#until today when she had us share the files with everyone else to study from but?

[saltytyrus]

.....

[that-one-random-writer]

Caution to the Wayward Son Chapter 3

Rooster x f! Not pilot Reader- Enemies to lovers

Summary: One bad first date. That's all it takes for an impression to be rotten. A reputation costs more than just the price of dinner. Six months deployed on an aircraft carrier across the hall from the date. That is priceless in the navy.

Warnings: Cursing, Drinking, 18+ eventually Words: 1,838 no use of Y/N

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 || My masterlist

The mirror sent daggers at you. "Pull yourself together. Don't let him have a reaction. That's what he wants." You hate conflict it goes back to deep seeded issues when you were a child. You have heard enough arguments to last a lifetime from your parents.

Bradley tried his best to shake his anger, his anger at this class, his anger at the situation, and most of all, his anger at you.

You go back to your table and sit down, trying to avoid round two. You ignored his presence. You put your highlighters away and leaned back, waiting until the instructor returned. Rooster situated in his seat, glancing around the room. No one seemed to notice the whispered conversation you both had in between the chatter of everyone else studying.

Lt commander finally came back and started the quiz.

You both made perfect scores. The class was dismissed into lunch. The class filed out of the classroom. Everyone made their way into the galley. They all got in line and got their trays of food. You sat down with your friends. Em was the only other female and then two guys, Niki and Ben.

"This is some bullshit." Em stated, shoveling the food in. "I haven't had breakfast, and they're going to tell me that I have to learn a whole new plane? Fuck this." She leaned her head on the table. She only lifted to take another bite then back down. "This is really good." She whined with her head on the table. Ben and Niki rolled their eyes. "It's going to be okay. It's a stealth with some real man power." Ben said.

"You flipped ahead?" You interrupted.

"Shoot yeah I did." He smiled proudly.

"Fuck this. I got stuck beside an asshole. He got mad that I just turned the page once." You broke out in rage.

"What a bummer, hun. My partner is pretty bad ass. He was reading ahead with me. We were comparing notes." Ben wasn't helping the situation.

You ate your food, and continued to talk with your friends until it was time to return.

You sat in your seat. As soon as Bradley sat next to you, you felt heat crawling under your skin. You tried your best to ignore it and continued to watch the instructor.

The day had come and gone. You made it to the store. You grabbed a few things then made your way over to the protein bars. You walked down the isle.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." You bumped into a tall man that had a smile that could make any girl swoon.

"That's alright. What were you focusing on?" He looks back see the cereal lined up on the wall. "Which one?" He smiled. You looked back at the cereal. "Lucky charms. You?" You turned back to him. "I'm a Trix kind of guy myself. I'm Johnson, by the way. Rin Johnson."

You smiled and introduced yourself, then continued. "It's nice to meet you."

He looked you up and down. "I saw you today in class. I'm a weapons system operator. That new plane is a beast. It's got this chrome outside that makes it more stealthy under radars. Did you see it?" 

"Damn, that's incredible. I didnt actually get a chance." He smiled back at you.

"It's nice to meet you,..." He spoke your name at the end. "I'll see you around lucky charm."

You smiled back at him, giggling softly. "I'll see you, Trix."

You both parted ways.

The next morning came faster than you wanted it to. You walked into class, and rooster was already in his seat. You sat down beside him, and you both ignored each other. "Morning, lucky."  Johnson knocked on your table with his knuckles as he passed by. "Good morning, Trix." You both shared a smile, and he went to his seat. Bradley rolled his eyes.

The class began. The instructor walked in greeting the Lieutenants. He took his place at the podium. "Today we will be watching a demonstration on the B-21 Raider."

Everyone cheered. The instructor smiled. "I expect everyone here to be on their best behavior. Everyone in this class will get a red line pass if you do not have full access already, for one day only don't fuck it up or you won't ever be approved again."

Bradley glanced over at the guy you called 'Trix' this morning. He scoffed. You looked over at Bradley.

Bradley spoke up. "That's a stupid nickname."

"Yeah you're right maybe we could come up with a better one for you, dickhead maybe? I think it fits." You popped back at him.

He rolled his eyes and spoke with an annoyed tone. "Ooo real feisty, is that your boyfriend?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Bradley." You glanced with your eyes, staying faced towards the instructor, then focused your attention back on the instructor.

"I asked, didn't I?" He hated the way you talked to him but has started to love pissing you off for the attention you give.

"You irratate the fuck out of me..." you trailed. "No, we aren't dating. Why do you care?"

He looked back at you. "I don't. I just wanted to piss you off maybe embarrass you."

You get up from your seat as the class gets up. You breathed out. "You are such a dick."

He rolled his eyes. "You're a bitch."

"You care or you wouldn't have asked. What is it, you want to try that date again? You know we can buy some alcohol and you can get fucked up like last time." You prodded him some more.

His teeth clinched again. "You didn't show up. How was I supposed to know. You didn't call or text or anything. I still have no idea what you were doing. Maybe you were taking your time getting railed by your little Trix before showing up an hour late."

"You'd like to think that about me wouldn't you? I'm into just screwing around with men, right? You're ridiculous. You think what you want. I owe you no explanation now. It was important." You walked away and followed the class out to the runway.

You picked up your headset. Everyone received one to listen to the instructor as he explained the cockpit and each thing the class had went over so far, it was quite loud outside. After the plane was explained you all followed each other to the galley.

You got your food and sat down. "Lucky, you mind if I sit here." Johnson smiled down at you.

You smiled at him. Your eyes glanced at Bradley, who was intently looking at Johnson. "Come sit, trix. Guys, this is Johnson. Johnson, this is the crew. Em, Ben, and Niki." You glanced back at Bradley again. His eyes didn't meet yours. He had fire burning through his eyes. The rage you saw was nothing like you've seen before.  You smirked, knowing jealousy was bringing out such emotion. You knew he was lying. You fed off of proving him wrong that he did still want you. There was power within the thought.

You put on a smile when everyone asked you what was wrong. "Nothing, just missing home. Im just pissed I have to be here." They all nodded, agreeing.

The conversations were about home and what they would be doing when they got back.

Bradley sat as his body shook with anger. He stormed out to the gym. He had to get some of the rage out. It wasn't against the rules as long as he was back by the time class started again. He slammed the doors open. He hit the punching bag with all his strength. He hit again then again. He kicked and sweat dropped to the floor in a slow pace. He punched and kicked with all he could until rage began its decline, first to anger, then doubt, before settling to the worse of all the others, misery. He dropped to his knees. He was the only one in the gym. No one was there to witness his fall into the abyss. He sat on his knees for what seemed like an eternity. He picked himself up off the floor, just like he's always done... alone. He leaned his head against the punching bag. His voice so soft the whisper sounded like air wisping from his lips. "This is stupid, I went out with her once, and the date was horrible." He huffed out, shutting down his emotions.

He grabbed a towel and wiped off his face. He huffed and then cleared his throat. He walked out of the gym as if nothing had happened.

He returned to the classroom. He sat in the seat next to you. You looked over at him with a smirk. You were starting to love pissing him off, too.

"You know Bradley, I think you really do care." You giggled.

Bradley couldn't stand that giggle of satisfaction knowing you were only laughing at his anger. What a cruel bitch.

"I really don't. You can take cereal boy up your ass for all I care."

You smirked. "Now there's an idea." You could tell his anger was near drained from his next reaction.

"Go ahead and prove me right. I told you, you were probably doing that before the date." He looked into your eyes. "That's all he wants you for." There was no anger. All there was behind his eyes was something much deeper, defeat.

You looked back him searching. "And that's not what you wanted me for."

He looked up at the podium in the middle of the classroom. "Honestly, of course sex crossed my mind, but I'm not looking for just someone to sleep with. I can go pick up new girls every day of the week if I just wanted sex..." he trailed off. "Like you said, I've got the body for it." He added after the pause. He used your own words against you. You searched for insincerity but only found what hurt like loss. "Do what you want, but leave me the hell out of your ten minutes of romance with 'Mr. Right.' " He did air quotes, and the jealousy didn't seem so enticing now. His reaction just wasn't what you wanted.

"You do have the body for it, and it gets on my nerves." You spoke with venom dripping off your lips.

He smirked. "Why does that bother you? Is it because you know you can't have it?"

Your cheeks blushed a light tint of pink. "That's what I've been looking for." He chuckled and smirked again with the end of his checkmate statement. You scoffed. Your cheeks are still glowing pink.

"I don't want you." you narrowed your gaze.

"Just like I don't want you..." bradley trailed.

Chapter 4 Mature Smutish ahead.

A/N: comment what you'd like!

I do not give permission for my stories to be posted anywhere. Stealing stories makes you a c u next tuesday.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Grains of Sand

Season Two Episode Four

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader (Aaron Hotchner’s Sister)

Words: 4039

Series Masterlist

Summary: The team drums up ideas to help Spencer and Y/N celebrate their one-year anniversary.

Notes: Oh my god, I can’t believe I accidentally skipped this episode! No wonder my numbers were off. Anyway, this is the actual episode four. I’m so sorry! I promise, I’m really trying to give you guys some fluff this season, but there’s just so much angst haha. 

Warnings: Mild sexual content, alcholism 

-

You were getting better. Each day, Spence noticed that you smiled a little more than the last, you laughed more, and you resembled the woman he met again. He was right. 

You were the strong one. 

“What are you working on?” He asked, pouring you both your morning coffee. You had your nose in a file, hand scribbling away in your notebook.

“I’m putting together a possible study,” you said. 

“Oh?” He set your mug in front of you and kissed your temple before taking the seat across the table. 

“It’s just an idea,” you shrugged. “I’ll tell you about it when I figure out a little more.” 

