d imagined it. But then the words registered, and he pulled back slightly to look down at the side in his arms. Virgil didn’t look up, didn’t move from where he lay against Patton’s chest.

“Kiddo?”

“I didn’t deserve it.” It was more forceful this time, and Patton felt Virgil tighten his frantic grip. “I hated it and they knew that and they still... why? It’s been months and I can’t stop and they knew...I don’t understand. What did I do? Why would someone...why did they hate me enough to do this? I can’t...I can't get better and I can’t stop. I thought- I thought I was and then I did this.”

Patton pulled off his glasses and set them aside, leaning forward to press a kiss to Virgil’s hair before shakily answering. “You didn’t do anything, honey. Some people are just...misguided. They’re the parts of Thomas he would never embrace. It wasn’t your fault. You were...you were just trapped.”

Trapped was putting it lightly. Beaten, threatened, and gaslit were more accurate, but Virgil always felt uneasy using those terms.

As much as Patton hated this, hated seeing Virgil in so much pain...this was the first time he’d ever really acknowledged that what happened had been unfair. That he’d deserved better.

But he couldn’t really find it in himself to dwell on that when Virgil was crying into his shirt again, trembling and gasping and so clearly ashamed.

“I owe you guys everything,” Virgil managed. “I didn’t think it- it could ever stop and then it did. You- you said you would never hurt me and you didn’t, and I just...thank you. You don’t know how much I wanted this.”  

Patton’s throat felt tight icy dread and warm love fighting for dominance, hatred for the people who had left Virgil damaged (not broken, he reminded himself- just bruised. He was getting so much better even if Virgil couldn’t see it himself) settling deep in his gut.

He shoved it aside, and held Virgil tighter, letting him cry it out.

“You don’t need to thank us,” he said. “Loving you isn’t a chore, Virgil. You don’t ever need to feel like you owe us for being kind.”

“But nobody else ever was! Nobody...I- I know you always say it wasn’t my fault but...but they all hated me. What if...what if I did something wrong?”

“You didn’t.” They’d been over this before, but Patton would say it over and over again if he had to. “Nothing could warrant the treatment you got, Virge. You know that.”

“I...y-yeah, but--”

“And you don’t deserve to be hurting yourself now,” Patton continued. “Honey, I need you to promise me that if you feel...the urge to do that again, you’ll go and get someone, ok?”

Virgil nodded, breathing still erratic but gradually slowing. “Ok.”

“Promise me, kiddo. I can’t...the thought of you doing that, I just...come talk to us first, ok? Me, Logan, and Roman are always here. Even Janus and Remus if you can’t find us!”

“I will,” Virgil croaked, giving a watery smile when Patton ran a careful hand through his hair. “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m…” Virgil hesitated, like he was carefully considering his next words. “I’m sorry. I- I know you’ll tell me not to be but...I’m really sorry. For doing that. For putting you through this.”

Patton shook his head, feeling his tears slide down his neck and soak into the collar of his shirt. “I just want you to feel safe, kiddo. That’s what we all want. More than anything.”

Virgil nodded, slowly extracting one arm from where it was pressed in between the back of the couch and Patton’s side, swiping at the tears still streaming down his face.

“I’m trying,” he said. “I am. I promise, I’m trying so hard.”

“We know. We all know, Virgil. We see it, even when you don’t. And we’re so, so proud of you.”

For a second, Virgil looked uneasy, like he wasn’t quite sure if Patton was telling the truth or not. But it didn’t last long, shoulders dropping as he offered a small smile and nod.

“Thank you. For...for everything.”

Neither of them were in much of a hurry to move, but it wasn’t long before Virgil’s eyelids began to droop, the anxious side swaying slightly where he sat, and Patton managed to lead him upstairs to his room and into bed.

He stayed in Virgil’s room, humming softly until he gradually drifted off to sleep. It only took a few moments, Virgil having quickly exhausted himself tonight.

Patton wondered how long it had taken him to work up the courage to ask for help tonight. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t.

That was...not a possibility he was comfortable thinking about right now.

But he’d promised he wouldn’t do it anymore. He would reach out first if it got to that point again, and he had plenty of people willing to help.

Virgil trusted Patton, and after what he’d been through the anxious side’s trust was a difficult thing to earn.

The least Patton could do was trust Virgil to keep a promise.

[rjhpandapaws]

A Hand in the Matter

Chapter 12: Adopted by Strays

"So tell me about Garrett.” Silas said as he settled onto Richard’s couch. It was one of his rare days off and for once he wasn’t spending it at the theater, “What’s he like?” Richard rolled his eyes at the protective lilt to Silas’s voice, ‘Gavin.’ He corrected, ‘He Is Kind. Different From You And Connor. Rough Edges. Noisy.’ “You don’t normally like loud.” Silas remarked as Richard brought the drinks into the living room. ‘I Know.’ Richard agreed, ‘Something About His Noise Brings Comfort.’ “He brings liveliness with him.” Silas said, and then more absently, “Like Allen.” Richard paused. He hadn’t heard this name before, and he didn’t think he had been meant to now. Silas had let on that he made a new friend at work, but had never given a name. There was something in the way he said it. A reverence to it that he normally only reserved for Daniel. ‘Who A-L-L-E-N?” He asked. Silas froze for a moment, “Shit.” He scrambled to recover, “He’s just a friend from the theater, a new security guard. No one important.”

Richard stared at Silas over the rim of his mug. There was more to it than that. “No.” Silas responded, “Don’t you look at me like that. I’m here to talk about your newly acquired problem, not mine.” ‘Who Said He Was A Problem?’ Richard replied and Silas let out an annoyed huff. “Okay so I might be projecting a little.” He continued, “Anyway Gavin. Tell me about him. Starting why he was here for a whole fucking weekend.” Richard gestured to his now decorated apartment, ‘We Redecorated. He Is Friend From School. Very Kind. We Met At Cafe. He Has Cat.’ “There it is.” Silas said with a laugh, “He has a cat, that’s why you like him so much.” Richard rolled his eyes, ‘So Who A-L-L-E-N?’ “Fine.” Silas said with false annoyance to his voice, “I suppose it’s only fair that I tell you about my new friend since you told me about yours.” Richard nodded and waited for Silas to decide what things about Allen he wanted to share. There probably wouldn’t be much, but he clearly left an impression on Silas.

His brother was a private person. Both of them were really, but Silas did it oddly. Where Connor would avoid the topic or politely decline; Silas would give non-answers or selectively give information. Even though he didn’t typically say anything that helped to make it so someone understood the situation, they would feel like they did. He gave the illusion of transparency. It was the reason so many people thought they knew him well without actually knowing anything about him. There was a quiet sigh that marked Silas as being ready to talk, honestly, “He’s just a guy, there isn’t anything remarkable about him. Tall, brown hair, and eyes to match. You could lose him in a crowd without even trying.” He stopped and looked down at his tea, “But I always know he’s there. Even when I don’t see him. I’m hyperaware and I hate it. He’ s nice though, before you worry. Concerned for me not too unlike Daniel, but different at the same time.” ‘He Sounds Interesting.’ He didn’t really know how to respond. He wasn’t good with emotions, that was more of Connor’s thing. “He’s great.” Silas said it like a confession and Richard smiled.

‘I Happy For You.’ Richard said. Silas hummed, “Thanks.” They stayed like that for a while. Silas was back in his own thoughts and Richard let him be. He knew his brother had plans with Connor later so it was better if he got this out of his system now, otherwise Connor would go full big brother mode and that never ended well. “If you ever feel like it, you could introduce me to Gavin.” Silas said eventually, “I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.” Richard smiled, this was a small gesture but it meant a lot since he’d never had a friend of his own, ‘After Finals.’ Silas nodded and placed his empty mug on the coffee table, “Sounds like a plan.” He looked at the time on his phone, “I’m gonna head home for a smoke and a shower. Connor wants to go out and do something now that we both have the time.” Richard could understand that. He needed time to decompress before going out as well, ‘Have Fun.’ “I’ll try.” Silas remarked as he stood, “I’m sure it will be fun once I’m ready.”

He walked Silas to the door and they hugged before Silas left. He did the dishes and put the mugs away so he wouldn’t have to do it later. Richard took out his phone to see if Gavin wanted to hang out. His most recent message was from Gavin letting him know he had plans with friends tonight. Gavin talked about them a lot. Chris and Tina, he seemed to like them and Richard wondered what they were like. They had borrowed Tina’s truck when they took his closet doors to be recycled but that was the closest he had come to meeting her. Richard was perfectly content with just Gavin, but he would like to meet the people he thought so highly of. The people who responsible for that stupid shit eating grin that always meant that he caused trouble and had gotten away with it. To thank them, he supposed, for making Gavin so happy. He put his phone away and went into the room that served as his office. He could draw for a while and then he’d probably go to sleep. He and Gavin had plans to study tomorrow and one of them had to be in a good state of mind. He figured Gavin would probably have a hangover from drinking more than he should have.

The sketch unsurprisingly turned into another drawing of Gavin. He looked up sports bar interiors so he could do the piece justice. Gavin was leaning on the table in his usual manner, with one forearm resting on it to prop it up the other elbow resting on it with his free hand gesturing in the air as he spoke. It took Richard a while to decide what the drink would be, but he eventually decided on beer. Gavin didn’t seem the type to do fancier drinks. When he checked the time again it was two in the morning. What was meant to be a sketch was now inked and flatly colored which wasn’t anything that he planned on doing. It was in his personal sketchbook so Gavin wouldn’t have to see it. He didn’t want to run the risk of creeping him out. He sat back and stretched with a sigh. It was time to call it a night if he wanted to be able to concentrate while they were studying. He picked up his sketchbook and put it in its place on the shelf. Away from his other sketchbooks so he didn’t run the risk of mixing them up. After that he got ready for bed.

He woke up his usual time. He rolled to turn of his phone alarm and found he had a few messages from his brother.

Connor: Hey. The cafe is going to be closed for a while. Connor: A pipe burst last night and there is a ton of water damage Connor: You’ll have to have your study dates somewhere else for a while. Me: Don’t worry. Just be safe. Me: They aren’t dates

Richard knew it would be a while before Gavin woke up. He had gotten a couple of drunk texts he still hadn’t been able to decipher. He finished getting ready for the day and deiced it was late enough in the morning to text Gavin and see if they could figure something out.

Me: The cafe is close for a few days because a pipe broke. Me: Is there another place we could meet?

About an hour passed before his phone chimed with a reply from Gavin.

Gavin Reed: There’s a place near me called Pawsome Coffee. It’s a cat cafe if that’s okay. Me: That works. Can you send me the address? Gavin Reed: Sure!

The cafe was a little out of his usual walking range, but it was nice out so he figured he could try. If he left now he could make it there by their meeting time. The walk was pleasant and he had caught his breath by the time Gavin made it. He was a little late, but that was normal. The cafe wasn’t too busy when they walked in, but it wasn’t long after they had opened. They ordered their drinks and settled at a table by the windows. He was barely able to get his things out before he was buried in cats. It started with a weight settling across his shoulders and he looked to find a short haired white cat lounging there like it was normal. Two more hopped onto the table. They grey one pawed at him and the rust colored one seemed content to just watch him. A black one settled in his lap and he was officially buried in cats. Gavin took sympathy and went to get their drinks once they were up. “Well aren’t you Mister Popular.” He joked as he set the drinks down and grabbed the rest of what they would need since he was significantly less trapped, “Normally it takes them a few visits for them to warm up to new people.” ‘I Not Do Anything Special.’ He said then pet the grey cat that was still persistently pawing at him. 

Gavin settled in at the table, “I think you just have that effect on cats and some people. Are you even going to be able to study like that?” ‘Yes.’ He replied as he stopped petting the now sleeping grey cat, ‘S-I-L-A-S worse.’ Gavin laughed, “There is that I suppose.” ‘Will You.’ He pressed. “Yeah.” Gavin said as he opened his textbook, “I used to study here all the time before I adopted Franklyn. She doesn’t like it too much when I come home smelling like other cats.” ‘Dirty Cheater.’ Richard signed in a deadpan. He wasn’t ready for Gavin to start coughing. Richard hadn’t seen him pick up his drink. That had been bad timing on his part. Gavin laughed as he caught his breath, “God damn it Richard, you can’t just say things like that when a guy is drinking his coffee. You could have killed me.” Richard rolled his eyes. He was being just as dramatic as ever which meant he was fine. They finally began studying, and Gavin had fewer questions than Richard thought he would. He was glad that Gavin had made so much progress. Especially since midterms started on Monday.

It only took him two hours to give in and pet the cats that were on and around him. Gavin had done well today and they both deserved a break. It was a stretch to justify his distraction, but it was the only way he could do this without feeling guilty. “Hey. So I have a question.” Richard looked up when Gavin spoke, he looked almost uncomfortable, “Chris and Tina were wondering if they could meet you. Apparently I talk about you a lot and they’re curious. Obviously if you don’t want to, just say so and I’ll let them know.” ‘Not Today.’ He didn’t have the spoons, ‘This Weekend Maybe? If You Not Busy?’ Gavin nodded, “How does Saturday sound? That’s Chris’s day off.” ‘Saturday Works.’ Richard said, ‘Can We Meet Here? Hand Brewed Hope Not Open.’ Gavin agreed an spent a little more time telling him about his friends. It was nice to know what he was in for. They sounded like fun and Richard was actually looking forward to it. They parted ways with plans to meet back at Pawsome Coffee on Saturday. He didn’t have the energy to walk back so he hailed a cab.

With meeting Gavin’s friends on the horizon Richard didn’t worry about his midterms at all. He was too busy worrying about making a bad first impression. He was a little odd according to most people and a lot of people didn’t take his being nonverbal very well. They always assumed that he was being rude. Gavin didn’t seem to mind it so he hoped his friends would be the same. When Saturday rolled around Richard wound up at the cafe before it opened. The walk had helped to clear his head but anxiety still bubbled beneath his skin. When the cafe opened he settled at the same table as last time. The same cats as before made themselves comfortable on him again. Chris was the first to show up. Richard noticed he had hearing aids and some his anxiety melted away. His being nonverbal wasn’t going to be a problem it seemed. He introduced himself and they went up to order their drinks. They signed to one another until Tina slid into the booth, then Chris began to interpret for him. It was nice. Gavin was the last one to show up, late again, but no one really cared.  He set his drink on the table and picked up the cat that was beside Richard so he could take its place, “I swear you keep treats or some shit in your pockets.”