“Oh.” He tried not to sound too dejected. You usually couldn’t wait to share your projects with him. 

You put your notes aside and gave him a bright smile. “So, there’s a classic horror marathon on TV this weekend and I was thinking- fingers crossed you’re here- that we can make a big deal out of it. We can get cheap Halloween candy, stay in our pajamas, and have a cozy, creepy weekend all to ourselves.”

Spence grinned. Having already made his own plans for the weekend, this was a good cover to make sure his stayed a surprise. Plus, he was always up for classic monster movies, especially with you. 

You always laughed when he did the voices along with the actors. Everyone else thought it was weird. 

Now he just needed the time to actually plan his plans. With absolutely no idea where to start. No big deal. 

Spencer got up to clear the table and you slurped down the rest of your coffee. 

“I’ll get it,” you blurted, hurriedly grabbing his plate and yours and walking over to the trash. You dumped the food scraps and used napkins on top of the empty bottle at the bottom of the bag. 

That was close.

You made a mental note to take it out as soon as he left for work. 

Spence noted your odd reaction, but decided not to say anything about it. He checked his watch and finished his coffee. 

“I have to get going, but maybe we can get lunch?”

“Actually, I’m getting lunch with JJ today,” you said, making your way back to the table to give him a kiss. “How about I bring you coffee in the afternoon, hm? Sonia wants to meet with SES Strauss anyway, so I can stop by her office and set up a meeting.” 

“She lets you do that?” He asked, surprised. To be completely honest, he had always been just a little afraid of the Section Chief. 

You snickered. “I’m pretty sure she likes me more than my brother, so I should be fine.”

“Strauss really doesn’t seem to like him, does she?” He chuckled and shook his head. You watched him as he left, keeping a sunny grin on your face until the door closed behind him. You fell against the table, face in your hands and shoulders slumped. 

Two weeks had passed since Colorado. Two weeks of splitting yourself in half. One side smiled and laughed and planned fun date weekends. The side that was genuinely getting better. The side that felt normal again. Then there was the other half- the empty one that could only be filled by that numbing liquid. The side that had to suffer in order for the other to recover, like your own personal Omelas. 

But if it meant keeping Spencer and Aaron from worrying- on top of everything else in their lives- then it was worth it. Spence was already dealing with so much after what happened with Ben Cyrus, you couldn’t stand being an added thing. So you learned how to keep the two sides separate, which was exhausting, but in the span of everything, what harm could a few nights a week really do? 

You took a moment to collect yourself and walked to your desk. The little table calendar was decorated with little ghosts and pumpkins that Spencer drew and every time you saw it, you couldn’t help but grin. This year, Halloween meant more than just a holiday of spooks and treats. 

In just over a week it would be you and Spencer’s one year anniversary. 

And that was reason enough to put on a smile. 

-

Reid had an unusual pep coming into the office that morning and it did not go unnoticed. Morgan watched him set his bag down and then rush off to Garcia’s office with this goofy glow on his face. 

“What’s that about?” Prentiss asked. While the injuries on her face were barely visible, Reid still had a hard time looking her in the eye since they got back. Seeing him excited made her heart happy. 

Morgan stood up with a curious smirk. “I’m gonna go find out.” 

Garcia was setting a new knick knack on her desk when the sweet genius knocked on her door. 

“Vault of the All Knowing, you may enter,” she proclaimed. 

Reid stepped in tentatively, “Hey Garcia,” he said, “you consider yourself to be a romantic, right?” 

She spun around so quickly she almost fell out of her chair. “Are you asking me for love advice?” 

The wild excitement in her eyes was enough to frighten him a little. “Yes?” 

Garcia squealed. “Oh my God, come in, sit down. I have been preparing for this.” She pulled two mugs out from a drawer. “What kind of tea do you like?”

“I really don’t need any-”

“Do you want my help?” She snipped. He nodded, wide eyed. “Then we are doing this the right way.” She picked out two bags and sashayed out to get some hot water. Reid sat awkwardly and waited, toying with one of Garcia’s desk-pets. 

“I am hurt.” The voice from the doorway made him jump. Reid whirled around and felt an embarrassed blush rush to his face as he saw Morgan’s smug grin. “I am deeply offended that you would go to Garcia for advice with the ladies and not me. Sorry, lady. Singular.” 

“It’s not really that I need advice, I just-” 

It was too late. Morgan took the chair across from him. Garcia returned. 

“Yay, now it’s a party,” she beamed, handing Reid the mugful of earl gray. “Okay, ask away my beautiful, brilliant friend.”

The room fell into silence. Reid shrunk under the stares of the two agents before him and nervously sipped the warm tea. 

“I-um- I was just hoping you would have some ideas to help me with- uh-” He stammered. “Okay, I need you both to stop looking at me like you’re my parents and I’m going on my first date.” 

“Alright then, Lover Boy, what do you need help with?” 

Garcia smacked Morgan’s arm. “This is why you weren’t invited.” 

“I’m just trying to get this moving,” he said. “He clearly needs help with something.” 

“Our anniversary is coming up,” Reid finally blurted. The two bickering friends turned back to him. “And I need help figuring out what to do. I don’t really know how to be… romantic, I guess.”

They looked at him, then at each other, then back at him and wide grins spread across their faces. 

“A year already, huh?” Morgan asked.

“That is so sweet!” Garcia cheered. She clapped her hands together. “Oh, there’s so many possibilities. Okay, brainstorm. What are the things that make you think of Y/N?”

Reid answered with little need to think. “Books. Coffee. Research. Homicide. Criminal Psychology. ABBA.”  

“Whoa, slow down, sweetie.”

Morgan held up a hand. “Hold up,” he leaned forward on his elbows. “ABBA?” 

Reid took another sip and shrugged. “She used to put them on and dance around the apartment when she thought I wasn’t home. Now she sometimes gets me to dance with her. It’s actually pretty fun. ABBA’s upbeat tempo and lyrics are quite nice for stress dancing. Plus, it’s really cute when Y/N sings along.” 

He smiled into his mug and Garcia put a hand on her chest, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. 

“That is adorable.” 

Reid set the mug down and let his hands fall helplessly to his lap. “But I still don’t know what to do to make this day special. I mean, so much has happened, and with everything that happened in Colorado, I think she’s been trying really hard to make everything feel normal and I want to do something that would mean a lot.” 

“I think you’re selling yourself a little short, Reid,” Morgan said. “You took the woman to London less than a month ago. That was romantic, right?” 

Reid’s blush returned, his mind conjuring images and feelings of you and nights spent not sleeping. Sheets and skin and sighs…

 He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Morgan smirked, sensing the younger agent’s shift in thought. “See? You know what you’re doing. You just have to get out of your head to do it, you know?”

“Follow your heart,” Garcia added. 

Spencer took this in and felt a flurry of ideas pop up in the back of his mind. It wasn’t much, but it might be something to go off of. He stood and smiled. 

“Thanks guys.” 

He bounded out the door with new determination, leaving the other two to sit in satisfied silence. 

Morgan chuckled. “They grow up so fast.” 

-

The waitress filled your waters and you gazed over the menu. 

JJ wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I can actually stomach any of this.” She laughed lightly and put the menu aside, committing to her drink instead. “Thanks for being able to do this, by the way. I feel like I haven’t seen you at all lately.” 

“Are you kidding? Your schedule is busier than mine. I’m always happy to see you guys. I barely see the one I live with as it is,” you said. After ordering, you both talked about work and the London trip and other things you’d been meaning to catch up on. “You’re due in just a couple of weeks, right?” 

She nodded. “Yes, and then this will finally be over!” She laid a hand on her middle, laughing. “I gotta say, as excited as I am to have this baby, I’m just as excited to not throw up and waddle and cry from hormones all the time.” 

The both of you snickered for a moment and you looked down at your silverware, twisting your fork back and forth on the table. JJ read you like a book. 

“You and Spence’s anniversary is next week right?” She asked. 

You perked up again. “Yeah. October 30th. It’s kinda crazy to think it’s been a year. I mean… so much has happened.” 

“You two have been through a lot together, that’s for sure,” she said. “But I’ve never seen him happier.” Another few quiet moments passed. JJ watched your gaze dart between her belly and her face, and each time you would take another long gulp of water. There was something in your eyes that she recognized. “Have you thought about it?” 

“Hmm?” You snapped back to the table, having been lost in your thoughts. 

“Have you ever thought about having kids?” She wondered. “If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“No, I don’t mind.” You took another drink. “If I’m being honest, I never have before. When the things that happened to me happen, I don’t know, it doesn’t exactly fuel a maternal drive. Plus the only serious relationship I had after that, the guy twice my age and using me. No, I’ve never really seen myself as a mother.” You got that look in your eye again. A kind of dreaminess. Hope. “But Spence would be such a great dad, wouldn’t he?” 

JJ smiled, but there was almost a sadness in her eyes. A kind of sympathy that you didn’t understand the origin of. But she could tell how heart broken you were at the thought of never being good enough to be a mom because of your past. She wanted to tell you that you would both make great parents, that any kid would be lucky to have you for a mother. But she knew that now wasn’t the right moment. 

“Yeah,” she agreed. “That kid would have the best bedtime stories.” 

Both of you hardly touched your food and Jennifer picked up on other little things throughout the meal. She may not be a profiler, but she could tell that you were on edge, but doing a damn good job of hiding it. Maybe it was nerves about your anniversary or still recovering from Spence almost getting killed in Colorado, but something was definitely up. She just hoped her bringing up having kids hadn’t upset you. 

“We should probably get going,” you said, forcing yourself to have a few more bites despite not being hungry. “I told Spence I’d bring him some coffee this afternoon when I go to talk to Strauss.” 

“You should stop by your brother’s too,” JJ suggested. “I know he would love to see you.” 

“Are we talking about the same Aaron?” You chuckled. While progress had been made concerning your odd connections to his job, he still always seemed very uncomfortable to see you at the BAU. Besides, you still had reason for keeping off your big brother’s radar. “I’ll see you in a bit, I guess?”

She smiled and nodded, wanting to say more but knowing how. Jennifer watched you walk away with an ache in her chest. There was something wrong- something you were desperately trying to hide- but she just didn’t know what.

-

“Well look who’s decided to grace us with her presence,” Morgan said, getting up from his desk to hug you. 

“It’s good to see you too, Derek,” you laughed, stretching out your arm so the cupholder full of coffee cups wouldn’t fall. “And, I bring gifts.” 

“Oh my god, you’re an angel,” Emily exclaimed, taking her coffee with a grin. 

Derek patted your shoulder. “Professor Hot Stuff strikes again.” He spoke pointedly at Reid, chuckling at the jealous tint in the younger agent’s cheeks. It was all brotherly fun, of course.They both knew that Derek would never cross that line- he only saw you as a good friend. But it was good for the team’s genius to get his blood boiling every once in a while. 

You set a cup on Spencer’s desk and ran a hand through his hair. He gave you a small smile, putting a hand on the small of your back as he set his paperwork aside. 

“How was lunch?” 

You thought of your conversation with JJ and couldn’t help the creeping images of Spence with some little boy or girl, reading to them before bed and helping with their math homework. You pushed the thoughts aside. 

“Good,” you said. “I’ve been craving a little girl-talk.” 

“Which is why we have plans to get coffee next week,” Emily chimed. 

Derek held up his hand. “Alright, now I just feel left out.” 

“From what I hear you get plenty of company,” you teased. His jaw dropped in mock offense. Spencer had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing too loud. “Don’t worry, Muscle Man, I’m sure I can work you into my busy schedule sometime.” 

The four of you conversed merrily for a while before a looming, serious presence appeared over the bullpen. You gave your brother a wide, hiding smile. 

“Aaron, hey. I brought coffee.” You held up the last cup as a peace offering. 

“Hey,” he said. He didn't seem angry or annoyed. He seemed genuinely glad to see you. Still, you knew how to recognize the concern in his gaze. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

You gulped. “Actually, I’m here to see SES Strauss for my boss-”

“It’ll just take a second.” 

Any more resistance would raise questions so you just agreed with a shrug. You gave Spence a parting smile and walked up to Aaron’s office. With every step, you evaluated all of your motions, every tell he would be able to catch. 

“You know, you should really work on your entrance,” you joked as he closed the door. “I mean, every time I’m here, you just appear like the Phantom of the Opera-”

“Why are you avoiding me?” He interrupted. 

Your brows drew together to imitate confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You haven’t taken my calls, you’ve canceled dinner plans twice, and you stopped staying with Haley when we’re on a case.” 

“I stopped sleepwalking,” you shrugged. “I didn’t want to keep being an inconvenience. Hell, I’m even sleeping through the night now. How does that mean I’m avoiding you?”

“We haven’t spoken since Reid got trapped in the compound.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, Aaron, we’re both incredibly busy people,” you said. You crossed your arms. “Work has been going really well. I enjoy what I do. Spencer finally doesn’t walk on eggshells around me. Things have started to feel normal. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to believe that I could actually be doing better.”

“You’re overcompensating,” he argued. He narrowed his eyes. It was clear how hard you were trying to put everything to the way it was before your birthday, but it was more than just not wanting to deal with the trauma. There was something else you were hiding. 

“And you aren’t?” You fired back, turning this ridiculous inquiry on him. “You were back in the field before you were even really cleared. You’ve been burying yourself in your work ever since what happened in New York.” 

“This isn’t about me-”

“Maybe it should be.” 

“The explosion was months ago,” he started, but again you interrupted him.

“So was the anniversary.” You took steps towards him. “You aren’t the only one who’s worried, Aaron. Maybe you should figure out yourself before you jump on me.” 

You started for the door, but he put a hand on your arm. 

“Wait,” he sighed and pulled you into his arms. 

The embrace, at first, made your body go rigid. You wanted to crumble and cry and tell him everything. Inside, you were screaming to tell him about the bar. The bottle at the bottom of the trash can. The burning in your throat you were feeling even now. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said against your shoulder. He held you a little tighter. “I just… I just wish you would talk to me.” 

A crack of guilt shot through your heart. Still, you kept your demon buried, if only to protect him from him. 

“I’m doing better, Aaron. Really,” you smiled, pulling away. “And I worry about you too, you know? You have to take care of yourself every once in a while or you’re going to fall apart.” You hugged him again, hiding your teary eyes from his gaze. “I love you, big brother.” 

His hand cupped the back of your head like you were a little kid and his arms were the one thing protecting you from the monsters. Even if you wouldn’t let him see what the monsters were. 

“I love you too.” 

You pushed away again, putting on a brave face and giving him a small smile. “I’d better get to Strauss’ office before she finds a way to blame you for my tardiness.” 

He chuckled and opened the door. 

You went back to Spencer’s desk to retrieve your cup of coffee. He hooked his finger through your belt loop. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked. 

You nodded and cleared your throat. “Oh that? Yeah. He was just asking if I wanted to come to a late birthday dinner for Jack.” You leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

“Okay,” he hesitated. You seemed fine enough, but there was something you weren’t telling him. Before you could go, he pulled you down for one more kiss, to which you both came away beaming. 

As you left, he could sense Morgan’s teasing gaze on him. Reid just smirked and opened a new file. 

“Shut up.” 

-

Something shifted after the day you came to the BAU. Spencer noticed you working a little harder to be cheery when he came home from a case or to comfort him when he was stressed. It seemed every time he had a nightmare- which were more frequent recently- you were already awake and ready to hold him until he fell asleep again. You were a pillar of strength when he wanted to be one for you. 

All the more reason he wanted to do something extra special when the day of your anniversary finally came.  

He got Garcia to help him go shopping and made sure that dinner was ready by the time you got home. He filled ornate chalices with fruit punch and carefully lit dozens of candles around the table and kitchen until the apartment somewhat resembled the gothic manor he was going for. 

You heard the music before you even reached the door. The low classical sound beckoned your curiosity. You snapped your gum- the minty aroma masking your breath- and continued towards it. 

You opened the door, expecting to see your regular apartment, but instead you were greeted by candlelight and a red carpet leading to the dinner table. 

“What the hell-” You started, mouth agape with surprise. 

“Wait wait wait!” Spence exclaimed, sticking his head out from the kitchen. “You’re home early, just… just give me a second.” 

“Okay?” You spit your gum into the trash and closed the door. Spencer hurried back out, a long black cloak hung around his shoulders. 

“Velcome to o-our an-an-ani,” he sighed. “Hold on.” He took out a pair of plastic fangs. “Welcome to our anniversary dinner.” He held out his hands, displaying the table setting behind him with a bright, goofy grin. 

You laughed, taking in everything. The chalices, the pasta, the candles. “Is this supposed to be… Dracula?” 

He beamed. “‘How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.’ It’s the book you talked about on our first date and I thought, with it being so close to Halloween and all, it would be fitting. I don’t know, I know it seems silly, but it made me think of you and Garcia and Morgan told me to just follow my heart so-”

“I love it,” you blurted before he could get too far in his own head. “But Spence,”Your smile was sweetly surprised, but still confused. “Our anniversary isn’t until next week.” 

“The anniversary of our first date is next week,” he corrected, his eyes filling with such love it made your chest ache. “But today- a year ago today- at 3:35 P.M., I helped a beautiful, brilliant, incredible woman reach Anna Karenina from the top shelf.” He took your hand in both of his and held it up to his lips. He kissed each knuckle gently, helping him focus through his overwhelming emotions. “Y/N, to me, today is our anniversary because I knew from the moment I met you that I wanted to be with you.” 

Your heart swelled and the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. “Spencer…”

“I love you, Y/N. And I know things are hard right now and I know I haven’t been able to be with you through it all like I want to, but I need you to know how much I love you and how much you’ve changed my life and made this year the best of my life.” 

He pulled you into his arms, wrapping the cape around the both of you and closed the space between your lips. 

You were breathless, overwhelming happiness and surprise still making your chest fill with warmth. The stress of the day melted away quicker than it had when you tried using your flask to forget everything. 

“Happy anniversary, Y/N,” Spencer grinned, pulling away to look at your face. 

You gazed back into the loving, hazel eyes and let yourself drink in his presence. “Happy anniversary, Spencer. I love you.”

-

The In-Betweens series: @amywright; shesoperfectt;  hereforsmutbcicantgetenough;  violetbossler;  hyper-half-blood;  i-bitch-you-bitch; xcastawayherosx; preciousbabypeter; @jori21; @sol-48;  @murdermornings ; @ staygoldsquatchling02; @ ara-a-bird

[prince-everhard]

Weekly Oneshot Challenge - week 2

Title: Assessment Rating: gen Fandom: Naruto Word count: 723 Summary: It’s guest lecture day at the academy, and Sakura surprises herself.

-

There was a jounin in the classroom when they came back from lunch. Sakura tried not to stare too blatantly as she hurried to her seat. Visiting jounin usually meant a guest lecture and Sakura secretly loved guest lectures. Not that there was anything wrong with Iruka-sensei! He was warm and encouraging and didn’t make her feel awkward for staying after class to ask for extra reference texts to study. 

But a jounin… even her parents hadn’t made jounin. Hearing about what it meant to be a ninja from someone who’d made it that far was exciting. Sakura could admit to herself, secretly, that she wanted to be a jounin. That even more than the other kids not teasing her, even more than getting Sasuke-kun’s attention, she wanted to be a jounin one day so badly she could taste it.