‘I Thought You Said I Have Captivating Personality.’ Richard teased. “With people as well as cats apparently.” Gavin remarked as he rolled his eyes. “Captivating personality huh?” Chris laughed. “Oh shut up Chris.” Gavin said with no real anger to his words. Tina looked a little bit lost, “So am I the only one that doesn’t know Sign Language then?” “Yeah.” Gavin shrugged, “But I’m still learning so don’t worry.” ‘I Teach You If You Want.” He offered. Gavin spoke for him, “He said he would teach you if you would like. Or we could add him to the group chat.” “Why not both?” She replied, “But it really sounds like he has enough on his plate with tutoring you so Chris can teach me instead.” She gave Chris a gentle shove, “Lord knows we have enough time with all the hours we spend on patrol together or at our desks.” “Thanks for asking T.” He responded dryly, “But we aren’t here for that.” “True.” She agreed, “We’re here to have coffee and a good time.” The conversation picked up some after that. It was a lot of reminiscing, and despite not having been there for any of it, he still felt included. He learned a lot about Gavin and it was nice.

“We go out for drinks at a local bar on Fridays if you ever want to join us.” Tina offered as they got ready to leave. ‘Sounds Fun.’ Richard replied and Gavin let out a put upon groan. “We can cab together then I guess.” Gavin said with a slight smile. ‘Thank You.’ He was looking forward to it despite the fact that he didn’t drink. They went their separate ways outside of the cafe. Richard flagged a cab and felt his phone buzz.

Chris added Me to: Oh No! Its the Cops. Me: Thank you for today. I had a lot of fun. Tina: Of course! it was great to finally meet you. Chris: See you Friday! Gavin Reed: I’m in danger. Me: Only if you don’t take care of yourself. Tina: I like him Chris: Same

Richard smiled at his phone. For once he wasn’t nervous about having plans. He supposed he belonged to a group of friends now. It was funny how fact things could change. He still had his brothers, but now he had a group of friends of his own. There would be no more being passed between baristas and actors. Better yet, this time he wasn’t afraid. Even if he was, he had people he could turn to now.

[uweiy]

The Mark/Ouwen Sickfic no one asked for pt. 4

(aka Not an Exact Science on ao3)

pt. 1/pt.2/pt. 3

"I kissed Ouwen." Mark tells Hsuan Yu over coffee.

Hsuan Yu is still mixing his own cup, facing away from Mark

"Hmm."

"And it was nice. Really really nice." Mark adds.

"That's great Mark."

Mark simply observes, and catches the exact moment his words arrive at Hsuan Yu's brain.

"Wait. Waaaaaaiiiiiit."

Hsuan turns his upper body towards Mark.

"Dai Ouwen ? You– ?"

"Mh mmhh."

A beat.

"Huh. I guess that makes sense."

Mark frowns.

"What do you mean it makes sense ?? Nothing makes sense."

Hsuan Yu looks at him like he's trying to figure out exactly what Mark is missing.

Mark had hoped Hsuan Yu could enlighten him, but clearly he hadn't understood the depth of the situation, so Mark was not the one missing something.

"He is a great person." Huan Yu simply says.

"Right." Whatever Mark had planned to say, that he has to agree with first. "He's always so cool and calm and dependable. And he tries to pretend like he's not nice but he's really nice. Let me tell you, he has such a soft side to him, I have never seen him refuse anyone anything."

He thinks a bit.

"I don't want him to get taken advantage of because of that. Like what happened with his ex ya know ?'

Huan Yu just nods, a sly smile making its way into his face "Mmhmh." Mark doesn't like it.

"What."

Hsuan Yu settles on the counter, bringing his face closer to Mark's so as to look at him straight into the eyes. His gaze makes Mark uncomfortable and he shifts in his seat.

"What."

"You. Like. him." Hsuan Yu enunciates.

"Ayyy ?? No way." Mark frowns, retreating proportionately to Hsuan Yu's forward movement.

"Seriously." Hsuan Yu starts counting on his fingers.

"1. You want his attention. All the time. Seriously I never see you around as much as when he is here. 2. You want to take care of him. You just said so." He adds when Mark opens his mouth to protest.

"3. You get jealous."

"Jealous ?? I don't get jealous."

"Imagine someone else asks him out. You would be totally fine with it ?"

"Of course." Mark shrugs. "As long as it's not an asshole like his ex. But hey Ouwen would still hang out with me right ? And he has to find someone that makes him eat his vitamins. Oh and did I mention, not an asshole like his ex ? But good men are hard to find... Actually maybe he shouldn't date, it's safer that way."

He nods at his own wise words.

Hsuan Yu looks at him in awe but also like he's questioning what the fuck he's seeing. He gestures with his hands.

"Okay but suppose he does. Would you be totally okay with him kissing someone else ?"

Mark tries to picture it. Ouwen kissing someone, that is not him.

"They shouldn't do it in front of me.' he says finally

"Why ?"

"I don't like it."

"Why ?"

"Because... Because..." He struggles to find an explanation. Two men kissing is weird right ?? Definitely weird.

Why then was it that he didn't mind one bit when it was him kissing Ouwen. Why was it that he had wanted to keep doing it ? Why was it that when he tried to picture Ouwen with someone he very badly wanted the person at Ouwen's side to be hi–'

"Oh."

Huan Yu snaps his fingers at Mark "Aaaaand there we have it."

He gets up and clasps Mark on the shoulder as he walks past him." You'll have to excuse me, I have some clients to take care of. But–" He says into Mark's ear "–seems like you, my friend, have some thinking to do."

And leaves a pretty dumbfounded Mark behind.

___

Ouwen sits up slowly, looking away from Mark so as to conceal his eyes which are frantically darting from side to side.

What. What. What what what–

For all the thinking that he does. He hadn't envisioned that. At all.

His heart is now beating way too loudly and he feels a complicated mix of emotions rising, among which something that resembles hope.

It could be a joke. But Mark is not that cruel.

The only option left was that Mark truly believed that–

I think I like you.

Ah.

Ouwen remembers then, that it's Mark. and suddenly his stomach weighs a thousand pounds.

"Ouwen ?" Mark says from behind him.

Ouwen tries gather his thoughts. He turns towards Mark and smiles sadly.

"I'm flattered." Ouwen hears himself say, and it sounds wrong, even to his own ears. "but maybe you would like to think about it again ?

"It's something that is quite common among our clients, actually. It's easy to have a passing infatuation with someone that is both new in your life, and you consistently encounter. However, objectively, we are very different people. You can understand how this doesn't give a solid basis for a relationship. Ehm. If that is. What you want."

Briefly lost himself there. And pulls himself together. He can do this. It's his job after all.

"A few weeks ago you were I quote 'obsessed' with Joanna. And before Joanna, it was someone else. One of the reasons for that could be that you are still unsure of searching what you are looking for in a partner ?

"In any case, you're probably going to change your mind in a few weeks–"

Because if when he changes his mind, Mark would be able to just go on with his life while Ouwen's heart would shatter in a million pieces and he'd be left alone to pick them up. Ouwen would like to spare himself some trauma thank you very much and just wait for whatever Mark thinks he feels to go away.

"–And I don't want it to be awkward between us when you do." That would suck, for lack of a better term.

Mark listens with wide eyes a and slightly bewildered expression as he seems to take in what Ouwen is saying.

So Ouwen adds, as gently as he possibly can, even if he doesn't really want to, even if it twists some part of his gut

"You're. You are special to me so, we can just pretend this never happened. I would really like for us to keep being friends."

Mark's brow furrow lightly and he lowers his eyes. Ouwen thinks he might have gotten through to him when Marks looks up at Ouwen again.

"You didn't say you didn't like me."

Ouwen huffs in frustration. "Did you hear what I just said ? That's not what it is about. And whether I like you or not has only little to do with the situation."

"Of course it does ! If you don't like me... I learned my lesson you know. There's nothing I can do."

He looks somewhat like a kicked puppy and Ouwen has to resist the overwhelming urge to comfort him.

"But if you do like me at least a little, I'll definitely make you give me a chance."

Suddenly Ouwen doesn't know what to say anymore.

"How sure are you ?" He asks before he can stop himself.

"Eh ?"

"That you like me. You said you 'think' you like me. I can't... I can't.... if you're not sure."

"Oh come on." Mark whines. "It just sounded less pathetic than 'I really like you and I really don't know what I'm going to do if you don't like me back'. Do you know how hard that was to say by the way ? 'Flattered' this, 'Passing infatuation' that. I know I date easily, but I haven't told anyone that before."

Ouwen does feel a bit like an asshole then.

"You haven't ?"

"Except maybe one girl in like second grade but that doesn't count. Anyway, haven't said it to anyone, y'know, seriously. I–" He pauses. blushes. Then seems to come to a decision.

"I had never fallen for a man before so maybe that's why I didn't– Or maybe I had but y'know... couldn't accept it or whatever. Hsuan Yu helped and yeah...well. In any case, I'm glad it's you." He runs his hand through his hair.

"Whatever, what I'm trying to say is... Yeah I'm sure."

Even though Ouwen has had a bit of trouble following the jumble of Mark's sentences, he said the latter part with a certainty that leaves Ouwen speechless.

Mark presses. "So, just tell me. Do you like me or not ?"

Ouwen can tell for sure that it's sincere. Mark likes him, and he's fine with it. Even comfortable with it, in a way Ouwen would not have thought possible.

"Dai Ouwen. If you're asking, that means you do right ? I think you do."

Finally, it bursts out of Ouwen.

"Yes. Yes okay ?? I like you. "

"Really ??"

"I just said so didn't I." Ouwen sighs. "You can stop asking now." Mark laid his heart open on the table there. Ouwen figures the least he can do is be honest.

Mark exhales

"Oh thank god."

And kisses him. He withdraws pretty quickly.

It's not much of a kiss, compared to the one they've shared before. Just a brief press of lips, as if to reassure himself, to make it tangible. Ouwen's stomach still does a backflip.

"We can figure out the rest together, right ?"

Mark sounds hopeful and bit cautious and when has Ouwen ever been able to refuse him anything ?

"Okay."

He must be crazy. This makes no sense. This is not safe, unpredictable and definitely not a match that their company would have suggested. He's not sure he wants to know what their compatibility tests would say but frankly, in that precise moment, he doesn't care.

"I really, really want to kiss you again right now." Mark says, still looking a bit dazed. He didn't move out of Ouwen's space, hovering inches away from Ouwen's lips.

Ouwen half heartedly tries to push him away

"I'm still sick."

Mark barely seems to register it.

"Eh. At worst I'll take a sick leave too." He answers absent mindedly before he moves forward and just like last time they instantly click– and Ouwen's mind goes blank. His fingers curl on Mark's biceps.

Mark pushes further into him until he has him lying on the couch, and all further protests –and reservations and doubts Ouwen might have had– just scatter away.

Maybe this is not such a terrible decision afterall.

___

"Mark" Ouwen hums against Mark's clavicle, as they are both comfortably sprawled on the couch, one of Mark's hands running up and down Ouwen's back.

"Mmh ?"

"Thank you."

"Eh ? What for ?"

"Just... For being there. And for the soup."

"Ah, it's nothing."

Mark thinks for a bit "You know I didn't do it just so would agree to date me right ? I just wanted you to get well."

"I know, I know." Ouwen quickly assures him. Mark really just is that kind of person. He probably would have done the same for like, Hsuan Yu. "Do you have the recipe ?"

"Oh... You know it's just... chicken... Some onions... Whatever, making soup is not an exact science. If it's nice that's what counts right ?"

Ouwen blinks. He might be stretching but somehow Mark's words hit a deeper topic than just... soup.

Ouwen smiles, feeling a lot lighter. "Who knows. Maybe you're right."

Mark looks at him quizzically.

"That is one uncharacteristic answer? Anyway, Just ask me when you want some I'll make another one for you."

"Wow. You really just winged it."

"Yep."

Mark is silent for a few seconds. Then he says, quietly.

"It is what I want, by the way."

"What ?"

"A relationship."

Ouwen props his chin up and smiles. His cheeks will hurt if he keeps smiling like this but he can't help it.

"Okay."

Then after a few seconds. "Still. Give me a recipe for the soup. What if we break up ?"

"Dai Ouwen. You finally agreed to be with me and you're talking about a break up already ?" Ouwen hears how whiny Mark's voice is and can't help but chuckle. Messing with Mark is guaranteed to work.

Ouwen nuzzles against Mark's neck again. "Mhh. You never know."

Marks hand is still stroking his back.

"Nonsense. Just go to sleep."

Ouwen does.

___

Previous/Epilogue

A.N : IDK why writing this was so hard. I tried to finish and wrap up nicely all the insecurities that came up in previous parts and such... And maybe it makes more sense with the little changes I made/I added on ao3, though I tried to make it so it tied nicely with the versions here as well. And for some reason Mark and Ouwen's inner voices are really hard to find for me. Anyway, there will be a teeny tiny epilogue :)

I'll upload it on ao3 tomorrow –since I haven't caught up there yet– so I hope it won't seem as long there...

[mintaka14]

See the Light

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Three – Living in a Blur

  “No Rose or Juleka today?” Marinette asked as she stepped down into the galley of the Liberty with that effortless grace that Luka was coming to associate with the woman she’d become. She reached up to tuck back a lock of hair that had escaped from the braid over her shoulder, and Luka moved around the tiny kitchen, pulling out mugs, while the kettle whistled loudly in the background.

“No, they had a few things to organise today for the wedding. They said to say hi, though.” He didn’t mention the other things that Rose had had to say, or the broad, suggestive beams she given him before she dragged Juleka away on whatever mission she’d manufactured.

He handed Marinette the tea that he’d just made and shifted towards the couch in the living room, cradling his own coffee. Marinette sank into the armchair across from him. She blew on the mug and closed her eyes to inhale the steam.

“I still can’t quite believe that Juleka and Rose are getting married. It feels like only yesterday we were all in collège.” Marinette smiled, and sighed.

“They’re incredibly lucky to be getting MDC original wedding dresses. That’s one hell of a wedding present you’re giving them.”

“Juleka and Rose are covering the materials I’m just volunteering my time and a bit of sewing.”