Iruka-sensei cleared his throat as the last of her classmates filed in and took their seats. “Class, please welcome Yuuhi-san to our classroom today.”

“Welcome, Yuuhi-san!”

The jounin- Yuuhi-san- smiled at all of them. Sakura blinked a couple of times. She was so pretty. Pretty and a jounin! What a great role model; Sakura couldn’t help but think that she was even prettier than Ino-chan.

Iruka scowled at the class until the whispers that had erupted at her smile subsided. Once the class was quiet again, he continued, “If you recall, last week we were covering genjutsu and how to recognize them. Yuuhi-san here is one of Konoha’s lead genjutsu experts, and has very kindly volunteered to share with us the practical applications of genjutsu in the field...”

If she hadn’t been paying attention so closely, Sakura wasn’t even sure she would have noticed. But as Iruka-sensei continued to talk, she felt as if something wasn’t quite right. Even as Yuuhi-san took over and started explaining how genjutsu could be used in infiltration, some weird sense still settled over Sakura. Like a fine dew or a gauzy blanket. Sakura couldn’t explain the feeling, precisely, but she knew that something wasn’t right.

Ignoring Yuuhi-san’s lecture was hard. Harder than it should have been. But Sakura tuned it out all the same and tried to remember what the textbook had said about genjutsu. She could picture the text in her mind. Carefully, she pulled her fingers into the ram seal and focused on her chakra. Carefully, she paused her chakra flow just for a brief second.

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her, and Sakura was embarrassed at the yelp that she let out. Looking around the classroom, she noticed that no one else seemed to have heard her. In fact, everyone but Shikamaru (who was, as typical, sleeping) was still looking forward intently at Yuuhi-san and Iruka-sensei. What baffled Sakura in this scenario was that Yuuhi-san wasn’t lecturing. She was instead holding a folder in her hands that she may have been looking at with Iruka-sensei before Sakura’s outburst.

“Oh?” Yuuhi-san looked from Sakura to Iruka-sensei, then back to Sakura. “She broke out of it on her own?”

Iruka-sensei looked confused but proud, and Sakura ducked her head. “Sakura is currently our only student who has been assessed as a genjutsu-type.”

Footsteps were coming her way. Sakura looked back up in time to see Yuuhi-san leaning down over her desk. “Sakura, was it?” Sakura nodded, feeling strangely tongue-tied. “Breaking out of my genjutsu was pretty impressive. You may have a real talent for this kind of thing, if you think that's something you’d like to pursue.”

“Yuuhi-san, the minimum age for apprenticeship is-”

“I know, Iruka.” Yuuhi-san smiled at her even as Sakura’s mind reeled at the implications of the exchange. Yuuhi-san wanted her, Sakura, as an apprentice? “Just as I know how to petition Hokage-sama for an exception. There are precious few genjutsu masters in Konoha as it is. A genjutsu type not beholden to a clan? That’s more than a diamond in the rough. It’s a once-in-a-career kind of opportunity.”

There was precious little in their textbooks about apprenticeships, but Sakura still saw this jounin standing before her and she saw her own chance to achieve her dream. “Yuuhi-san?” Both Iruka-sensei and Yuuhi-san looked at her expectantly. Sakura bowed her head low and proper. “If you’ll have me, I would be honored to learn from you.”

[nelson-et-murdock]

Home - Luke Alvez

*not my gif*

One-shot detailing the reader’s time with Luke and the BAU as they return from a 6-month sabbatical

Warnings: angst mixed with fluff, BAU! Reader, fem reader.

Didn’t proofread so possible occasional errors

Other Details: Reader has PhDs in Psychology and Anthropology with masters in Sociology and Criminal Justice

Pairing: Luke Alvez x fem BAU! Reader. Platonic team x reader. Maybe some mistakes here and there

Flashbacks/memories are in italics and bolded

Word Count: 4.6K

As you drove to Quantico, a familiar feeling started to consume you. It had been over 6 months since you last saw the inside of the BAU. As much as you missed the people you had grown to know, you were unsure of how smoothly your return would go. It wasn’t long before you pulled into the parking lot and made your way into the building and to the elevator. You weren’t officially reinstated to the unit yet due to delays in paperwork and had therefore only been in contact with Emily about your return. The feeling in your stomach as you approached the 6th floor was very reminiscent of your first day with the unit.

Despite having been part of the FBI for years, you still got first-day jitters when you approached the building. You had met with Emily Prentiss a few times prior when your name had been put in for the open position, but you had no idea who anyone else was or how they’d react to a new agent joining the team. You knew full well that the BAU was the crown jewel of the FBI and that there was going to be a lot of pressure to live up to any expectations.

As you made your way to the BAU, you fidgeted with the messenger bag you kept your things in, being in the FBI you found it much more useful than carrying around a purse. After calming your nerves you slowly made your way to Emily’s office, with the help of who would later learn was Spencer.

As you walked towards Emily’s office, Luke spotted you far before you spotted him. Quiet murmurs around the bullpen speculating who you were and what you needed to see Prentiss about were just out of earshot. The conversation with Prentiss was short before the two of you walked out of her office and into the conference room for Prentiss to introduce you to the team.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware we have a new agent joining us. This is Dr. y/n y/ln and I believe she’ll be an excellent addition to the team,” she stated. Quick individual introductions were done and the entire atmosphere was generally accepting yet professional. That was until you got to Luke and had to act like it was the first time you had met, well aware that no one on the team knew about your time spent with him.

“Luke Alvez, I look forward to working with you,” he said coldly, in a way that the team would chalk up to him having a bad day but that you knew was residual anger he had for you.

“Likewise,” you responded with a small smile despite the slight pang in your chest at the sight of the man you once knew.

Not long after you joined the BAU, Penelope had become suspicious of the way you acted around Luke. You had warmed up to everyone in the unit, except for him. One day she had wanted answers and the most she would get from either of you was “We just don’t get along Garcia it’s nothing important.” Even without being a profiler, Garcia could tell there was more to the story than that.

When she got a few spare minutes during a case she did a deep dive into your personal history, looking for anything in your past connecting to Luke.

Garcia didn’t know what to expect when she went digging into you, but it definitely wasn’t that you previously had an over 2-year long relationship with Luke. Garcia had gotten so caught up in finding out what went down between you and Luke that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching in time to close her search.

“Hey Garcia..” you started but tapered off as you saw the screens before you. “I - Prentiss needed - shit sorry I uh,” you tried to get Garcia back on topic for the case but fumbled on the words.

“No no don’t be sorry. I’m so sorry I did this. I know I shouldn’t have looked into your past with Newbie but I couldn’t understand why you guys don’t get along. I mean I get not liking him because he’s Newbie but you. You’re this little ray of sunshine girl wonder. I can’t believe he broke your heart like that-” she started to ramble on but you cut her off before she could continue.

“I left him,” you said hoping it would satiate her curiosity.

“Details? You can’t just drop that on me and not give me details. Did he do something? Was he a bad boyfriend? Should I hate him for it?”

“No, he did nothing wrong, it was all on me. I was scared he started talking about marriage and kids and he had the right to we had been together for nearly 3 years and I wasn’t sure if I was ready so I requested a transfer to a California field office and when it was approved I told him I got a job offer I couldn’t pass up and I left him.”

“Do you still love him?”

“I think part of me always will but Garcia this stays between us. I mean it, don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed. If you need anything the batcave is always open to have you,” she said as she stood up to embrace you in a hug.

Little did you know, Luke was having a very similar conversation with Matt down the hall.

The ding of the elevator signaling your arrival on the 6th floor shook you out of your thoughts. The closer you got to where you needed to be, the more anxious your return was making you. While you had come across a few bad cases, a few stuck out to you in particular, including the first one you had with the unit, which ultimately allowed you to reconnect with Luke.

The first difficult case for the team since you joined took more of a toll on you than you would like to admit. Once everyone was on the jet you took a seat and hoped to avoid any conversation about how you were feeling that day. You flashed a few small smiles at your colleagues in an attempt to let them know you were okay without actually saying anything. For the most part, your plan had been successful. That was until Luke had noticed the way you had been acting.

“Is it okay if I join you?” he asked motioning to the empty seat beside you. You silently nodded and avoided looking at him as he took a seat beside you. “I know we aren’t exactly close anymore but you can still come to me if you need anything,” he told you as you silently nodded.

“I know - I just. Can we talk about it later? I’d rather not talk about it right now,” you responded, finally looking his way.

“Of course. If you feel comfortable coming over tonight we can talk at my place. I know Roxy misses you,” he said with a smile.

“I’d like that. Thank you.” The rest of the time on the jet was spent in comfortable silence.

Upon getting back to the bullpen, you and Luke decided it would be best for him to drive you to his place after the two of you were done with the reports you had to write. As you sat at your desk and took out the files of papers you needed to complete, you couldn’t bring yourself to concentrate. As your mind kept replaying the events of the previous week, it was apparent you were becoming frustrated. It didn’t take Luke long to see that you were struggling and to tell Prentiss he was going to take you home for the night to make sure you were doing okay before heading over to your desk.

“You’ve done enough work today, let’s get out of here,” Luke whispered to you as you nodded. “I’ll meet you at the elevator in 5 minutes so no one thinks anything about us leaving at the same time,” he told you, knowing you wouldn’t like the idea of any possible attention on you that could come with the two of you leaving together.

The ride to Luke’s was much quicker than you had remembered it to be. Neither one of you two said very much and just let the radio play at a low volume. For most of the ride, you watched out the window while Luke focused on driving, occasionally looking your way to check that you were okay. As he pulled into his driveway, you realized how much you missed Luke and the sense of safety and comfort he provided for you.

The two of you talked about why the case had bothered you so much more than you had expected, and it soon turned to talking about whatever came to your mind. “I miss you. I know we work together now and that I’m the one who left but I really miss you, Luke. I miss spending time with you and the random updates we gave each other when you were gone and overall I just miss you. I think that’s why I struggled so much with this case when I didn’t hear back from you when you were in the field because I couldn’t live with myself if something happened and you didn’t know how I felt,” you started to ramble on.

“I’ve missed you too y/n,” Luke responded as he draped his arm around your shoulders pulling you closer to him, “I miss waking up and knowing you were either right next to me or that you were a phone call away.” Checking the time, Luke placed a kiss on your temple before whispering “Let’s get some sleep it’s getting late”

You nodded in response before the two of you got ready for bed. After changing into a pair of Luke’s sweatpants and an old shirt, you crawled into the bed the two of you had shared so many times before and eventually fell asleep in the arms you had previously grown to associate with comfort and safety.

As you walked down the hall, you passed the spot you were standing when you got an offer to lead a study and return to anthropology. It was a temporary out from profiling but it was something that you had missed doing. Upon getting the offer, a range of emotions flowed through you, yet it took nearly 2 weeks to tell Luke and another 2 weeks to tell anyone else.

The day started like any other day-off with Luke. The two of you slept until around noon and laid around just enjoying each other’s company. Working together didn’t allow for much personal time together as you had to remain professional when on cases. Prentiss didn’t mind when it was a paperwork day that you guys spent time at each other’s desks, so long as PDA was kept to a minimum, which it always was. However, it wasn’t the same as getting to just spend time together without having to worry about catching an unsub or fill out a report in time with no errors.

While laying in bed, the offer to lead an anthropological study at the University of Michigan kept eating at you. You had limited time to make a decision and respond to the offer. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to bring the topic up with Luke and you couldn’t make a decision without informing him of the offer first.

“Is everything okay princesa?” Luke asked, noticing the sudden change in your emotions.

“Yeah, there’s just something I need to talk to you about,” you responded looking up at him. “But I need you to hear me out and keep in mind that I haven’t made a decision yet and that nothing is final.”

“You’re beginning to worry me,” he started, “Are you sure nothing is wrong?”

“I was offered the chance to lead an anthropological study,” you stated, leaving him speechless. Memories of when you left him flooding back. You could tell by the look on his face that he was worried this was the beginning of the end for the two of you once again. “I know what you’re thinking and it isn’t like that this time. I know I did something similar when I left but I promise I’m different now. The study is through the University of Michigan and it’s only slated to take 6-months if not less. It’s primarily overseeing graduate students as they conduct a study. I’d be able to set my own office hours so that we can talk as often as possible. I just don’t know if I want to take the offer.”

“You sound invested in the study already. What would be keeping you from taking it?” he asked, his voice full of support for you. All he ever wanted was for you to achieve your dreams. When you didn’t immediately answer he spoke again, “Is it me? Is that why you might not take it?”

You slowly nodded in response, “I feel like I just got you back and now I might be leaving, and what if things don’t work out with us not in the same state?”

“Princesa, listen to me. If you promise that this is nothing like last time and that you aren’t doing this in an attempt to leave then I trust you. We can figure out us as the situation comes up and I’m confident we can work out this time around. Whatever you decide I am forever proud of you and in awe of all that you’ve accomplished.”

“I love you,” was all you could think to respond with.

“I love you too princesa,” Luke said, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Two weeks had passed since you told Luke of the news when a really difficult case had seemed to take a toll on pretty much everyone. After the case, it was decided that those who were able to would come over to the house you shared with Luke to decompress. Spencer and Garcia came and spent the entire day, and much of the night, with the two of you. Having extended the invite to significant others, Matt brought Kristy by to visit with everyone after they found a sitter around 7:30.

Once everyone who planned on coming was there, it didn’t take long for everyone to get caught up in conversations about personal lives. The conversation started with asking Matt and Kristy about their kids and eventually, everyone started talking about overall changes in their lives. “So girl wonder,” Matt started, referring to you by a name originally bestowed on you by Garcia before it caught on to the rest of the team, “Luke said you got an offer to lead a pretty interesting study is that right?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone I haven’t made a decision yet. The department I’d be overseeing for it ran into some problems and the start date has been pushed back. It would be nice to get away from the dark and scary parts of this job and back to what I started with but I’d miss you guys too much.”

“Would it be permanent?” Spencer asked. The two of you had grown close since you joined the unit and while he wanted to be excited for you, he would be lying if he said the idea of you leaving didn’t upset him at all.

“No,” you started to say, “It’s slated to last 6-months but there’s no guarantee the study will be finished in time.”

“Are you still going to work at the BAU when you come back?” Garcia questioned.

“I’m not sure. If I’m being completely honest, I’ve been struggling with deciding lately if I’m a good fit for the unit, but I plan to stay with the bureau somehow,” you answered hesitantly.

The rest of the night was spent answering questions about the study and getting support from those around you. By the time everyone was ready to leave, you felt completely comfortable knowing that whatever decision you came to, you would have a support system of amazing friends.

Looking back, you should have noticed that the number of times you were having trouble with cases was more of a problem than you should have was a sign you needed to step away from the job. The cases themselves weren’t getting harder, but you personally were having a harder time with them. The longer you were with the unit, the more issues you had been having an increasingly difficult time coping after them. You would have thought they would have gotten easier to manage, but you found yourself struggling every time you felt a decision you made could have changed the outcome of a case. In your previous position before the BAU, you felt powerless as the victims were long gone and often one-off crimes and you felt switching to the BAU and being able to get killers off the street would make you feel better as you’d be helping get active killers off the street. However, you were extremely wrong, and the feeling that you could, no that you should, have stopped their killers before it was too late became too much for you and you decided to take a step back from the unit.

“Y/ln, we need to talk in my office,” Prentiss said as you entered the bullpen.

“Yes ma’am,” you responded, setting your go-bag down on your desk before you made your way to where she was standing. The entire team knew exactly what Prentiss needed to talk to you about and a few members even gave you sympathetic looks as you crossed the bullpen.

“Before we start I just want to say I’m sorry. I know what I did was against protocol,” you started.

“That’s not why you’re in here,” Emily cut you off. “While what you did was unacceptable, you’re here because I’m worried about you. In these past 2 cases, you’ve shown reckless behavior, as if you’re trying to get yourself hurt. I’m not mad at you, but I do need you to let me know if anything is going on that is affecting your ability to do this job.”

You silently nodded as she spoke. The more she said, the more you began to question your place in the unit. “Thank you. I’ve just had some personal problems the past week but I should be good to go now,” you said lying through your teeth.

“Just let me know if anything changes. Your health and personal well-being are more important than this job.”

The next week the BAU was called in to help with another tough case. While it wasn’t the first tough case you encountered in the time you had been with the BAU, this one was worse than others.

The victims are similar in both age and appearance to a close family member of yours and it had made it difficult for you to concentrate in the field the way you needed to. At one point you had even froze and almost didn’t get to a victim in time. For the entirety of the case, you were closed off from everyone when it didn’t involve work.

Upon returning to the BAU, everyone slowly dispersed their desks and you made your way to Prentiss’s office. Her door was open but you still knocked quietly before entering. “Can we talk?”

“Of course, come in.”

You could tell from the sympathetic look on her face that she knew what you needed to say. As you sat across from her she waited for you to speak. After letting out a small sigh you found the confidence to admit what was happening, “I think I need to step away from this job.”

With a silent nod, she grabbed the appropriate paperwork from her file cabinet, “I knew this day was coming. Luke told me you had been having nightmares lately. Fill out these papers and return them to me as soon as possible. If you opt for a sabbatical instead of completely leaving it should take roughly 2 weeks for it to be approved. In the meantime, you would still be a member of the team but be able to use the vacation days you have or you can be solely a desk agent and assist Garcia. Whichever one you choose I, as well as the rest of the team, will be here for you and have enjoyed working with you.”

Fighting tears that had started to form as she spoke, you nodded and said a quiet thank you before leaving her office. Setting the papers down on your desk on the way, you headed towards Garcia’s office to let her know you planned on leaving.

Once you were out of earshot, JJ had peeked at the papers you had set down. “What is it?” Spencer asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.

“Y/ln is leaving the unit,” she responded, voice full of confusion. As she spoke everyone turned to Luke and he nodded slightly in response, confirming you were leaving the family you had grown to love.

After your sabbatical was approved, you accepted the offer to lead the study. Much to your dismay, the team was insistent on throwing you a going-away party, despite knowing you were going to come back in 6 months. You told the team that if they insisted on having a gathering at Rossi’s place that it needed to be something that the members of the unit with kids could bring them with, feeling there was no point in, “saying goodbye to a family member” as Rossi had put it, without all of the family members being there.

“Remind me again why we have to make a big deal of me leaving? I already said goodbye to the team and I’ll be back and with the unit again in less than a year,” you wondered aloud to Luke as you pulled into Rossi’s driveway.

“Because princesa, it’ll make Rossi happy to get to throw you a party and its tradition, regardless of how long the leave will be. And besides, the kids want to see you before you leave for 6 months,” he reminded you.

“You got me there,” you said with a smile before kissing his cheek. “Let’s head in before we’re late.”