Luka’s eyebrow rose sceptically. “One artist to another, I know it’s not ‘just’ anything, Marinette. Your time and skill is a very generous gift, and don’t forget, I’ve seen what you’re putting together for them. Jules and Rose can’t have been straightforward to design for.”

Marinette laughed. “But they’re giving me the chance to have fun,” she insisted. “I spend all day every day dealing with clients with no individuality or imagination, trying to convince them to trust me, so it’s a relief to get a chance to do something interesting for a change, with friends who are happy to indulge me.”

Luka leaned back, all plans to rehearse forgotten, as he watched Marinette talk about the inspiration behind the wedding dresses and the creative possibilities in dressing certain clients, her face lighting up and her hands gesturing animatedly as she grew more impassioned about her theories of clothing as a reflection of self. He followed the movement of her hands and lost himself in the endless blue of her eyes.

“I really need to ask Juleka if she’d be willing to model for me sometime. She’s always so compelling in whatever she wears, and so much fun to design for,” she said eventually. He found her eyeing him speculatively. “I’d love to have the chance to dress you one day.”

“You could at least buy me dinner first,” he said without thinking.

There was a heartbeat, then Marinette burst out laughing.

“Smooth line, Couffaine. Does that work on all the girls?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He decided to lean into it, and grinned at her. “I’ve only ever tried it on you. Is it working?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “How are you still single?” she asked.

“You’re a hard act to follow,” he said, and Marinette levelled a look at him.

“Luka, I was a fourteen year old clumsy mess who kept on flaking out on our dates. You can’t tell me I’m the gold standard of your relationships.”

Put like that, it was ridiculous, but it was true nonetheless. He’d had relationships, and they were sincere in the moment, but he’d drifted out of them as easily as he’d drifted into them, and they’d left him with little more than fond memories. None of them had left a mark like Marinette had. Over the years, he’d put it down to rose-coloured nostalgia, but then she’d walked into his life again, more Marinette than ever, and he’d fallen harder and faster than he had before.

He looked down at the mug of coffee in his hands.

“How about you? Anyone special in your life these days?” he asked the coffee with casual disinterest. She gave a soft snort.

“Hardly. It’s not like anything’s changed since we were going out.” She seemed to catch herself, and froze as Luka’s head came up to stare at her. “I just… mean, who’s got time for a relationship, right? Life’s too busy.”

“Not since we were going out?” Luka echoed her, frowning. “Marinette, you were fourteen. You haven’t dated anyone since then?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “I dated. It just never lasts long. It’s not that big a deal. And besides,” she muttered, “I’ve learned my lesson, the universe doesn’t want me to have a relationship.”

She put her mug abruptly on the table and stood.

“Weren’t we supposed to be practising?”

Luka got to his feet and reached for his guitar. Clearly this was a line of conversation that Marinette did not want to go down with him, and he dropped the subject to run through the song with her a few times, correcting her gently when her voice faltered.

He had to wonder, though, what the hell was wrong with the men in Marinette’s life that had left her love life such a sore subject?

Luka stopped again to make a suggestion about phrasing and breath control.

“All that time, never even knowing just how blind I’ve been,” Marinette tried again, sounding more confident with the slightly awkward vocal skips this time, and Luka gave her a smile.

“See?” he told her. “Fashion designer to the stars, artist, and now singer. You can add that to your résumé.”

He’d finally coaxed a laugh out of her, and then Marinette’s handbag buzzed. Luka watched the smile drop off her face. Her eyes flicked to the door. “I’m really sorry, I have to go. I have… a thing…”

She was gone before he could say anything further. For a moment, Luka sat there with his guitar silent in his lap, frowning thoughtfully. Apparently she was right – not much had changed in the ten years since they’d been kids together. There were still the abrupt excuses, the silences, the sudden disappearances.

Luka plucked out Now she’s here, shining in the starlight, and he considered the empty space where she’d been. He was coming to suspect that whatever had been going on when they were kids, whatever she’d been keeping to herself when she broke it off with him, it was something bigger than he’d imagined.

At that moment, Luka’s own phone chimed with an akuma alert, and the timing of it was jarring. His hand dropped, as it always did, to touch his empty wrist. He looked down at it, his frown growing troubled as a new thought took hold.

He found himself thinking back over the timing of some of those disappearances, and odd excuses, and the times she’d had just a little more knowledge of Ladybug's movements than any random civilian ought to, but it had all sounded so plausible at the time. Seen through this new lens, those moments took on a new significance the more he turned them over in his mind.

Black pigtails, unmistakeable blue eyes. The same damn plain black earrings that Marinette, the consummate fashion designer, was still wearing ten years later.

How had he never put it together before?

Luka was still sitting there, his hands resting on his guitar and his gaze fixed on nothing, when Juleka and Rose came home.

“Where’s Marinette?” Rose asked in obvious disappointment when she took in the quiet room.

“She had to leave,” Luka replied absently.

“Luka! You just let her leave?”

Luka could see the tiny frown that he was feeling reflected in his sister’s face, although he wasn’t sure what had prompted it in Juleka’s case.

“I’m not going to badger her into staying if she needs to go, Rose,” he said mildly.

Rose threw up her hands. “And how is she supposed to know you want her to stay if you don’t tell her? I don’t get why you’re both fighting this so hard. She’s single, you’re single, but both of you are too chicken to make the first move.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Juleka interjected, shooting a dark look at her brother. “Because I remember weeks and weeks of Taylor fucking Swift, and I do not want to go through that again.”

“That was ten years ago! You cannot tell me that there’s not something there!” Rose whirled and stabbed a finger at Luka. “You can’t argue with the Sparkly Sense.”

Luka was only half paying attention to the argument, and responded vaguely, “Marinette has too much going on in her life right now to worry about a relationship with anyone.” Like saving the city, over and over and over again, holy shit, she was Ladybug.

Once seen, it was hard to understand how he could have missed it, and his mind briefly derailed to speculate that it must be some sort of kwami-induced magic that obscured her identity. Given how adamant Ladybug had been back in the day that the secret of the miraculous holders’ identities had to be preserved, and how hard she had worked since then to maintain that secrecy, Luka had a bad feeling about how things would go if he told her that he knew.

He was about to become another crack in her armour, another worry dumped on her already overloaded shoulders. Although, what did he really know, when all was said and done? He had his suspicions, nothing more.

“Hopeless, the both of you,” Rose complained, and glared at Juleka. “Don’t you want your brother to live happily ever after?”

“I don’t want to have to live through weeks of I Almost Do again, because my stupid brother hasn’t got the sense he was born with, and you’re just encouraging him.”

Rose stomped away, muttering things under her breath, but Juleka stayed silent after that. His guitar still in his hand, Luka got to his feet and headed for his bedroom before Rose could come back and start again. He had too much else on his mind to deal with Rose’s matchmaking.

Every time he thought Marinette couldn’t get any more extraordinary, she surprised him all over again, but the music he played softly in the solitude of his room that night ached with all the burdens he’d seen in her eyes.

Some time later, he heard a soft knock on his door and it opened quietly. When he looked up, Juleka was leaning there, her hand on the door handle and a look of equal parts irritation and uneasiness on her face.

“Luka –“

“I’m fine,” he cut her off before she could say what he knew she was going to say. “I know what I’m doing, and it’s all good.”

Juleka’s mouth pinched. “Do you, though? Because from where I’m standing, we’re heading for Taylor territory again.”

Luka didn’t answer, his focus on his hands and the fragments of melody that he’d come to think of as Marinette’s song. Eventually he heard a sigh, and Juleka said, “I love you, you dumbass.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

The door shut behind her, and he was left alone with his thoughts and Marinette’s secrets.

~~~~~

“You’re playing with fire,” warned the voice of responsibility in Marinette’s handbag, and Marinette sighed. She shifted the bulky dress bags in her hands so that she could see the little round face peering up at her.

“It’s just a dress fitting, Tikki. Can’t I even have friends anymore?”

“It’s Luka,” the tiny kwami said primly. “Things never stay just friends with Luka, and I saw the way you’ve been looking at him. Remember what happened the last time you told someone?”

“That was ten years ago, and Luka is not Alya. Don’t you think things have changed a bit since then?”

“It never ends well,” Tikki insisted, and Marinette felt the weight of Ladybug closing in on her all over again. She looked up at the Liberty as she drew closer, and had never felt less free in her life.

“Don’t worry, Luka’s not even going to be there,” she said wearily. “Juleka said he’s got something tonight, so it’ll just be her and Rose there. And anyway, there’s no chance he’d ever be interested in me like that again.” Because if there was a chance, then Marinette would have to walk away now before she could do any more damage, and she’d never get to see Luka again. She couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t.

“Luka was a wonderful holder for Sass,” Tikki conceded, “but he’s always been a little too perceptive for comfort. If he were to find out…”

“We’re here,” Marinette said, cutting off the rest of Tikki’s dire predictions. The kwami vanished into the depths of her handbag, and Marinette maneouvred the dress bags carefully as she climbed the gangplank onto the boat and called a greeting as she reached the empty deck.

In spite of her mood after Tikki’s lecture, she felt a tiny smile curl her lips as Rose’s answering shriek echoed up from below deck, and she followed the sound down into the depths of the boat.

“Marinette!” Rose scolded reproachfully as Marinette descended carefully into the galley with the two dress bags in her hand and moved through into the living room. “You didn’t even say goodbye last time! We got back and you were just gone.”

Marinette held the dresses clear as Rose engulfed her in a whirlwind hug, and turned to meet Juleka’s more sedate greeting. The dark-haired girl gave her a nod and a quirk of a smile that turned to a frown when Rose gave her girlfriend a smug look.

Rose turned towards the bedrooms, and bellowed, “Luka! Look who’s here!”

“What’s up?” she heard Luka’s voice, and felt her heart stutter. Oh, that wasn’t good. Luka swung around the edge of the door, leaning against the frame behind his sister as he directed a slow, sweet smile at Marinette.

“Hey, you,” he said, and Marinette couldn’t help but smile back at him. Juleka rolled her eyes and slugged her brother in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Juleka!” Rose scolded.

“Weren’t you going out? Rose said you had a thing tonight,” Juleka said, and Luka frowned at her.

“Not for another hour. The band we were going to check out isn’t on til later.”

“Did I say eight?” Rose said innocently to the ceiling. “I meant nine. Oops.”

Marinette found herself standing there awkwardly holding the dress bags, her eyes shifting between the three of them.

“You don’t want to keep the guys waiting if you said you’d be there,” Juleka pushed.

“I only said I might,” Luka said, shooting his sister an annoyed look.

“Besides, he can catch them another time,” Rose insisted, staring at her girlfriend with a pointed message that Juleka ignored for once. “They won’t mind, and Marinette’s here now.”

Luka elbowed Juleka aside none too gently and came into the room. “I’m getting a coffee. Did you want anything, Mari?”

“I’d like a coffee,” Juleka said in a saccharine voice, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“I didn’t ask you, monster child.”

“You don’t have to stay on my account,” Marinette told Luka. “I’m only here to do the final dress fitting.”

“Oh no!” Rose protested. “You have to stay for dinner. It’s the least we can do after everything you’ve done with the wedding dresses.”

“You haven’t even seen the finished thing yet,” Marinette pointed out, and felt a flush rising at the smile that Luka was giving her.

“We don’t need to see them to know they’re going to be incredible,” he said. “And it wasn’t important. I was only half thinking of going out anyway.”

The noise Juleka made was not polite, and Luka made a rude gesture back without looking at his sister.

“Well,” said Rose brightly. “How about we leave them to it? They’re going to be doing this for a while.”

In Juleka’s bedroom, Marinette didn’t have to ask Rose if she was happy with her wedding dress once she’d settled the clouds of soft pink organza around her and done up the miles of tiny buttons. Rose was making a noise like a tea kettle on the boil that rose to a squeal of happiness as she spun around in front of Juleka’s bedroom mirror. Handbeaded organza flowers spilled down in glittering trails across the skirts as she turned, and Rose raised a hand to touch the flowers that clustered all over her bodice.

“It’s perfect!” she breathed. She made a move as if she was going to throw her arms around Marinette, but Marinette fended her off with a laugh.

“Hug me when we get you out of the dress,” she smiled. “How does it feel? Nothing slipping, or too tight?”

“It’s perfect,” Rose repeated, her voice turning a little wobbly with emotion.

When Marinette finally got Rose to stop twirling around for long enough to take the gown off again, they headed back to the living room to find the Couffaine siblings glaring at each other. Luka looked away as they came in, his mouth pressed in a tight line, and Juleka spun on her heel, stalking towards the bedroom without a word, leaving Marinette to follow.

She carefully removed Juleka’s wedding dress from its hanger while her friend stripped down to her underwear and slipped her formal shoes on, and then Marinette started easing Juleka into the gown.

“Mari, what’s really going on with you and Luka?” Juleka asked, her voice a little muffled by the softly glittering black fabric over her head. Marinette slid the dress down and settled it into place. “I love you, but he’s my brother and I’m worried about him.”

“We’re just friends,” Marinette said, and suppressed a flinch at the words. Juleka rolled her eyes.

“You were never just friends even when you were just friends. And the last time I thought you were just friends it turned out you’d been dating my idiot brother. So excuse me if I’m not buying it.”

Marinette swallowed at that, stung but unable to argue the point.

“Believe me, Juleka, I’m well aware of how badly I fucked up back then, and the last thing I want to do is hurt Luka like that again,” she said, insistent in the face of Juleka’s scepticism.

“You won’t mean to, but Luka gets stupid when you’re involved.”

“That was ten years ago,” Marinette protested.

“That was two minutes ago.”

Juleka’s exasperated words provoked a cold wash of dismay. Juleka had to be mistaken. Luka was long over her, he had to be. Somewhere deep down, though, Marinette felt a tiny fireworks explosion of something that she didn’t dare acknowledge.

“The moment you turn up, he drops everything without a second thought,” Juleka muttered as Marinette eased the hidden zip up. Marinette stepped back, and Juleka turned to face the mirror.

“Wow. Damn, Marinette,” she breathed. She angled herself a little, her eyes still on her reflection in the mirror. “I take it all back. You’re welcome to wreck my dumbass brother, as long as I get to keep this dress.”

Marinette gave a tightlipped little smile, and went back to regarding the gown with a critical eye. There really didn’t seem to be much that needed adjusting. She repositioned the crystal chipped dragon brooch that coiled over Juleka’s hip, where it caught up the fall of the fabric, but it all seemed to be working.

She extracted Juleka from the gown again, and back in the living room Rose was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through something on her phone. Luka had his guitar in his hands again, strumming something with his coffee forgotten on the table beside him. He looked up as Marinette and Juleka came in.

“How’s the dress?” he asked.

“It’s stunning,” Juleka said, and heaved a put-upon sigh. “I can’t stop you from being stupid, but at least you have good taste.”

He gave her a suspicious look, his eyes shifting to Marinette when there was no further explanation forthcoming. “What was that all about?”

Marinette shrugged awkwardly, but fortunately he didn’t press her on it.

“So are we doing Thai or that new Indian place tonight? There’s nothing on the Akuma alert,” Rose said from the couch, “but there is a new theory about who Ladybug is on the conspiracy forums.”

“Aliens, or the Mayor’s secret revenge love child this time?” Juleka asked, dropping onto the couch beside her.

“I miss the Ladyblog,” Rose said, stretching her arms over her head. “Remember that time Alya thought that Chloe was Ladybug?”

Marinette remembered.

On the couch, Juleka laughed. “How is Alya,” she asked, and tilted her head to throw a look at Marinette. “Have you seen her lately?”

Alya again. The universe seemed determined to beat her over the head with her failures. She opened her eyes to find them all watching her, and she gave a strained and unconvincing smile.

“Not recently. I think she’s working in a travel agency now. It’s been a few years, though.”

Nearly six years, to be exact, since she’d last bumped into Alya.

“Jules,” Luka said casually, “how about you and Ro go pick up dinner? Mari and I really should work on the song for the wedding a bit more.”

It was a transparent excuse to shift the subject and give her a bit of space, and she was grateful for it, even if Rose did give Luka a very unsubtle wink that he pretended to not see. Rose and Juleka didn’t seem to have noticed anything odd, but Luka threw her a quick glance as he laughed at something Rose said, and reached out to toss his wallet at Juleka, who pulled a few euros from it and threw it back. Marinette managed to respond lightly enough to a question about her preferences, and by the time it was just her and Luka she’d pulled herself together again.

“I take it that things aren’t good with Alya,” he said gently.

She shrugged, and the smile she gave him was a little unsteady. “Our friendship didn’t end well. We don’t talk to each other anymore.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was as close as she could get without giving away too much. There was no way she could explain how her former best friend had looked straight through her as if she was a stranger the last time they’d run into each other, or the sickening wash of guilt, remorse, and self-loathing she still felt over the reason behind it, even after all these years.

“It was a long time ago,” she said as easily as she could manage, but Luka had always been able to read her better than that. His hand closed over hers briefly, reassuring and strong, and for a moment she let herself draw on his warmth.

“It still leaves a mark, though, doesn’t it?” he said.

She couldn’t help wondering a little bitterly how different things might have been if she’d told Luka everything, instead of Alya, back when she was fourteen. Would it have been Luka looking at her with that terrible emptiness?

Marinette broke eye contact and pulled her hand away to wrap it around her now-cold mug. She was aware that Luka was regarding her as if he saw a lot more than she was letting on, but he didn’t push for more. Instead, he got to his feet.

“I need another coffee,” he said, and gave her a questioning look. “Tea for you?”

She took the distraction, and followed him into the galley.

Luka kept to safe subjects after that, telling her about the group of students he’d been working with after school, and a gig that had gone disastrously wrong, until she couldn’t help but giggle when he described the drummer slowly sliding off his stool and passing out face down on his snare drum.

“It actually improved the quality of his playing,” Luka said wryly.

And he laughed when she countered with an account of Chloe Bourgeois commisioning her to design and make an outfit last season.

“I don’t think she’d even considered that MDC might stand for Marinette Dupain-Cheng until she turned up for the fitting,” Marinette grinned. “You should have seen the look on her face, though.”

“Ridiculous!” Luka scoffed in a passable immitation of the Mayor’s daughter, and waved his hand in the air as Marinette giggled at him. “Utterly ridiculous!”

“And of course, nothing was good enough. She couldn’t believe I was expecting her to pay full price for such shoddy workmanship. I should be paying her to wear my rags.”

“Tell me you told her where to shove it,” Luka said, and folded his arms on the benchtop, leaning forward in anticipation. Marinette’s smile grew broader.

“Oh, better than that. I told her if it wasn’t to her satisfaction she was welcome to leave the dress and I’d cancel her contract, and I’d even waive the cancellation fee because we’d known each other such a long time. I was very helpful. I told her I was sure I could find someone willing to buy it instead, and Clara Nightingale had already seen it and asked if it was for sale. Which was true,” she added as an afterthought.

“And?”

Marinette tilted her chin, her smile turning smug. “She took the dress, of course. And ordered another one under a fake name a month later.”

“Seriously?”

“B. Queen, to be delivered to the Grand Paris Hotel. With her exact measurements. Seriously.”

Luka tipped his head back and laughed hard, and Marinette lost herself in the sound. God, he was a beautiful man.

Next to the couch in the living room, her handbag shuffled in agitation, and Marinette ignored it, but her smile faded in response to the reminder.

“Marinette,” Luka said more seriously, and when she looked up his blue eyes had deepened into something that was a little hard to read. He frowned a little, as if he was trying to decide what he should say. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I get the feeling that things haven’t been so easy for you. I know it’s been hard to let yourself get close to anyone.”

He was speaking slowly, measuring out each word carefully, and it felt like there was a whole lot he deliberately wasn’t saying.

“I just need you to know, the Liberty is always a safe place. We’re here for you. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

It would be so easy, so very easy, to fall into those ocean deep eyes and fall into his arms, and tell him everything. That was what made Luka Couffaine so dangerous to be around. With ten years of Tikki’s constant litany of concealment and duty ringing in her ears, Marinette clamped her mouth shut on all her secrets even as a tiny voice in the back of her head pleaded but this is Luka.

“Weren’t we supposed to practise the song?” Marinette blurted out, and felt the heat of an embarrassed flush rise in her cheeks. She hadn’t felt this thrown in years.

Luka accepted the abrupt shift with nothing more than a nod and a soft smile, as if he’d expected it.

“Back to the Disney salt mines,” he said drily, and startled a laugh out of her. “Don’t tell Rose I said that. She’d have me tried for treason.”

“How did we get ourselves into this?” Marinette asked, and Luka chuckled.

“Well, Ro loves Disney, no surprise there, and Jules loves Ro.”

“And you love them both,” Marinette said softly.

“And you’d do anything for the people you care about, even agree to sing at their wedding if they asked you to,” Luka said just as gently, and they exchanged glances. “So here we are, knee deep in Disney magic. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to sit through Cinderella, both versions, and I can recite Tangled in my sleep.” His smile softened. “I’m developing a new appreciation for it, though.”

Marinette dropped her gaze, avoiding his eyes. He said in an easier manner, “I have to admit, there’s some great music. You should hear Rose belt out Let It Go sometime, and Jules did an incredible cover of Once Upon a Dream one Valentine’s Day for Rose.”

“What about you? Do you ever sing along?” she asked, trying to match his tone.

“What do you think? Music nerd here.”

He rapped out a solid, syncopated beat on the benchtop, and that husky voice of his sang, “Tatou o tagata folau...” She couldn’t help grinning, and he grinned back as he segued into a phrase from Circle of Life before riffing a bit of the simple bear necessities, and then finished on “You’re welcome, and thank you!” as she burst out laughing.

“Good music is good music,” he said with a shrug. “I get a lot of eyerolling from some of the kids when I start talking Disney in class, but it’s a starting point for a lot of discussion, and it turns out everyone always has their favourite song.”

“So what about you? What’s your favourite?” she asked, and he said easily, “Oh, there are a lot I could go with. It all depends on my mood.”

“Yes, but if you had to pick one?”

She wasn’t sure why she was pushing, and he hesitated for a long moment. Just when she thought he was going to brush it off, he reached for his guitar.

“It’s not strictly Disney, but ...” She didn’t recognise the soft, rippling intro that he played, and it wasn’t until he started singing that she worked out what it was.

He didn’t look at her as he sang about someday, out of the blue. It didn’t have to mean anything, it was just a song, he could have been thinking about anyone, but when he sang about still believing and still having faith in a voice that was far too heartfelt, Marinette felt her breath catch.

She couldn’t be doing this to him all over again.

~~~~~

He knew, the moment that his hands stilled on the guitar strings, that he’d gone too far and given away too much. The stricken look on Marinette’s face made that blatantly clear.

From the doorway, Rose breathed, “Oh Luka, that was lovely!”

Juleka dropped the bags of takeaway on the table and muttered something, while Luka watched Marinette and felt his heart sink like a stone.

“We so have to do a Road to El Dorado movie night tonight,” Rose was saying brightly. “You’re staying, aren’t you, Marinette? Otherwise Luka’s going to be the odd man out again.”

“I wish I could,” Marinette said. “I… I have to go. Sorry, Rose, maybe another time.” Her glance flickered in his direction. “Sorry. I’m really sorry I can’t stay for dinner after all.”

She scrambled her things together, dropping her handbag and coming up red-faced. This was more like the Marinette he remembered from their teenage years, and it brought up some difficult memories. She flashed an awkward smile in answer to Rose’s protests, and then she was gone.

“Well,” Rose said, staring at the empty doorway. “I guess Marinette’s still Marinette.”

“Rose!” Luka’s voice cracked like glass, and his future sister-in-law’s eyes widened at Luka’s uncharacteristically sharp tone. “Remember all those plans to get Marinette and Adrien together?” How well did those work out?”

“But this is different!” Rose protested.

“This is no different. No more plans. I’ve screwed things badly enough as it is.”

He drew in a deep breath and blew it out again, thinking of all those secrets that Marinette had to keep, and the distances that had grown in her life because of them. More quietly, he said, “Marinette could really use a few good friends in her life. I don’t want her to lose us again because we’re pushing for more than she can give.”

“I…” Rose looked away, biting her lip, and then met his eyes. “Yeah, I get it.”

Dinner was quieter than usual, and Luka ignored the perturbed glances his sister kept shooting him. He pushed the food around, barely tasting it, and put it aside when he couldn’t pretend he was actually eating it anymore.

Luka swung away from the table, his phone in his hand, and hesitated, then he texted Marinette before he could talk himself out of it.

+Sorry about that. Rose has promised to back off on the matchmaking – I think she’s just got wedding fever. Want to run through the song one more time before the wedding?+

It wasn’t Rose’s schemes, though. He knew that. Marinette was taking far too long for it to mean anything good, although he kept trying to tell himself that she might not be able to answer, she might be in the middle of something, she might have her phone off... Juleka muttered at him to stop fidgeting so much, god, you’re driving me crazy, before it finally chimed with a response.

+I think I know it now+ she sent back. +See you next week+

Luka stared numbly at the words on his screen. It was happening all over again, and this time he had no defences left. Juleka was watching him with a look of exasperated sympathy.

“You’re just as stupid as you ever were,” she told him, and Luka exhaled heavily. It was hard to argue with that.

[murderousginger]

Cherry Red

Cops & Robbers epilogue???

Warnings: They’re criminals, guys, they do bad things.

Word Count: 2,982

Song inspiration here

Warm rough fingertips danced along your bare back, stopping to trace along the horse tattooed upon your shoulder. The cool rings made you grip your champagne flute tighter as the hand -- which most certainly was not your husband's -- dipped from your shoulders down your exposed back to the indent above your waist. 

"Backless dresses suit you much better than men's clothing, pet," his breath tickled your ear as he rounded you, his red beard unruly compared to his sharp black suit. "You lied to me those years ago. You are a Shelby."

"You ever hit me again, Mr. Solomons, and I'll gut you in front of God and Polly," you smiled as you tipped your glass to him, your wedding ring gleaming against the flute. "Keep that in mind tonight."

"I don't remember you being so brave those years ago," he squinted, looking over your dress. As his gaze followed the line of your body you cocked your hip, showing your leg through a slit in the gown. His eyes widened before snapping back to your face. "Pretty creature gained courage with a ring on her finger."

His hand lingered on your waist as his fingers played with the edge of your cherry red dress. You lifted your eyebrow at him but refused to move out of his grasp. 

"You looked me in the eye far more when I was dressed as a man," you countered before finishing your glass in a gulp. "Perhaps my witchcraft only works on you when you're reminded of my body. You forget what you told me?"

"Which part, love?" He smirked as his free hand smoothed his beard.

You leaned forward and pressed your hand on his chest as you whispered into his ear. 

"Funniest thing about pretty creatures, pet," you drawled, mimicking his accent. "The most colorful are usually the likeliest to kill you dead without warnin'."

You pulled back and looked around the room with bored eyes. You could see Arthur shooting glances your way as he conversed with a man, and John and Esme were at a table across the crowded ballroom. Esme wrangled their youngest and John's glare fixed on Alfie's arm. His fist was tight on the table as Esme drew his attention back to his family. Finn and Isaiah were both talking in a corner with the help, darting glances your way from time to time.

You raised your glass to a maid and nodded for her to bring her tray over. She smiled nervously and hastily cut through the crowd. 

"Mrs. Shelby," she said, eyeing Alfie standing so close with his hand on your waist before her eyes snapped to yours. 

"I'm bored of champagne," you monotoned. "Get me a whiskey, please, Dolly. Mr. Solomons? Would you rather rum? Gin?"

His eyes flashed and you felt his fingers flex on your side. 

"Don't drink the stuff, meself," he said. "I suppose, when in hell, I'll have a whiskey."

"How courteous to fall to our level," you teased as the maid tittered away to fulfill your request. 

"I've seen no white knight come to your rescue yet, pet," his cold rings pressed against your bare spine. "Why do I feel glares but no one has dared interrupt us? Where is my good friend Mr. Shelby?"

"I've no need for a good man, let alone a knight, Alfie," you smiled and raised your glass to the ballroom. "This is my dear husband's fundraiser. He's around somewhere talking old men out of their money and into his favor."

"Ay, Birmingham and London wasn't enough, he had to join parliament," he chuckled. "And his wife's scandalous attitude has gained more than one headline in the papers."

Alfie's hand raised to graze along your tattooed shoulder. 

"You show you are marked so openly," he murmured. "Like a badge rather than an abomination."