Shortly after you guys made your way inside and to the backyard, Matt and Kristy had arrived with their kids. The kids knew why you were having a going away party and instantly ran to you when they saw you. When you noticed the kids running up to you, both you and Luke knelt to prepare for the number of hugs you were about to get. Due to offering to babysit when Matt and Kristy needed time to themselves, the kids had grown to see you as an aunt and Luke as an uncle. The same could be said for Henry and Michael, who showed up with JJ and Will shortly after the Simmons had arrived. The next couple of minutes were spent answering any questions the kids could think to ask you, in the most kid-friendly way you could.

“You’ll be back by my birthday right?” David asked looking up at you. In the time you had known the kids, you hadn’t missed a birthday for any of them.

“Of course I will buddy,” you responded. 

“What about our stories?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah who is gonna tell us our stories while you’re gone?” While they had the Simmons Stories, the ones you told were different. You told them stories of the different cultures you studied and the different ways parts of the universe were believed to have come into existence.

“I have them all written down. I can leave them with Luke and he can read them to you,” you reassured all of them. 

As the night went on, many memories from your time with the unit were shared with the group. Even though you planned to come back as soon as the study was over, knowing they would spend the next 6 months without you seemed to make everyone nostalgic.

Near the end of the night, everyone started saying their goodbyes. It was particularly hard to say goodbye to Spencer, knowing nearly everyone else he had gotten close to had left him as well. “I’m sorry,” was the first thing you managed to say to him. “I know you hate goodbyes and struggle with change but I promise I will come back and if not to work with the unit at least for our weekly coffee shop visits.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You’re doing what you have to do,” he responded as you opened your arms to offer him a hug. You were always the first to initiate hugs and he usually accepted them.

“I’ll miss you, Spence. You already have my cell phone number and the phone number for my office for the next 6 months. Call me anytime you need me,” you told him while hugging him.

“I’m proud of you. I’ll miss you too y/nn,” he said as you pulled apart.

“See you in 6 months.”

As you made your way into the bullpen you took note of the date. It was 6 months and 4 days since you had seen any of the team face-to-face. While you kept personal contact with the entire team while you were away, you hadn’t told anyone except for Emily that you were planning on coming back to the team. Luke knew when the study would end and was expecting to see you at home later that night, assuming that the team didn’t get a case that pulled him away.

When you entered the bullpen, Matt was the first to notice your arrival. He was already standing at Luke’s desk to ask him a question related to a report he was writing and flashed a small smile in your direction before nudging Luke on the arm, “Why didn’t you tell anyone y/n was returning today?”

Not thinking you were actually there, Luke brushed off Matt. “She isn’t coming home until later tonight and told me even if she does return to the unit it would take some time for her to be reinstated,” he responded, not even looking up from his file.

Knowing he wouldn’t look up from his file right away, you talked quietly with everyone else before approaching his desk. You brought back small trinkets for everyone and placed a small handmade miniature Roxy in front of him. “One of the students I was overseeing made it when she saw a picture of you and Roxy as my phone background to help me cope with being away from you. I figured since I’m home now you could use it more,” you explained as if it wasn’t the first time you were seeing your boyfriend in over 6 months.

Luke watched silently as you spoke, a smile creeping onto his face when he processed you were actually there in front of him. As he stood up from his chair, he quickly wrapped his arms around you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re home?” he asked, trying to comprehend your arrival. 

“I’m home,” you responded with a smile as you looked up at him. 

“I’ve missed you so much, you can’t leave me for that long again,” he said with a smile.

Before you could respond, Garcia came speeding out of her office due to having heard of your return from JJ. “Girl wonder! You’re back! Are you staying with us? You can’t leave me with Newbie for that long ever again,” she exclaimed as she approached you.

“Yes, I’m back. Weaning back into the job and will be on desk duty here and helping you for the first 2 weeks but I’m back,” you told her.

[sxfik]

push and pull

part I | part II

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: during a trial, a lawyer must be ready for anything. they should be able to navigate their way through any sudden obstacles or arguments. but through her time at law school, this is the first time her opponent has used kisses as an argument strategy.

or: joon hwi decides it's time to test how far kang sol's concentration can last. you know, to prepare her for the trial. no other reason.

a/n: aaa this was supposed to be peace is not known to man pt. 2 but i just had to write this today, i could not get the scene out of my head. after this will be peace is not known to man chapter 2 because ✨✨ and then a prompt request that was sent in ! this might be shorter than normal but i did leave room for a possible sequel? anyways, i hope you enjoy this <3

Throughout Kang Sol A's time in rigorous classes and with strict professors, there was one thing that was drilled through her head: be prepared for any argument. As she progressed through the ranks, it was clear that students, as well as prosecutors and lawyers, will use anything and everything at their disposal in order to win. Even if it is the lowest or morally dubious argument, if it wins them the case, they will not be afraid to use it.

Kang Sol was never the brightest student in class. She struggled to pick up the concepts as quickly as her peers; she racked her brain every time she needed to name a criminal code from memory. But if there was anything she was good at, it was preparation.

Her biggest mistake her first semester was not having a battle plan and through the minefield that was fighting against Assemblyman Ko, she felt like she was constantly rushed and underprepared. After her 1L, Kang sol took the time every day to make sure she was prepared for anything that would be an obstacle for her. She's always in class with the needed materials already printed out, her course materials pre-read and she takes extensive notes during her lectures, making sure to get even the smallest details. She wrote down anything that could make the exam easier for her. So, during study groups, she was the go-to person for notes and specifics, despite joon hwi, sol B and ji ho's innate abilities to memorize and grasp the concepts. Her contribution was her thoroughness as well as her tenacity. And maybe, that was what made her so essential to her mock trial team.

The annual justice mock trial was just around the corner, and Sol was not going to be underprepared like last time. Joon hwi, Sol B and she poured over their case files, writing their main argument, rebuttal and summary until they were near perfect. For weeks, they'd spent in the library, reading and researching everything they would possibly need during the trial so they could make their main argument as bulletproof as possible. The three of them were going to win this trial, no matter what they had to do.

That preparedness was what found Sol in her current situation, standing in the empty mock trial courtroom, standing at the defendant's side of the table while Joon Hwi had stood across from her, looking over the prosecutor's argument. Her sense of morality was her biggest blessing and her biggest obstacle in Law School. Her belief in right and wrong, and the proper use of the law, made it almost painful for her to argue the other side. But being the wonderful classmate he was, Joon hwi had offered to help her whenever he could, acting as the devil’s advocate.

Han Joon Hwi. Her beloved classmate and next to Ye-Seul, her best friend. He was there for it all: from defending Yangcrates to protecting her sister from Lee Man Ho to defeating Assemblyman Ko. As Kang sol was sinking from her past two semesters at Hanguk law school, he was the one who kept her afloat. Every night she spent at the library, on the verge of exhaustion, he would be there alongside her making sure she took breaks and took care of herself. Without him, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to pull her health up or make it through her first year.

Joon Hwi had always processed his feelings more inwardly, holding everything in and away from everyone as much as possible. During the worst of his grief last year, he would sneak out into the practice fields, running laps until he was exhausted and his breathing ragged. She picked up on what he was doing, when she saw him dip out of the library a little earlier than everyone else. She had snuck out to follow him and watched him as he would run across the fields, until he'd break into pieces on the field. For a boy who had seen her worst, who had helped everyone gain their strength to fight, it wasn't right that he suffered by himself.

So when she saw him declining into the familiar pain, when he was staring into the memorial of his uncle's donation, the man who had meant everything to him, who had died before he could repent for his sins against the law, she sat by him in silence, until he leaned onto her shoulder. If she could, if it was possible, she felt like absorbing all the pain, the regret and the anger he felt inside until he was alright.

She wasn't sure when the lines blurred between them, but her image of him shifted until she was sure he was so much more than a friend. It was as if he had a new tint of color over him, and suddenly, she found herself thinking of him all the time. Now, every time she'd laugh, she'd turn behind her to make sure he was laughing. For every little thing that happened in her life, he was the only one she craved to share it with. Every smile, every little happiness, she wanted to share it with him. Even if she wasn't feeling well, or doing anything exciting, she wanted his presence by her.

Kang Sol was always eloquent, her mind moving at 10 mph and her words even faster. She never ran out of things to say, not until she met him. With Joon Hwi, she had no way of expressing just how much she wanted him in her life, how much gratitude she had for him. He meant so much more than anything she could describe in words so she forced herself to be content with the bits and pieces she could keep in her life.

Kang Sol cleared her throat, gaining joon hwi's attention from the papers and across the room. "Let's get started?" she asked her, looking up from her papers, and up to him as he nodded.

“As the defendant…” he started, his voice echoing in the empty courtroom, voice firm and strong as he delivered the main argument. Watching joon hwi transform into his full prosecutor mode was startling to watch, his casual demeanor changing into confidence. He transformed into something else entirely, his demeanor intense and his voice sharp as a knife. Watching him concentrate and argue was magnetic and with every passing line, she felt pulled towards him. She could feel the nerves build as she watched him, his voice strong and powerful through the room.

He looked up at her, finishing his argument and it felt like the wind was knocked out of her. Sol wasn't sure if it was the fact that she had to present the argument next or if it was his darkened eyes staring into hers, the awareness spreading through her body, that made her forget how to breathe properly. For a moment, the silence enveloped them, the tension between them taut as a bowstring, despite being so far apart from each other.

"Sol?" His voice interrupted the moment as the pressure built in her chest and her throat stagnated. She cleared her throat again, shaking the gaze off her, before starting her argument. As her eyes and her voice followed the words on the paper, her body and mind were somewhere else entirely, every hair on her body aware of his growing presence, his eyes on her. For someone so hesitant to argue against the side she believed in, she was going strong until she made one grave mistake.

She looked up to him for a moment, and he was standing much closer to her now, his eyes molten as he looked up at her, standing in the middle of the courtroom, and her voice wavered to a stop. She didn’t know when Joon Hwi had moved closer, her body too obsessed with the fact that his eyes were on her to ever notice his movements.