"God never visited Small Heath," you laughed. "No need to gain favor of an absent father."

"Blasphemous with a smile," Alfie shook his head and pressed his lips into a tight line. "Perhaps you should be in men's clothes with the balls on you."

"Says the man with his hands on another's wife at a very public gala," you smiled curtly and squinted at him, as if assessing him and finding him wanting.

"How will the papers headline it?" Alfie said, leaning closer as if to tell a secret. "Another man touching the good politician Shelby's wild wife. Her bare back at that. Scandalous, innit love?"

You laughed loudly and threw your head back, running your fingers along the seam of his suspender inside his jacket. You felt him freeze under your touch as you pressed against him, taking in the spice of his cologne as heads turned to follow your laugh to its source.

"Aren't you a prominent beacon in the Jewish community, Mr. Solomons?" You pushed the words into his ear, velvet draping over him as your grin grew Cheshire-like. "I'm not the only one that can suffer a scandal, and I can promise a pious man will make more headlines than a Shelby."

The maid returned with a stiff 'ma'am' as she handed the whiskey glasses to you both. You murmured your thanks, sipped your drink as you deftly took a step away and turned to face your adversary. 

You looked over his shoulder to see you had Polly's full attention, her scowl cutting you as your glance stuttered on her. She nodded once slowly as she glared daggers one more moment before returning to her conversation. The signal was loud and clear: behave. 

Your eyes searched the ballroom again, finding John's jaw set as he held a toddler, his eyes squinting at yours in question. You winked at him, a smile curling on your lips that you tried to hide by the rim of the whiskey glass. He was not amused.

"Getting all your orders signed to you, love?" He chuckled. "Did you get in trouble with your family? Not as free as you'd like to think."

Alfie smiled wide, a wolf who realized he found a soft spot, and took a large gulp of his drink. He grimaced, clearing his throat as he frowned at the glass. 

"I'll forgive you this once," you said, your attention returning to him. "So it won't interfere with our business."

"Business?" Alfie frowned. "You would never interfere with my business with Tommy."

"No, Alfie," your eyes hardened as Alfie's expression blanked. "I do mean our business."

"Alfie, old friend," a warm voice called from behind you as a familiar hand rested on your back. "I hope you didn't start business without me. Some of my guests require more attention and it becomes difficult to get away. I see you found (Y/N) to entertain you."

Alfie watched as Tommy came up beside you, all ease and familiarity as if it was instinct. His suit was crisp, every corner of his appearance perfect and every bit a politician, down to the fake turn of his lips. His fingers played with the fabric against the small of your back and goosebumps covered your skin as he talked with the increasingly agitated man in front of you.

"What do you mean she's in charge of your shipping business?" Alfie's voice had clipped, his games falling aside as his shock got the better of him. 

"Exactly what he said," you smiled. "If you would like a piece of our shipping gin -- and possibly your rum -- to the Americas, you'll need to speak to me."

"Ah," Alfie said, tongue circling an eye tooth as he reassessed you in Tommy's arms. "So the soldier had become a general herself."

"More like a queen," Tommy said, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he pulled you into his side. 

"Wouldn't the charity be better business for a woman to run?" Alfie frowned, squinting between you both. 

"Lizzie is running the charity," you supplied, your fingers running along Tommy's arm that stretched along your middle. "We're a modern company, Mr. Solomons. Multiple women can run multiple pieces."

"I was hoping to introduce you two, make the transition smoother," Tommy said as his jaw ticked. "But you seem to have shot straight for (Y/N) before I could."

"We've met, we did," Alfie said as he twisted his beard in his hand. "Had a nice little discussion all those years ago, didn't we pet? Thought it only proper to give her a hello while you were busy."

Tommy's face was blank, his eyes half lidded as if bored. If anyone could shut Alfie Solomons' erratic energy down, it was Tommy Shelby and his nature of being completely still. Looking between the men was like looking between fire and ice. Both were dangerous, conniving, and ambitious to a fault. 

Alfie was loud, erratic, constantly flipping moods, expressions, energies, to keep everyone around him on their toes. You never knew when he would strike because he constantly tapped on walls for weaknesses. By the time he had done what he wished, no one flinched because it was old hat. You couldn't tell whick way was up or down by the time Alfie was done with you.

Tommy, on the other hand, preferred to be still, watchful, quiet. People often would see his blank face and -- unable to read an expression -- take whatever he said as truth. He would hold himself still until everyone forgot he was there and when he would strike there would be nothing but astonishment and dust in his wake. He was a ghost.

Tommy licked his lips, letting the air thicken between them before he unwrapped himself from your waist and took your hand. You placed your drink on a nearby table. His eyes instantly warmed as they left Alfie to look you up and down. 

"Do you like this dress, Alfie?" Tommy asked as he twirled you slowly in front of the man, letting the long red fabric frame you. "I picked it out myself. I believe it's from Paris, right love?"

Alfie grunted, looking between you and Tommy with suspicion.

"It is," you said evenly, allowing him to spin you in front of the man like he was showing off a jewel in the light. 

"Your taste has always been rich, Tom," Alfie squinted. "No doubt about that."

"It's made from a very fine silk, I believe," Tommy went on, ignoring the comment, his eyes dancing between your figure and Alfie's confused face.

"The thing about it is the cut," he went on, leaning toward Alfie as if conspiring. "My beautiful wife can't wear undergarments with it. Low back, that slit up the side, how the dress flows over her more like water than fabric. Very unfortunate, don't you think?" 

Alfie's eyes widened as he eyed your body even closer. He reddened slightly as he finally made his way to your face to see your eyebrow cocked at him daringly, the smallest curl of your lips a mix of a snarl and a smile.

"Very unfortunate, indeed," Alfie mumbled. "Why are you telling me this, Tom?"

"Oh no reason at all," Tommy tilted his head and winked as he pulled you closer to him, his hand dropping yours to rest splayed on your hip.

"You're going to dance with my wife, Alfie, while I grab a smoke," Tommy said, the edge to his voice sharper than his locked jaw. "And you'll figure out the conditions for our joint alcohol smuggling effort during that dance."

Tommy's blue eyes burrowed into Alfie as he waited for an answer. Alfie nodded slowly and extended his hand toward you, a grimace on his face as you dipped your head and accepted his hand. His hand extended yours out as his other rested on your waist, flitting over your skin rather than holding. He was nervous like a clumsy child that was told to set the table with fine china tonight.

"Oh, and Alfie," Tommy called before Alfie could pull you too far away. You both looked back at him, but only you had a sparkle of mischief in your eye.

"She might cut you if your hands wander," Tommy said, his eyebrows raised as his chin and voice sank. "I'll shoot you in the fuckin' face."

You exhaled a sharp laugh as Alfie's hand on your waist all but hovered above you, his face white as a sheet as he pulled you away from your husband. Tommy gave a nod and moved within the crowd, finding a place next to Polly for a moment. You looked around the room for a moment before reading your eyes back to the uncomfortable man in front of you.

"I will, you know," you smiled as his mouth quirked. "Cut you."

"With what blade in that dress?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," you said.

Alfie grunted and looked over your shoulder, no doubt looking for the positions of the Shelbys.

"Stop being grumpy, it's lame," you laughed as you rubbed his shoulder. "We have business to agree upon."

"Easy for you to say, pet," he mumbled. "Didn't realize I would be holding a bomb to me chest tonight over business."

"Isn't that the only way to do business?" You frowned. "I even wore red to alert you. I thought you knew better."

"Fuckin' should've," he breathed. "Alright, now, let's get to it then."

----

As the song ended, you and Alfie had agreed on a preliminary run of a limited amount of his rum going in your next shipment to America. If the numbers and shipment went well, you would ramp up within a fortnight. 

"May I have this dance?" Tommy appeared, his hand outstretched and pushing the two of you away from each other. 

"I believe we have amenable terms for now," Alfie bowed his head as he kissed your hand, in much better spirits than when the dance began. "I will leave my favorite cutthroats to go forth and ruin someone else's night with their fuckery. I do believe I need to return home and wash the sin from my clothes before it stains."

"Goodnight, Alfie," you said warmly as he easily transferred you to Tommy's side. "Safe travels home."

"Goodnight," Tommy said, all edge of his voice gone as his attention was only on you, his mouth dipped to kiss your shoulder. 

Alfie looked between you two and exhaled a soft laugh before he turned away, shaking his head. 

"Are we going to dance before you leave me to Polly to be yelled at, or was that just a way to cut short my time with your ally?" You murmured as his hand tickled your back. 

"I can dance," he said as he kissed your neck and swept you into his arms. 

You giggled as his hot breath tickled your ear and he pulled you across the hall. 

"So Polly is unhappy with me," you laughed as you pulled back to look him in the eye. 

Tommy sighed. 

"You threatened to make a scene, love," he said as his eyes softened. "With Alfie of all people."

"I think she's more upset about the half a glass of whiskey I had than dealing with Alfie," you said, earning a confused look from Tommy. "Alfie was only trying to make me uncomfortable."

"You didn't flinch a bit," Tommy toned. 

"Oh! You're jealous," you gasped. "Did Alfie Solomons upset my dear husband, king Tommy?"

"No one's to touch my wife but me," he said, roughly tugging you to the other side of a pillar as he pressed you against it in the shadow. 

He lifted your chin with his finger as his knee pressed between your legs and his other hand found its way into the slit of your dress and squeezed your ass. 

"Will you take me right here, Mr. Politician," you taunted, grinding a little against his knee as his eyes caught flame. "Need to prove your claim that boldly? Not enough to dangle me in front of your colleagues?"

"You're bored of the parties," he said as his head tilted and his hand wrapped around your throat, holding you against the pillar. "You aren't made for the pleasantries of the light."

"I'd much rather us in the dark," you tipped your chin up, your hands roaming up his chest and neck to pull him close.

"I hear you," he panted as your foreheads touched. You teased, your breath on his lips as you kept just out of reach. "But tonight is about what's best for this family."

"I agree," you smirked. "Our little one deserves a good life."

Tommy's mouth slacked and his hand dropped from your throat as you chuckled. 

"S'why Polly's upset," you whispered into his open mouth. "The whiskey. She called it last week. John was in the kitchen. Why do you think your little brother had grown so protective over me again?"

You smiled, taunting as he stood frozen.

"Did you fear he was trying to claim me again?" Your hand traced his jaw before you closed his mouth. "I'm yours, Tommy Shelby, just like this child is."

"Well, Mrs. Shelby," his voice was hoarse as he pushed the words out, shoveling them like gravel. He cleared his throat as he licked his lips. "Perhaps we should retire for the night."

"And leave your fundraiser?" You asked, your brows raised. 

It was not like him not to be the last one in the ballroom, talking to every last person as if to stuff his pockets with every cent and favor he could. You bit your lip as you watched the gears turn behind his soft eyes. He had completely melted against you. 

"My poor pregnant wife must be exhausted from the stress of the night," he said evenly, his hand tickling your thigh. "And what sort of man would I be if not to take care of her?"

"What sort, indeed," you smiled as you kissed him softly.

[novelconcepts]

fic: having so much fun all alone (i wanna let somebody know)

Control never seems so important until it’s being slowly, inexorably stripped away. Jamie finds she’s been thinking about this concept more and more as the days go by, and it’s almost fascinating. It interests her, thinking about the concept of control--not the control of another person, but control of the self. Of a person’s own body, own mind, own future. 

Control had seemed a simple thing before Dani, so absent from her childhood that Jamie taught herself to seek it out the minute she had the option. It didn’t always go well. There is a fine line between wanting control over a situation and the desperate desire to feel something, anything; it had taken her too long to discover the difference. Jail time had impacted the idea something fierce, reducing the notion of control from a childish impulse toward what I want, when I want it to something smaller. Easier to fit in the palm of her hand. Control became, instead, the simplicity of keeping herself to herself. 

People can’t control you if they don’t understand you, she’d reasoned. People can’t control what you do, say, want, if you never let them in. And, to a point, it had worked. Jamie’s adult life became marked by a certain kind of quiet freedom, an awareness of her own limits. She learned to keep to herself. She learned to give no part of herself away.

And then Dani had happened. Dani, whose own relationship with control was tenuous at best. Dani, whose life up until this point had been very much marked by other people’s control over her body, her dreams, her right to love.

Jamie hadn’t meant to give her control, just as Dani hadn’t meant to ask it of her. There had been no part of the exchange intended for pain, for holding one another hostage--and Jamie knows that is the only reason it happened at all. The only reason either of them--two people so used to the shackles of other people’s expectations--were willing to let the dance begin. This mutual understanding that control is only granted so lovingly because the other person will not abuse the privilege, will not turn their grasp into a cuff. 

It hadn’t been simple, exactly, so much as natural. Give and take. Dani’s ghosts for Jamie’s regrets; Jamie’s scars for Dani’s still-bleeding wounds. In a way, Jamie thinks, the idea of passing control over their life together back and forth was appealing because it was the first time either of them understood how to communicate. The first time Dani had ever learned how to speak her needs in someone else’s space; the first time Jamie had ever thought someone might actually be listening in return. Not simple. Not easy. Organic, though--very much that. 

It has been...an evolution, certainly. There are things Dani is carrying Jamie can’t take off her shoulders--things Dani bears with the stoic acceptance of one already a little bit gone. Jamie tries not to think about it that way, tries not to look into Dani’s eyes and think, Not quite the woman I met. She’s in there, she’s still looking back at me, but there’s something else, too. 

Dani thinks that something else will, one day, supersede her. Will, one day, take the wheel in a way Dani will not be able to ward off. 

Dani thinks, someday, the question of control will have nothing at all to do with their relationship, with the bond built so carefully and so firmly between them, but rather to do with the thing in the mirror. She says as much to Jamie some nights, her hand tangled in Jamie’s hair, her breathing soft and steady against Jamie’s skin. Says, in a voice so weary, Jamie can’t bear it: “I don’t know what I’ll do, then. I don’t know what will be left of me when she wakes.”

Jamie can only take her hand in these moments, the ones she knows will pass by morning--the ones Dani will pretend not to remember by the end of the week. It’s still early-days, she tells herself, bringing Dani’s fingers to her lips as she did in a bedroom across an ocean. It’s still new, and fresh, and there’s nothing saying it will happen at all.

One day at a time.

In the meantime, there are other thoughts of control. Thoughts she finds considerably more pleasurable, considerably more safe. Thoughts of what Dani truly needs some days, to remind her who is still in the driver’s seat of her life. 

Jamie is more than happy to help. 

***

The day has not been bad so much as long, and Jamie finds herself dragging home with a gently thrumming headache. It’s sometimes still more than she can wrap her head around: the shop, where the hours are her own to set, and the apartment, where every inch of space is open to her, and Dani, who fits into both places so perfectly, Jamie has trouble thinking back to a time without her. The world they’ve built together is warm, constantly waiting to welcome her home, and Jamie doesn’t know if she deserves it. Doesn’t know if there is such a thing as deserve. She knows only that she is lucky.

And that even the luckiest soul needs a break. 

“Medicine,” Dani had advised, her expression concerned as Jamie prepared to leave the shop. “A hot shower. Uh. A cold compress.”

“Be fine,” Jamie murmured, glancing around for customers. Not a soul to be found, she pressed a kiss lightly to Dani’s lips. “Shame you can’t join me. Can think of one thing that tends to help nice and quick.”

Dani’s face lit with visible warmth, as Jamie had known it would. “I--you--”

“Easy,” Jamie said, kissing her again. “I’m only teasing, Poppins.”

“Right,” Dani said, a bit hoarsely, her arm sliding instinctively around Jamie’s waist. “Exactly. Rude to tease when I’m already worried for your health.”

“My health’ll be just fine as soon as I get home and into bed,” Jamie told her. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll just, ah, handle it myself?”

“Tease,” Dani repeated in a low, fervent whisper, even as the bell above the door chimed. Jamie tipped her a wink. 

It’s always fun making Dani turn new colors, but she hadn’t been kidding--about the headache or the proposed solution. Little aggravations tend to slip away to nothing with Dani present, Dani’s hands searching her skin, Dani kissing her until she forgets any minor aches or pains. Of course, until they hire additional staff, Dani can’t really afford to join her in the middle of the afternoon just because she’s Jamie’s favorite form of migraine therapy. 

Not so bad, anyway, she thinks, even as she takes Dani’s advice piece by piece in the empty apartment. Medicine, a nice tall glass of water, a shower so long it ceases to be productively hot midway through. She stands with her face against the comparatively-cool tile, trying not to think of Dani’s expression as she’d said tease under her breath, Dani’s grip on her shirt threatening to remain as Jamie slipped out from behind the counter. 

Should just sleep, she thinks, changing into shorts and one of Dani’s shirts. Sleep it off, sure. Better for the whole system. She’ll just lay down for an hour or two, letting the cool of the sheets soothe the warmth of her skin as she remembers the mingled longing and worry in Dani’s face as she’d walked away. Just close her eyes, letting the steady pound in her temples lull her...lull her...

“Fuck,” she mutters, rolling onto her stomach and pressing her face into Dani’s pillow. What does it matter; anything that’ll banish this throb is worth a shot, and anyway, there’s something about the way Dani had watched her go she can’t erase. Something about the way Dani’s lips had lifted ever so slightly, the way they do when Dani wants nothing more than to remind Jamie how glad she is--how glad she’ll always be--that Jamie stayed in her life. 

Just take care of it, she tells herself with the air of brushing her hands clean. The idea of Dani watching her, the idea of Dani missing her, is too strong to ignore. Just Jamie’s luck, to be the having the sort of day where a headache and a painfully strong desire to bring Dani to bed collide. 

She realizes belatedly her hips are already moving without the rest of her noticing, rocking slowly against the mattress, and she sighs. Won't be enough. Won’t be nearly what it would with Dani beneath her, dragging her nails down Jamie’s back, a thigh flexing between Jamie’s legs. Still--the image isn’t nothing. Dani’s pillow smells of her shampoo, the one Jamie never uses because it should be Dani’s, should remind her of Dani whenever Dani isn’t around. She presses her face against it now, lips parted in a sigh, gripping the sheets in loose fingers. 

She’d intended to be quick and dirty with it, a true resolution followed by actual sleep, but her body has other opinions on the matter. Her body, it seems, wants full control of the situation--wants her full attention on the idea of Dani thinking of her at the shop. Dani, moving among the arrangements, picking flowers, chatting with strangers, all the while thinking of Jamie here. Of Jamie having mentioned a hot shower. Of Jamie beneath the spray, one hand sliding down her breasts, the other between her legs. 

Dani, thinking of her for the next hour, her breath coming in sharp little pants she’ll try to hide behind her smile. Dani, pressing her hips furtively against the counter in the empty shop, closing her eyes for a moment and wishing she could have followed Jamie home. 

This’ll do it. Her grip tightens on the sheets, her legs spreading slightly. It’s all too easy to imagine Dani going slightly mad, working faster in an effort to distract herself. Easy to imagine Dani’s hands pushing back her hair the way she does when she’s most frustrated--or when she’s astride Jamie, rolling her hips to match Jamie’s pace. She breathes through the image, the perfect memory of the last time Dani had, in the middle of a movie, climbed into Jamie’s lap and kissed her like she’d been wanting to do so for hours.

Why wait? Jamie had laughed, and Dani had given a happy breathy sigh against her lips. 

It’s better with the anticipation, don’t you think?

“Yes,” Jamie mumbles into the pillow now. The anticipation, that’s the trick of it. Can’t go straight for the thing, can’t just let her hand slide between shorts and skin like she wants. If Dani can’t have her at work, Jamie ought to be polite enough to hold herself out of reach here, too. 

Already, she can feel the headache ebbing away, replaced by the adrenaline of pure desire. She presses herself against the mattress, enjoying the way the seam of her shorts moves against slick skin. She wonders, dimly, how long she could keep this up--how long she could hold herself in this limbo, biting down on Dani’s pillow to keep quiet, rocking at this leisurely pace. Could she do it until Dani gets home? Could this be how she greets a Dani pent-up from missing her: holding what she wants at arm’s length just until Dani comes to check in on her?

The idea nearly makes her shudder: Dani, stepping into the room just in time to catch her like this, rutting against the mattress and sighing Dani’s name. Dani, walking in just in time to watch her come apart. 

Control, she thinks, forcing her speeding hips to slow again. Forcing herself to wait until she’s confident she won’t lose her patience, take a hand off the sheets, press up and in until she’s--

“Couldn’t wait for me at all?” Dani asks, and Jamie gives a leap of guilty surprise, twisting to look over her shoulder. Dani is, in fact, leaning in the doorway. Dani is, in fact, looking at her exactly as she’d been imagining: her eyes dancing, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Jamie presses her burning face against the pillow, closing her eyes. 

“I--hi.”

“Hi,” Dani says. She’s still just standing there, Jamie senses, in her jacket and boots. Just watching Jamie try to smother mild embarrassment on Dani’s side of the bed. “Oh, don’t stop on my account.”

“I wasn’t--” Oh, there’s no bloody point. “Headache’s gone.”

“Good,” Dani says mildly. “Then I won’t feel bad about what I’m about to do.”

Jamie darts another look over her shoulder, curious despite the mortification sending ripples through her arousal. “Why do I get the feeling I’m in trouble?”

“Not trouble.” Dani slips out of her coat like this is a perfectly normal conversation. Like there’s nothing out of the ordinary at all going on. She leans against the wall, removing her boots with the casual disinterest of a woman who has not just walked in on Jamie grinding against their bed. 

“Dunno if I believe you,” Jamie says, a bit breathlessly. Dani smiles. 

“What’s not to believe? You told me exactly what you were heading home to do...and, if you didn’t happen to do it fast enough, well...”

Fuck, thinks Jamie, her heart rate--which has not precisely calmed since Dani’s arrival--ratcheting back to full speed. She rolls onto her back, sits up, aware of the throbbing heat between her legs even as she pulls the sheets higher. 

“Dani...”

“Mm?” Dani is still moving with the grace of someone in absolutely no hurry to explain herself. As Jamie watches, she removes her earrings, sets them in a bowl on her dresser. Removes her watch, lays it beside the bowl. Reaches up to unbind the tie she must have used in Jamie’s absence, irritated with her hair falling into her eyes as she worked. 

“Dani, are you--”

“I’m wondering,” Dani says, “why you didn’t work harder at it.”

Jamie’s mouth is suddenly very dry. “Work...harder?”

“If you wanted to take care of it yourself,” Dani says. She’s walking closer now, almost strolling; Jamie draws in a breath, her hands bunching around the sheet. There’s something about Dani this calm, Dani moving with this kind of easy indolence, that makes her stomach do funny things. This version of Dani is one no one else ever sees. This version of Dani comes out with purpose. 

Usually a very particular purpose.

She’s climbing onto the bed now, sliding under the sheet to recline against Jamie’s side of the headboard. Her expression is cool, but there’s a light in her eyes Jamie couldn’t miss even with that headache still thrashing away, a certain bright hunger specific to this room, this sort of situation, Jamie. 

“So, I’m thinking, if you didn’t want to take care of it enough to do it fast,” Dani says, patiently parsing it out as she adjusts Jamie’s pillows behind her back, smooths her hands across the sheet over her lap, “there was a reason, right? You always have reasons, Jamie.”

She’s right, Jamie thinks with helpless attraction. Even now, playing whatever thrilling little game Dani has cooked up since arriving home, Dani understands her. Understands, maybe, more than Jamie even realized in this particular situation.

“I’m thinking about it,” Dani says, folding the sheet down once--again--pulling it down the bed until it’s barely covering either of them at all. “And the most I can come up with is...you wanted me here for it. Is that about right?”

Jamie grins, though her skin prickles in the chill of the air-conditioned room. “Always, Poppins.”

Dani nods, making a show of it, like there isn’t a fire burning low in her belly just now. Like she didn’t catch Jamie in the act and want to join her. Like her eyes aren’t blazing with that exact desire just now, pupils blown wide, dragging down Jamie’s body to drink her in. 

“You wanted me to watch.”

“Uh huh,” Jamie says, because whether it was true at the start doesn’t matter; it’s true now. “Or, y’know--since you’re here. Can always join in.”

Dani seems to consider it. One hand trails up Jamie’s thigh, toying lightly with the hem of her shorts. Jamie moves to twist at the waist, to shift into Dani’s lap and kiss her lips--and Dani’s hand rises, catching her by the front of her t-shirt. 

“You wanted me to watch,” she says, leaning in until the words are tracing Jamie’s lips. She does not, Jamie notes with a low groan of frustration, actually make contact. “So. Show me.”

Jamie swallows. “I--uh--just--”

“Here,” Dani adds, spreading her legs. She pats the mattress, a signal for Jamie to settle between them and lean back against her chest. Jamie draws a ragged breath. 

“Really think this could go faster if you just let me help you out of those clothes.”

“Think you’re right,” Dani agrees, and gives the mattress another firm pat. Jamie moves, dreamlike, where she’s been directed. Sits back, her hands uncertain of where to land. 

“Dani, honestly, I want--”

“You had a whole hour,” Dani says, “to get what you wanted. Now it’s my turn.”

Fuck, Jamie thinks again, a fresh surge of need clenching in her stomach. She turns her head, leans until she can see Dani’s expression clearly. 

“Maybe I didn’t start right away. Maybe I’d only been at it a minute.”

“You weren’t.” Dani smiles, the sort of smile she tends to wear immediately before kneeling between Jamie’s legs and offering a thorough distraction from their nightly routine. “I was there a while before you noticed.”

“And you didn’t speak up?” Years together, Jamie thinks. Years together, with no shortage of good sex between them, but this side of Dani is special. This side of Dani, the one perfectly in control of a situation, is to be cherished. “Just stood there, huh? Watched the show?”

“Thought you’d finish fast,” Dani says. She’s got Jamie’s right hand in her own, turning it over to inspect Jamie’s fingers, to trace a nail down Jamie’s palm. “Thought I’d come in just in time for the grand finale. But then I saw your hands.”

“What about them?” There’s challenge in her voice, pushing up against Dani’s calm. It’s always best this way, giving Dani a bit of resistance before she surrenders. Dani scratches a little harder, drawing a thin red line to match the ones grooved into Jamie’s palm. 

“You weren’t using them. You weren’t using anything. I thought that was interesting. Why not touch yourself, if you really wanted to take care of things properly?”

Jamie is struggling to keep her breath, struggling to keep from leaning that last little bit to press her mouth to Dani’s neck. That, she senses, is not the right move. That, she senses, will get her in trouble--and she’d really rather see where this is going. 

“I realized,” Dani is saying, turning Jamie’s hand over and mapping her knuckles with slow, tracing circles. “You were actually trying to make it last. Trying to go as slowly as you possibly could. Driving yourself crazy, I bet.”

“Yes,” Jamie says, unable to stop herself. She pushes back, aware of Dani’s body, of how warm she is. 

“I’m curious,” Dani says, applying light pressure to Jamie’s hand, steering it toward Jamie’s body. “How long do you think you can last?”

“Dani--”

“Only...if you want me to watch...” Dani smiles again, the smile that says she’d like nothing better than to drive Jamie out of her mind. “I really think I want a show.”

She’s dragging Jamie’s hand slowly down her own breasts, tracing down her taut stomach, pausing at the waistband of her shorts. Jamie holds her breath, waiting for Dani to slide with her beneath the band, waiting for Dani to use her hand as she sees fit--but Dani presses her farther down, curling around Jamie’s fingers as they cup together between Jamie’s legs over the loose material. And then she’s gone, leaving Jamie in place, her hand moving to rest on Jamie’s hip.

“Go on,” she says against Jamie’s ear, her free hand shifting Jamie’s hair aside so her lips can graze skin. “Show me.”

Jamie groans, letting the palm of her hand press hard against the heat pulsing through her shorts. She moves her hips, aware of the need she’s been cultivating for far too long already--

“Slowly,” Dani says into her ear. “You go until I say you’ve had enough.”

Jamie slumps back against her, boneless, a small noise escaping her lips. “I--fuck--rules?”

Dani gives the ridge of her ear a gentle nip, the barest scrape of her teeth. Jamie shivers. “That’s it. Go slow. Make all the noise you need, but remember: you are done when I say you’re done.”

Control, thinks Jamie, understanding, and knowing this is something Dani needs as much as she does. She licks her lips, drags her hand slowly against the front of her shorts. It would be so easy to rebel, so easy to wrench back from Dani what has been given to her--she could make herself come in no time at all, after all this. 