He raised his eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk on his face. "Why are you stopping, Sol-ah?" he asked, his voice much deeper, heavy and sweet like honey. He stepped closer then, and she looked down to the papers in her hand, his gaze burning her with intensity.

She continued on with her argument, as he stepped closer and closer, until he was right in front of her place behind the defendant's desk. She looked up then, confident in herself not to waver as the words on her paper blurred together into mush. But her mind and her mouth was on autopilot, her voice growing smaller and smaller as she parroted the argument from memory, his proximity throwing her off. He moved closer then, leaning in until his face was just a breath away from her. His hands reached up to her face, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. She felt her mind stutter and her stomach bundle into knots from him being so close that she could see his eyelashes brush against his cheek as he blinded. Her eyes were glued to him, pulled closer and closer, as he laid his finger at her throat, and traced down to the base of her neck.

She shuddered out a breath then, the feel of just a finger on her skin making her face grow warm and red. she struggled to think, to remember what she was doing before his fingers traced up, up, up, towards her jaw. His hands cupped her face, bringing it closer towards him, as his thumb brushed against her cheek.

"I think-" she paused, trying to catch her breath, "I think my argument ends there."

"You think?" he tilted his head slightly, his eyes taunting and teasing.

"Yes," she breathed out, leaning closer and closer, until her lips met his. His lips were firm and reassuring for a short moment, before she pulled away. But their distance didn't last even a second as she surged forward again, kissing him with everything she had. The papers in her hand dropped to the desk, forgotten, as her hands searched for him, finding purchase in his shirt as she pulled him closer.

His hands shifted then, kissing her deeper, as his hands went to untangle her hair from her ponytail, until her hair was loose around her shoulders. His hands tangled in her hair, pushing her closer to him as his tongue brushed against her lip and she gasped, the feel only accelerating the want, the need for him.

Her mind was foggy as he drew away from her lips and down to her jaw, his frantic kisses addicting as he moved down to her neck. Joon hwi tilted her head with the hand tangled in her hair, as he left open-mouthed kisses down her throat, ones that left her panting and gasping, his mouth bruising the delicate skin of her neck.

"Joon hwi-ah," she shuddered out, as he sucked, her breath coming out in soft puffs, a moan growing at the back of her throat.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The loud noise against the door shocked the two out of the moment, as a voice inquired "Is anyone in there?" The two jumped back then, still holding on to each other as Sol looked at Joon hwi, alarm taking over her body.

Annoyance flooded his features, as he looked towards the door, his lips swollen and red from her ministrations.  He was panting, as he looked back at her, his gaze was heavy on her, and for one charged moment, Kang Sol thought of throwing caution to the wind, to pull him back into her. But he stepped back then, away from her desk, and back to his to gather his files. Sol was glued to her feet then, her hands frozen and unable to process what just happened before her rational mind kicked in, and she rushed to gather her files. She ran her hand through her hair, noticing her disheveled state in the mirror, before gathering her hair into a bun and smoothening out her clothes, trying to put on a pretense that she was perfectly okay, it wasn’t like joon hwi had feverishly kissed her until her mind was completely blank or anything.

There was silence between the two as they exited the courtroom through the back entrance, making sure to leave the room as if nothing ever happened. But before they parted, Joon Hwi grabbed her hand, looking into her eyes for a moment as if to say this isn't over, before the parted ways, leaving Sol to process what went on between them, and how she could ask for more, more, more.

[marshmallowprotection]

Saeran’s Passport Package

I’ve been waiting since the 19th to get my hands on this baby and I’m glad that it got here today. It took me a little bit to sit down and go through everything cause I wanted to cry about it the entire time. 

Spoilers Ahead, everyone. So, if you’re not interested in seeing what’s in the Passport set AFTER the events of Saeran’s After Ending, then do not click Read More, got it? I’ve made it clear to you. I will say that it’s worth the money if you’re debating buying it. 

So, we can go over the contents in the box, first as an overview. You receive a letter stamped with a cute sticker as well as the passport itself which holds the notes that Saeran’s been taking and drawing since this all started. I just think that’s cute. My brain said don’t open that passport until we review the letter first so, why don’t we go over the letter first? The little details are really cute. There’s just so many stamps on this baby. 

The little touches are what sell it. You’ve got this man putting his love all over it and there’s a CUTE NOTE of CATS. Sir, was that a touch to Saeyoung? I know you know that your brother is a dork. Homage to brother who is an idiot but too glaringly obvious. It got a chuckle out of me. I know this man, and it’s just getting to me. 

The passport itself is also really cute. It has the art from the promo banner but instead of everyone hustling around together, there’s new poses and all of that jazz. Jaehee isn’t rushing around. Zen’s got a selfie stick, no surprise on that front. Jumin just chilling. Seven and Yoosung... doing what they do best and you know it. RUN, YOOSUNG, RUN.

Saeran and MC... being cute on the inside made me go, “Aw!” Ice cream. They can really just put ice cream and it’s going to make me cry, huh? Really? Is that how easy this is? Am I a joke to you, Cheritz? Is that what this is? 

Now, if you want to talk about the contents in the letter, you get this sheet that is listed in three languages, surprised me, Korean, Spanish, and English, and it lets you tick off little things that you like to do. An itinerary sheet. I feel like this is purely Jumin crafting these. It asks about Cats. Literally. Cats. Wine? Yeah, this is on Jumin. You always come in flex, Jumin, but oh boy, I’m chuckling over here at these little touches. 

You get 2 boarding passes. One with Saeran’s name and one with a blank to fill in your name. I thought that was cute. Tying in that with the CG of the passes in the game with this just makes it more real to me. I’m holding this in my hands and it just makes my immersion feel much more real than it did when I was holding my phone in my hand and playing this out. 

I think merch like this just makes you feel more apart of the story then you do when you’re able to talk and chat, you know? If you really like feeling like you are involved with the game, this is how you do it. You wanna know how I know that Jumin is the one setting this up with Saeran? Flip over the fucking passport and you realize that Elizabeth is on the back.

I’m still laughing. 

I’m trying to imagine this and now, like, I’m starting to see why Jaehee is so damn tired because Elizabeth really is on everything that he can get his hands on and she’s good too many files to sort through when it comes to whatever the photographers take of her. Jumin can’t take photos. He’s either got Jihyun to do this for him at some point, or he’s straight up hiring photographers for her cause he can’t do it. 

I mean, we all know that Jumin will put Elizabeth everywhere but I just— It’s on the BOARDING PASSES? JUMIN! 

There’s also a postcard within the letter that is once more, written in all three aforementioned languages. Saeran says that it feels like a dream when he is with you, like this is where he’s always meant to be. His promise of happiness is made truest when he’s with you. I teared up a little. I know that he means well when he does that but damn, does it take an arrow to the heart every single time he does it. 

Saeran put a lot of thought into this in a very short amount of time. I know that he did this plan likely with the idea that he may not be able to go with us but he wanted us to be able to see the world for him. You know, how he implied that he wanted Saeyoung to see things for him? To live for him? Even if he was dead, he wanted Saeyoung and the player to be happy and free. 

The blurred state on those... doesn’t have names. It doesn’t name Saeran in this photo. 

The implication of his sacrifice with the boarding passes kind of hurts because this is a side note of the fact that Saeran Did Not Know If He Would Live To See This Through. He made it thinking maybe.. if things worked out, it would be an okay future, but this was... God. I just. I’m thinking about the weight of the AE and what that felt like. I almost glossed over the Boarding Pass because I was just so upset with him.

I’m the type to try to sacrifice myself for others, too. I have that in common with Saeyoung and Saeran. 

I think that we’d argue over who should die for the others and while that’s macabre, it’s just the kind of people that we are. We love these people so much that we’re willing to die if they’re safe and sound. Knowing that, I understand what Saeran tried, and even what Saeyoung tries, but it’s hard cause I want to make sure they’re happy in comparison to myself. 

This is where being selfless is a bad thing. 

Does anyone know what a big deal it is for Saeran to have a passport? He’s never had an ID or paperwork in his entire life. If he did, he would’ve been killed, so would his brother. They’re both never had IDs. Unless you count the ones from the Agency and Mint Eye. They’ve got them in the Believer box with their names and faces, but that’s not official. That’s not paperwork that everyone else has. That’s just... 

You know? 

Seeing this tangible thing in my hands is a testament to Saeran Choi being alive and thriving. He’s not afraid of showing his face. He’s living. He’s a free man and nobody can kill him for existing. Does that not weigh on anyone here? It hit me and I wanted to cry. I might break down thinking about this later because I just take this too seriously. Look at him. Look at HIM. Okay? Did you look? Now, LOOK AGAIN.

Okay, I’m not going to share every single page inside of the passport but I will give you little snippets of the journey ahead and show you what he writes and draws. Yes, he’s drawing. I knew that he was talented because he is great at doodling and drawing, but he knows how to have such a cute style that I want to gush about and he probably has no clue about how cute it is because nobody’s ever told him!

Okay, so the trip is broken up over a few months and into segments. You know how I was surprised by the 3 languages? Yes, this passport is written in three languages and it stays that way. It implies that Saeran knows English and Spanish, or at the very least, he’s been studying them, I get that it’s kind of a neat tie in to make sure that all languages are included but I only English and I can only read Spanish, I suck at conversational Spanish, so I could only read the English and Spanish sections. 

So, if anyone wants to throw in what the Korean segments say, please do. I have a rough idea, but it’d be nice to know. The first segment of the trip is spent traveling over Korea. You see the things that he packed in the bag! 