She turns her head, finds Dani watching her face with avid interest. She closes her eyes. 

“Slow,” she repeats, a promise. Her fingers slide across the soft material, tracing as though she has all the time in the world. Dani’s chin rests on her shoulder, her lips grazing through Jamie’s shirt once before she settles in. 

“Oh, and Jamie? Make it good.”

Jamie strangles another groan, too aware that letting herself go this early will have dire consequences. She cups lightly, the heel of her hand pushing against painfully throbbing nerves. Her fingers continue their soft work, index trailing down, circling where it would much rather be pressing in. 

“Good,” Dani says softly. She slides an arm around Jamie, spreading her hand low on her stomach, her eyes devouring Jamie’s tentative progress. Jamie leans her head back, breathing shallowly, trying to think desperately of flowers, of buds in bloom, of open petals and--

Nope, she thinks hastily, as her hips give a particularly sharp jerk. She pauses, closing her eyes, searching for solid ground before she can tumble. 

“Very good,” Dani adds, sounding impressed. “See, you’re doing great already.”

“Want you,” Jamie mutters. Dani gives her ear another nip. 

“Show me, then.”

It’s a balancing act, Jamie finds, letting her hips set a slow rhythm against the flex of her hand. A nice, easy balancing act, with her head braced back against Dani’s shoulder, every inhalation filling her senses with the scent of Dani, the push-pull of Dani drawing breath against her back, the trace of Dani’s fingernails across her stomach. A nice, easy, not-at-all-breaking-her balancing act. 

“I think you’re ready to step it up,” Dani says. Jamie, who has been trying to ride the friction of her own palm as minimally as she can stand, gives her a searching look. “I think it’s too easy on you. I think you need more.”

“More,” Jamie repeats. Dani’s hand is slinking lower again, grasping the band of Jamie’s shorts and lifting. Her free hand covers Jamie’s, pressing with sudden strength once between Jamie’s legs. “Fuck, Dani.”

“Not quite yet,” Dani says pleasantly, that too-nice voice she uses when she’s actively working to drive Jamie up the wall. It’s more effective than it has any right to be, Jamie thinks, though she's smiling, her body already desperate. 

She watches, her muscles loose to allow Dani full control, as Dani slides their joined hands higher, tucks Jamie’s hand into her shorts. Her fingers remain tight around the waistband, pulling it aloft and down until she gives herself a proper view of exactly where Jamie’s fingers rest. 

“There,” Dani says with dangerous pleasure. “Keep going.”

Jamie wants to twist, wants to capture her lips in a hard, brazen kiss. Instead, she lets her fingers resume their work--pressing in slow, careful circles against herself. She can hear the slick slide, the soft wet sound of skin on skin, and her stomach clenches with the near-painful urge to finish. She pauses. 

“Don’t think I told you to stop,” Dani says. Jamie bites down hard on her own lip. Her wrist turns, her fingers rubbing lightly--then harder, her desire sparking hard against Dani’s command. She works the throbbing little bundle of nerves between two fingers, her breath sharp, her free hand searching out Dani’s thigh to dig her nails into denim. 

“Fuck--Dani--I can’t--”

“Can,” Dani corrects. “So good, Jamie. You’re doing so well. Show me how much you can take.”

The words are low, calm, but Dani’s body is beginning to betray her, too; Jamie can feel the way her fingers are driving into Jamie’s hip, can see the tremble in the hand pulling at the shorts. Most of all, she can feel Dani beginning to rock slowly against her, her hips pushing up into Jamie in search of friction of her own. 

“Could be touching you,” Jamie hisses, urged into a better station of control simply by the knowledge Dani wants her to give in. “Could be three fingers deep by now, giving you--”

“You’re giving me exactly what I need,” Dani breathes. Jamie hears her own words coil into a soft moan, her hips beginning to buck. Dani’s fingers squeeze around her hipbone, dragging sharp red marks under the pulled-aside waistband. “Ride it out. Do what I tell you.”

Jamie grits her teeth, every muscle in her body tightening against the urge to lose control. Her hand is quickening, her fingers stroking and slipping and pressing until she’s certain she’s going to break. The friction is too much, every circle drawn tight around herself snapping a little more self-restraint. 

“Longer,” Dani whispers into her ear. She wraps her lips around Jamie’s earlobe, sucking hard enough for Jamie’s eyes to roll back. “Don’t give up on me yet.”

“Please,” Jamie hears herself whine, even as she obediently increases the pressure. “Please, I can’t--”

“Faster,” Dani says. “Come on, be good, be good for me, you’re so--”

She makes a noise, low and desperate, a spark of electricity straight to Jamie’s core. She’s grinding herself against Jamie, her hand gripping hard to Jamie’s hip for purchase. Jamie rubs faster, feeling as though she will lose this game, she will certainly not make it much further, and finding she doesn’t actually care as long as Dani is holding her this way. 

She loses herself in Dani’s voice, Dani saying with the rapid-fire recklessness of staggering toward the edge herself, “Inside. Inside, I want to see--” Dani, pulling the shorts sharply down now, allowing Jamie to spread for herself, watching as Jamie slides two fingers deep, pressing hard with the heel of her hand. 

“So good,” Dani mutters, “so good. Keep going. Make it last. It’s my mouth, imagine it’s my mouth, my tongue you’re riding, god, Jamie--”

Control, thinks Jamie, aware she’s losing it fast, aware there is little left that her body can possibly take even as Dani bites down hard on her shoulder. Imagine, Dani had said, like she isn’t right there, like she couldn’t be shifting Jamie out of her lap, sliding down her body, replacing Jamie’s hand with long, slow strokes of her tongue. 

But that isn’t what Dani wants. This is what Dani wants, to hold Jamie, to watch her finish the work she started wishing Dani could see. Dani knows all too well what this is doing to her; she can feel it in the cant of Dani’s hips, hear it in the sound she’s muffling against Jamie’s shirt. 

“Tell me,” she begs, as her muscles clench around her thrusting fingers. “Tell me, I won’t--I won’t until you--”

“How much,” Dani asks, her voice shaking with effort. “How much do you want it?”

Jamie curses, straining away from the edge. “You know,” she pants. “You know I--”

“How much,” Dani says directly into her ear, her hands digging into Jamie’s hips, “did you want it to be me all along?”

“Always,” Jamie breathes, the word a high, helpless plea. “Always, fuck, from the very start. Please, please, I--it’s you--it’s you--”

“Yes,” Dani agrees. “Show me how it feels.”

Jamie adds a third finger on yes, allowing her body at last to clench and shudder. It’s Dani, she thinks, turning her head and muffling her ecstatic cry against Dani’s neck. She can feel Dani’s grip tightening, pulling at her as Dani spreads further, rocks with sharp, needy thrusts while Jamie’s body chases the height of her orgasm. 

It’s Dani, she thinks again, Dani pushing in deep, Dani riding it out, Dani in control, this is all for--all for--

And then there is no thought at all, nothing but Dani crying out as she squeezes a hand over Jamie’s and feels for herself what she’s done. Nothing left but Dani’s name on her lips as Jamie arches, eyes closed, feeling very much as though she is no longer in possession of a body at all. 

She slumps against Dani, breath coming in short waves, her head clear of anything except the residual electricity from Dani’s fingers threading through her own. She exhales, rolling her eyes to watch Dani’s face. 

“Good show?”

Dani makes a muffled sound a bit like a whimper, her hips still twitching as though out of her control. Jamie shifts with some effort, breaking contact, leaving her rocking against nothing at all.

“You’re still hanging on? Well. That won't do.”

She tugs at Dani’s shirt, catching her in a hard kiss that seems only to draw Dani’s urgency higher. Dani’s hands are scrambling to pull Jamie back into her lap, and Jamie allows herself to be positioned. She lowers herself with a groan, loving the dark marks she’s leaving behind on Dani’s jeans as she presses flat against her tense thigh. 

“Ride it with me,” she insists, pushing her own knee hard between Dani’s legs. Dani’s head thumps back against the headboard, her hand anchored at Jamie’s back, watching with glazed eyes as Jamie provides friction to both of them with each rough grind. 

It’s a graceless thing, and yet, perfectly matched--Dani gripping at her shirt, Dani pushing up into her as she rocks down, and, this time, Jamie finds the force shattering. She’s wrapped around Dani, hands clawing into Dani’s hair, down her back, hips pumping, even as she feels Dani begin the age-old sign of falling apart: Dani, repeating her name as an endless mantra, over and over. 

Control, she thinks, as she’s losing the last of it all over again, as Dani is joining her with a long, shuddering kiss. What little good it does, when it is held too tightly. What little grace it offers, when not shared. 

“I should, ah, call next time?” she breathes as Dani wraps both arms around her, squirming down the bed until they're lying in a sweaty heap. “Maybe just...set up in the back and wait for you to join me?”

Dani laughs. “If you did that, we’d never leave.”

“Perfectly content with never leaving here, either, if that’s how we’re going to play it.” Jamie leans back, reaching down to brush her fingers across the ruined leg of Dani’s jeans. “Made a mess of you.”

“It was mutual,” Dani teases. She closes her eyes, draws in a long breath that turns to a yawn. “How is your head, for real?”

“Good as new. All beasts banished back to whence they came.” Jamie winces, peering at Dani’s face for sign of shutdown, but Dani’s expression is placid. 

“Good. I still think you should start with medicine.”

“Took medicine!” Jamie protests. “Did all the goddamn tricks. Not my fault this works best.”

“I think you just say that,” Dani says, “to get me naked.”

“Well, not doing a good goddamn job of it, am I?” Jamie sits up, gesturing broadly. “Still wearing every last fucking stitch.”

“Mm,” Dani agrees. “Maybe you should...do something about that?”

Jamie is still laughing when Dani pushes her onto her stomach, stretching out almost flush against her back. Her breath catches, something about the press of denim against her bare legs, the way Dani’s sliding the t-shirt Jamie stole from her side of the closet up her back making her feel deliciously undone. The idea of Dani, fully-dressed, pressing her half-naked body into the mattress draws a long shudder through her. 

“Unless you’re tired,” Dani adds, her hand curling around Jamie’s hips, sliding teasingly toward soaked, swollen skin. Jamie groans into the pillow, gripping the sheets in one hand, reaching back for a grasp on Dani’s jeans with the other. Dani’s hand, pushed between damp sheets and sticky skin, strokes her once, testing. She kisses the back of Jamie’s neck, rolling her tongue over the chain of Jamie’s necklace, drawing it between her teeth.  

“This is,” Jamie pants, even as Dani is playing her exactly as she’d watched Jamie work herself over, “exceptionally unbalanced.”

“Then do something about it,” Dani teases, kissing along her shoulder. Jamie, somehow, finds herself quite without the will to fight back. There is nowhere she’d rather be than angling herself toward Dani’s hand, seeking the firm, rough stroke of Dani’s fingers. 

Tonight, she reasons, is Dani’s turn. She’ll turn the tables some other time, when Dani isn’t itching for this exact thing, this exquisite dynamic: when the ability Jamie gives her to tell Jamie exactly what to do, exactly what she needs of her, isn’t the most important gift she could grant. 

Later, she’ll pin Dani to the wall or the counter, tease her until Dani is wild for her. It’s only fair, and Jamie knows it won’t take long at all for the power to change hands again when it’s done. 

“Stay with me,” Dani commands, rocking against Jamie with one authoritative motion even as her fingers sink deep and Jamie gasps. 

“Always,” she promises, feeling luckier than she could possibly explain.  

[morceid]

Peppermint Plucks

SPENCER REID X MALE READER

read on ao3

Summary: When Spencer Reid starts to feel more lonely than usual, Penelope suggests he picks up guitar. Unexpectedly, he finds himself with a crush on his teacher.

Category: fluff

Warnings: implied sexual content

Word Count:1720

A/N: requested by @riley-killjoy​ ! thanks for the request :)

Garcia noticed first. Spencer had been more absent minded at work recently. He barely finished half of his case files before lunch anymore. Giving his troubling past, it was cause for worry. So she was going to do something about it. After most everyone left the office for lunch she walked into the bullpen and sat on his desk.

“Hey, boy genius, what’s got you slacking recently?”

“What are you, Hotch?” He retorted.

“Come on, I’m being serious! It’s lunch and you’ve only finished a third of your paperwork. What’s going on in there?” She ruffled his curls and pushed them out of his eyes.

“I don’t really know. I’ve just been feeling kind of lonely recently.” Spencer shrugged.

“What are you talking about? Emily brings you coffee once a week, Derek gets you food from that Thai place you love when you're working late, and we invite you out for drinks every Friday. You’ve got people that care about you, babes.” Penelope rubbed his knee as she spoke.

“I know. I guess I just want something more? I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wish there was someone with me all the time. Someone to wake up to. Someone to go to sleep with. Just.. something.” Spencer fidgeted with the pen in his hands and looked at his feet.

“Aw, Spencer, you don’t need someone.”

“But I want someone.” He looked Penelope in the eyes almost urgently.

“Hey, since you spend so much time alone, why don’t you use your time to learn something?”

“Not sure how that would help seeing as I think I’ve learned just about everything, but go on.”

“You remember my ex Sam?” Spencer nodded. “Well, we got together because I started taking uke lessons after I got dumped. He was my uke teacher. He doesn’t teach anymore, but when I took lessons from him I used all of the time I could’ve for crying and I used it to play. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Fine. I’m not playing ukulele though. Totally not my style.” 

“Totally not your style. Got it. Your first lesson on whatever string instrument you please is on Friday.” She got up from the desk and walked towards the elevators.

“Hey, Pen?”

“Yes, sugar cakes?”

“What’s the name of your current teacher?”

“Y/N!” She called as the doors of the elevator closed.

“Y/N..” Spencer repeated to himself.

On Friday Spencer showed up to Penelope’s apartment at 5:30, 30 minutes before Y/N would get there. As Penelope tuned her ukulele Spencer rambled about the history of string instruments and their improvement through the years. He jumped when there was a knock at the door.

Penelope opened the door and Spencer thought he was dreaming. Y/N seemed to be glowing before him. His smile was soft and kind. 

“Penelope! Good to see you again. I see you have a friend today.” Y/N said as he hugged Garcia.

“Yes! Y/N, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is Y/N.”

Y/N reached his hand out.

“Oh, he doesn’t-”

“Hi! It’s good to meet you.” Spencer took Y/N’s hand in both of his and shook gently, surprising Penelope.

“You too. Penny told me you’re looking for something other than a uke, so I got some other instruments in my car, but here’s a guitar for now. Pen, why don’t you start showing him some chords as I get the other instruments?” He slipped the guitar case off of his back and gave it to Penelope.

They sat on the couch together and Penelope showed Spencer the chords and how to play them.

“So, what do you think?” Penelope asked.

“About what?” Spencer wondered if Penelope could sense his nervousness that easily. He didn’t normally believe in true love at first sight, but holy hell did Y/N make him. When he shook his hand warmth spread through Spencer’s body and he swore that you could see his eyes turn to hearts. God, he hoped it wasn’t just him being lonely that caused him to think like this.

“About the guitar, silly. What else would I be asking?” Penelope chuckled.

“Yeah, of course, uh, the chords are really easy. Did playing come to you this fast too?” Spencer quickly changed between hand positions and mouthed the letter of each note.

“Definitely not! It took weeks to teach Penelope just two chords.” Y/N laughed as he brought in a violin and cello, each held in cases on his shoulders. The sound of his voice caught Spencer’s attention. He loved how he articulated his words. “Why don’t you try strumming on that?” He threw Spencer a pick.

Spencer gave an experimental flick on the first string before going across all of them. The sound came out strong. Penelope looked shocked as a perfect E flat tone rang through her apartment.

“Whoa! You’re really good. You sure you’ve never played a guitar?” Y/N asked.

“Well, my roommate in college played pretty often but I never learned from him. Always stayed up late because of his playing though.” Spencer said.

“Makes sense.” Y/N sat on the couch next to Spencer. “He ever let you try?”

“Nope. I guess I just memorized what chords he played for fun.” Spencer nervously smiled.

“So, you gonna go with the guitar?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah. It’s familiar. Easy to learn.” Spencer strummed again.

“Okay, well I’ll go practice in my room so I’m not disturbing you.” She got up and ran to her bedroom.

Y/N went over the correct way to strum in order to produce the correct sounds and Spencer got a hold of it fairly quickly. Over the next few weeks Spencer would go to Penelope’s apartment at 5:30 every Friday. Soon enough he began to learn his own song. Lessons would be an hour with Spencer and then an hour with Penelope.

One Friday Y/N stood behind Spencer and guided his hands to the strings. Spencer lightly gasped and tried to seem at ease as Y/N’s fingers touched his own. He smelled like peppermint and sweet candies to him.

“I think we’re alone now.” He whispered.

“What?” Spencer turned his head to look at Y/N in confusion.

“Uh, the name of the song. It’s uh- It’s by Tiffany Darwish.” He took his hands off of Spencer’s and leaned down to shuffle through his sheet music.

“Oh. Okay.”

The next Friday Y/N suggested they go on a little field trip to a guitar shop. It was time that Spencer got his own guitar instead of always using Y/N’s. They found one that fit comfortable in his arms and with the permission of the owner had his lesson in the store. Seeing as they all went in the same car, Y/N would drop off Spencer and then he would go to Penelope’s and they would have a lesson.

Y/N walked into Spencer’s apartment with him. Penelope stayed behind in the car.

“So, this is your apartment? Why haven’t we had a lesson here?” He asked.

“Guess I just never thought to ask.” Spencer laughed.

Y/N moved behind Spencer and brought his hand onto his hip. Spencer turned around swiftly. Now Y/N was holding the small of his back.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” Spencer breathed out.

“I’ve liked you for a while now, Spencer,” he took the pale man's face in his hands. “Can I kiss you?”

Spencer nodded and pressed his entire body up to Y/N’s. The kiss started slow and innocent, but Spencer loved the taste of Y/N’s peppermint chapstick and they slipped their tongues in eachothers mouths. The intrusion made them moan and Y/N pushed them against a wall.

“What will we tell Penelope?” Spencer said as Y/N moved his kisses to his chin.

“Why do we have to tell her anything?” He sucked hard onto Spencer’s neck, where any marks would be hidden just under the collar of a work shirt.

“Oh…”

Monday was the worst day for the weather to be hot. Y/N’s hickeys still hadn’t faded from Spencer’s neck and if he changed into a regular t-shirt from his go bag they would definitely be visible. Against his better judgement, Spencer changed in the bathroom. He’d rather die of embarrassment than heat.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What you got goin over there, pretty boy?” Derek laughed as Spencer sat back down in his seat.

“Leave me alone, Morgan.” He scoffed.

“Nuh-uh. No way. If you got a girl I wanna be the first to know.”

“Not a girl.” Spencer mumbled.

“What was that?”

“He’s not a girl.” Spencer said clearly.

“Hey gu- Whoa! Spencer what is that?” Emily walked in with her coffee.

“Pretty boy has a boyfriend.” Derek stated.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me? Aw man now I feel bad about setting you up on that date last week.”

“THAT was a DATE?” Spencer nearly screamed.

“Yep. And she’s still wondering why you haven’t called her back. So, what’s his name?” Emily laughed.

“I can’t say it. Also, he’s not a boyfriend. At least not yet.”

“Why not? Too embarrassed?” Now JJ had joined in the conversation.

“No! It’s just-”

“What is it, Spence?”

“He’s Garcia’s ukulele teacher..” He sighed.

“Wow, pretty boy. Wow.”

The next lesson progressed the same as it had two lessons before. Penelope was practicing in her room.They sat on the couch, Y/N’s hands guided Spencer’s on the guitar, and they pressed their bodies together. He showed how Spencer’s hand should pluck at the strings and once he got the hang of it they began singing the lyrics to “I Think We're Alone Now” together.

“I think we’re alone now..”

“There doesn’t seem to be,” Spencer spoke the next lines into Y/N’s lips, “anyone around.”

They began kissing, slow and deep. They pressed together and as Spencer turned more towards Y/N he dropped the guitar on the ground. The sound alerted Penelope and she rushed to the living room only to find Spencer pushing Y/N into a lying position on her couch with his lips. The second they heard her gasp they pulled away from each other.

“Sorry, Pen. He’s just too damn cute.” Y/N laughed.

[thegoldenavenger]

IDK if im ever going 2 finish this so here's an unedited preview of an atla fic I was working on.

I'd definitely have to restructure if I want to finish it but here's what I got so far. Mostly just the gaang visiting past Zuko events

I.

"The Air Nation--"

"Nomads." Aang instinctively corrects at the same time Iroh interjects placidly.

"--must have something pointing to the Avatar's location."

"My nephew, when would they have had time to--"

"The cowards must have planned the Avatar's disappearance. There has to be something!" Zuko, because the small, bandaged child was Zuko, stomped through the Western Air Temple pushing open doors and sweeping dust from murals in aggravated gestures. 

Iroh sighs heavily but follows the boy. He walks like a shadow behind Zuko, hands folded into his sleeves.  Sometimes his gaze catches on a mural or shadow, but it never settles on Aang or his friends, no matter how they shout or call for attention. 

"What are you planning on finding here, Prince Zuko? The Air Nomads were peaceful people, they do not have a war room full of intelligence, nor a Lord's office of correspondence, especially not after 100 years."

Zuko whirls around to give his uncle an irate glare, not nearly as effective as the ones he would give three years in time. The bandages cling to the left side of his face, and if Aang squints he can see some kind of spotting through them. Zuko is breathing heavily already. 

"I will find something! Anything!" His hands fist by his sides as he snarls. "Father trust-- Father tasked me with finding the Avatar and I will." Zuko turns sharply and his fists tremble. 

"Of course, Prince Zuko. I merely wanted to know your plan of action." Iroh approaches Zuko gently, like a wild animal, carefully places his hand on Zuko's right shoulder. "This place is remarkably well preserved. If there is something to recover, you will find it." 

Zuko doesn't say anything, just nods once. His shoulders are drawn tight around his ears still. Iroh looks down at Zuko, tenses, and says more mildly than Aang thought possible considering: "Your bandages need changing."

"They can wait." Zuko says, shrugging off Iroh and heading into one of the Western Temple's many hallways. 

"This is weird, right?" Sokka says as Iroh follows Zuko away. 

"Why are we even here?" Toph asks, "This is the Western Air Temple, my feet don't lie, and we weren't anywhere close to here before..." she trails off. 

"Where were we?" Katara asks. Her hands have been hovering by her waterskins. 

"The better question is where are we," Sokka says.

"The Western Air Temple!" Toph huffs.

"No, I mean, yes, but Iroh and Zuko acted like they couldn't see us, and you know Zuko would've made a big deal out of us being here." 

"Not to mention Zuko is like, four years younger than he should be!" Aang says. 

Sokka and Katara turn confused faces towards him. 

"This Zuko is my age," Aang clarifies, "He should be..." and the thought escapes Aang, how old Zuko should be. Aang just knows that it isn't this. 

"Don't tell me this is some more Spirit Mumbo Jumbo!" Sokka throws his hands up in the air. 

"Maybe," Aang allows, "But it doesn't feel like the Spirit World." 

"Whatever, we aren't going to figure anything out by standing still." Toph marches towards the hallway Zuko and Iroh had disappeared in and, belatedly, the rest of them follow. 

As soon as Aang's foot touches the tile past the threshold, he is no longer in the Western Air Temple. 

"Okay, yeah this is weird." Sokka says. 

Aang has to agree. They're in the Dragon Palace just as suddenly as they were in the Western Air Temple. 

"Great!" Katara hisses, "We're in the heart of the Fire Nation! And for what--" 

"Shut up!" Toph interrupts. They all quiet and soon voices come into focus.

II.

"Please Uncle!" That... sounds kind of like Zuko. "If I'm going to be the Firelord one day, I should know what goes on in the War Room!" 

"I have already said no, nephew."

Iroh and Zuko round the corner, and once again they don't seem to notice the out of place group hovering at the edge of the hall. 

"But Uncle! I don't--I need the experience. I'm already so far behind, this will give me a real foundation! My tutors are..." Zuko trails off.

"He doesn't have his scar!" Sokka exclaims, pointing. 

"Sokka! That's rude!" Even though her hands still hover by her waterskins, Katara doesn't pass up the chance to berate her brother.

"What, they can't see us, apparently."

"Scar?" Toph wonders, and Aang opens his mouth to inform her but looking into both of Zuko's troubled golden eyes stops him. 

"Yeah, Zuko has a, uh, scar... doesn't he?" Sokka starts. 

"Well." Katara says, looking at Zuko with the same intensity Aang feels. "He doesn't have one now."

Zuko's face is unblemished and smooth as porcelain. His eyes are wide, his brows upturned. He's still Aang's age, which shouldn't matter but-- 

Iroh has stopped walking, and Zuko beside him. Zuko bites his lip and looks away and Iroh puts his hands on both of Zuko's shoulders. "Okay, okay. But you have to promise to stay quiet. No interruptions."

"Yes! Of course! Thank you, Uncle!" Zuko bows, quickly, obviously excited by the turn of events and the two pass by the gang without taking notice of them. 

As Zuko passes a shadow covers his face, falling over his left eye and Aang can't decide if it reminds him more of bandages or a burn. 

Zuko and Iroh pass through a door, and this time none of them hesitate to follow on their heels. 

Once again the moment they pass the threshold they are in a new place. 

"Oh, yeah that's a scar!" Sokka says. 

III.

Zuko ignores him of course, stomping his way down the gangplank of his ship into a port Aang doesn't recognize.  He's scowling, like always, and Iroh is conspicuously absent from his side.  He marches onto the dock work, catches sight of something and ducks behind a thick wooden post. 

Aang knows his friends are as surprised as him, and Zuko seems to be surprised at himself too, because he shakes his head and stalks forward again as if hiding had been instinct, not choice. 

Aang surveys the docks, tries to find what had startled Zuko, but a voice rings out before he catches sight of anything. 

"Zuko! Fancy meeting you here." The voice fills the space like oil on water and Aang turns to catch Zhao striding towards Zuko like he owns the port. 

"Zhao." Zuko says, begrudgingly, folding his arms across his chest. He catches himself and puts his arms to his sides. 

"Commander Zhao," the man corrects as he sidles up next to Zuko. Zuko rolls his eyes and continues forward. 

"I knew those two were in cahoots." Sokka points, rudely, at the two.

"Cahoots?" Katara asks.

"What two? Who's Zhao?" Toph asks, and Aang looks at Toph who has her arms crossed over chest, defensively. Aang blinks and slows his pace--because they're following Zuko, of course--so her shoulder brushes his when they step. 

"He's a jerk!" Katara says. 

"Yeah, he sieged the North Pole and killed, uh..." Sokka trails off, his face a picture of confusion. 

"I think... the moon spirit?" Aang offers, but he can't quite remember it. 

"I don't need an escort---Commander Zhao," Zuko yells, his voice cutting into their conversation. 

"Please. What trade do you think a banished traitor would be able to get without me here?" Zhao's voice was still oil-slick as it weaved through the conversation. 

"This is a neutral port!" Zuko hisses, "And our stipend is good enough--" 

"And that's why you've had to make twice the stops you normally do, or do you just like the view?" Zhao asks, and Aang sees him turn a grin towards Zuko. 

Zuko fumes, taking two steps away from Zhao and turning the full force of his glare onto him. "So you've been stalking us!" He accuses. 

"Keeping an eye on you, like I was asked to." He says, closes the space between the two of them again. "Listen, I'll negotiate a fair price for your supplies." He says, ducking his head closer to Zuko's like he's sharing a secret. 

"I don't need your charity!" Zuko yells and tries to put space between them once more. 

"And who's pay are you going to cut this time?" Zhao asks, "Surely your own budget can't take much more... restructuring. Maybe the navigator's. If it's enough to make him jump ship, then I'm sure you can step in and compensate. Well, not that he'll be able to find a posting elsewhere, serving on the Wani had become quite the black mark on your resume I hear."  Zuko's fists tighten, and he loses the fight to keep them by his side and crosses them over his chest. 

Zhao takes this as a victory, drapes his arm over Zuko’s shoulders like an old friend and starts steering him in a different direction. “Have tea with me, Zuko, we can look over your finances together.” 

“Tea sounds lovely, Commander,” Iroh’s voice cuts through the conversation as easily as the man himself inserts his body between Zhao’s and Zuko’s. Zuko’s startled face fades away as they step across the dock.