I almost had a heart attack because I thought the vitamins were Caffeine Pills. I was about to beat my Husband and make him go to bed. Thin ice, Saeran. Thin ice, the Special Believer package implied you take more then ten and I want you to go the fuck to sleep at night. 

He packed his hanbok! Look! You remember? From the title screen event? The blue shirt is the one that he matches with MC in. There’s so much I’m screaming about it. 

It shows you things that you do. Like, biking, karaoke, gardens... is there a locket bridge in Korea? You know? If you put them together on a bridge, it’s said that your love lasts forever. I forget where that came from but I guess there must be one in South Korea, too. Oh, and food. Can you believe that he can eat whatever he wants now? I’m sobbing. 

Please. 

HE’S IN HANBOK. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Okay, here’s the thing. I only have one gripe with the Passport Package and I’m going to say this again at the end, but I really wish that they had included big photos for this because the Passport itself it rather small and I wish that I could have bigger photos of this. It’s my only complaint. Literally, it’s the only thing I have to say about the box that will affect my rating. Look, we’re doing cheesy couple stuff! 

HE’S DOING THE HEART THING WITH HIS HANDS.

A KISS. 

KISS.

GUSHING.

DYING. HELP. ME. 

God, I wish I wasn’t broke. I would commission someone to do this for my MC. 

The second and third portion of the trip are spent in the U.S.A. and Mexico, I was so surprised by that! New York and Hawaii specifically are what they name and I was. Well, those are really far apart, huh. I mean, those are very popular spots. I’m not surprised. I’m chuckling because he’s got matching outfits. 

Saeran Choi, you really want the embarrassing couple look, don’t you? Well, if it’s for you, I’d do it. Did... Saeyoung or Jumin set us up, are we fucking loaded? There’s mad bank here. 

Saeran and MC basically are living per Jumin and Saeyoung, to be honest, because Saeran’s never had a job and MC is... your MC literally agrees to go and test a game in the woods, how good can our lives be? I’m broke, boy. I ain’t got nothing. So, I like to think that those two are offering to let Saeran be as happy and free as he wants. No expense. Like, kindness. The RFA is too damn much, I’m gonna cry. I’m starting to understand why the RFA didn’t hear from us for months. 

The final Check-In with the RFA is set 6 Months after the events that take place when we save Saeran. The events of this Passport cover 3 months. So, we go back to Korea after this adventure and met up with Saeyoung, because we know that we’re hanging out with him in the conclusion. So, if they haven’t really heard from us, that means that we’ve been traveling more with him. 

I kind of like that. 

We’re spending time with Saeran alone and time with the brothers together, and that’s sweet! I love that. I need to write more about it. 

I’m trying not to laugh about this Mexico portion but it looks like he passed out from an ice tea... lemonade...? It’s surely not alcohol. Maybe too much sugar, I know that crash can hurt. I’ve been there. I just know that you’re not implying the man with alcohol trauma is gonna drink. Nope. Neither he nor Saeyoung ever will do that. I stand by that statement and I’ll die by that statement. Bite me my tongue if I’m wrong, but I stand by that. 

Saeran is at least mindful of the sun. He’s also made notes that the perfect time for sunset is 18:34. Cute. He notes that it’s time for the Day of the Dead as well, so that’s fun!

IS THAT A FUCKING V CACTUS—

TWO V CACTUS—

There’s actually a portion in here where he asks you certain questions and you have the space to fill in it. I like that it’s interactive. 

Do you have favorites sweets? Are there things about yourself that you hide? Did you make sure to ask Santa what you wanted? I’m wheezing. The food doodles are one thing, and the Christmas photo is one thing, but he really drew himself as a butterfly and the MC as a bug catcher. 

“CATCH ME, MC.” 

Help me. 

I’m laughing so hard.

Saeran, you fucking goofball.

And, the last page of the passport is us assumedly returning home with all kinds of trinkets and gifts. Flower crown, snow globe, cactus, hats, listen, there’s a lot of details in this photos that I really wish I could have it blown up. 

That’s really my only complaint about the Passport Package. I really want to have bigger photos that are shared. I wouldn’t have minded if it was the photo of the final CG in the game, or the Christmas photo, I really would have enjoyed getting that to have for myself. 

You know? The passport itself is roughly like 5 x 7 or so, so while it’s not big, it’s still like. I would love to see the details blown up. It’s smaller then the diary, that I know for sure. I think it’s the only thing stopping from giving Cheritz a 10/10 on this item. 

I’m going to have to give them a 9.8/10 simply because it feels like we are lacking one big photo. 

I guess I’ll print my favorite CGs and decorate my room like that. But, all and all, I really enjoyed reading this and it made it feel like I was there and I was able to reflect on Saeran’s vacation with the player. Like, he was doing this as we were going using his little doodles... I’m in love with this fucking sap. I’d say that this is worth the money. 

For sure. 

My only gripe aside. That’s a personal problem, not really a content problem. I love this bastard. 

Look at him, he’s GOT A PLUSHIE. I have so many things that I want to write about now thanks to this. Saeran, darling, sweetie, my love, I am dying. Either way, I’m glad this arrived when it did. I needed this. I justified getting this for myself because I don’t expect to get anything for my birthday in early February but I’m happy I have him.

It’s been five years since I found this game in August 2016. I’m happy that it’s been here with me. 

[actually-reid]

filling in the blanks as we go - chapter six

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer is absent and you try to sort out your feelings over your argument

| chapter one | read on ao3 | masterlist | chapter seven |

We're all back in the bullpen by 9am. Luckily for us, there's no case yet so I'm sitting at my desk typing up reports and statements until we get assigned something else. I'm sat up straight, my complete attention trained on the screen in front of me in a desperate attempt to ignore the looks I can feel I'm getting.

I had made sure to put extra effort into my appearance today, wanting to look as unbothered as possible. My hair is in one of my favourite styles I usually don't leave time for in the morning and my clothes and makeup are impeccable. Unfortunately for me, this doesn't seem enough of a front as I feel JJ and Emily look at me from the coffee machine whilst they chat and my desk neighbour stealing glances at me whenever he gets a chance.

The best way to dissuade Reid of my feelings would be to show no real care over the altercation; if his accusation was false, why would I worry? I waltzed in with my coffee in hand and a smile before settling and getting to work quietly.

Until now.

"Y/N?"

My head turns to face him automatically which is probably best despite how much effort I was putting into tuning the rest of the room out. My mask shows a face of interest with raised eyebrows and my eyes land on his cautious expression. I can see him looking for a line between us that he just can't find, unsure whether to mirror ignorance or hit it head on. We're both reading into each other a bit too much.

"Do, uh, do you have the plans of the unsub’s house? From the file?"

It's the worst excuse I've heard in a while, especially coming from him. I know for a fact that he has a plan of the house in his head that he's probably made down with rough dimensions of each room from memory but I dig out the plans from my case file anyway and hand it to him with a cheap smile before getting back to work. I swivel back to my monitor but I can see in my peripherals that he's still facing me, still looking at me like he wants to say something but can't quite build up the nerve. I'm thankful that I make eye contact with Morgan on the walkway as he comes out of his office.

"Hey princess, how you holding up?" He says as he shuffles down the stairs and heads towards us. I roll my eyes with a grin at the nickname before fixing my glare to the computer again.

"I'm fine, Derek." I don't look up at him. I don't look at Reid either though, which is harder because my ingrained response to that nickname is to look at Reid and shake my head. Pretty Boy and Princess usually suffered together.

"If you say so." He leaves it at that, patting my shoulder as he walks past towards Garcia's office. By the time he's out of sight, Reid has resigned back to his paperwork and I let out a quiet sigh in relief before resuming my work.

Another cup of coffee later and with Prentiss sat at her desk on the other side of me, Reid's phone starts ringing. The Doctor doesn't usually get that many phone calls so I glance at him in curiosity. There's a tinge of reluctance in his speed to answer the phone, staring at the number or contact for a second too long before placing the device to his ear.

"Hello, this is Dr Reid."

I can tell that he recognises the voice on the other end from his manner and everything seems fine until his free hand lifts to rest on his cheek anxiously.

"Alright, I'm going to come visit, maybe I can help calm her down." He's up in a second, hurrying to Hotch's office whilst still on the phone. My eyes follow him as he goes and after he knocks and lets himself into Hotch's office I turn to Emily who has the same worried look on her face as I do. He's in and out as quick as a flash, everyone knowing that Hotch is always sympathetic towards family issues. No longer on the phone, he rushes back to his desk before he starts to shove things haphazardly into his satchel.

All thoughts of our disagreement have left my mind, his anxiety to get going enough to show how serious this must be. "Spence, what's happening?" My voice is soft and quiet but it's clearly something he doesn't expect and I can tell I've halted whatever train of thought he was following. He pauses his movements for a moment and I notice his breaths are heavy as he swallows hard. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips as he thinks before he says, "Walk me out?"

I nod with no hesitation and he closes his satchel before slinging it over his shoulder. We march towards the elevators and when the door closes it seems to cut all tension between us as I watch him sag against the wall. I wait for him to start.

"Mom had a major delusion that one of the other patients was a spy and she just assaulted him so badly he's going to the hospital. I don't think her new meds are mixing well. I'm going to go try and calm her if she isn't calm by the time I get there and then I'm going to have to persuade the study not to kick her out despite their no violence regulations."

"Spence, I'm so sorry."

I'm slow in my movement so he has time to pull away if he wants to, but my palm finds its way to his arm with no resistance. My thumb moves minutely in comfort for a second or two before I hear his bag thud on the floor and feel his arms around my waist. His chin rests gently on my shoulder and he's grasping me tightly but not enough that it's uncomfortable. Despite still not being used to touching him, my arms automatically loop around his neck. He's so warm and completely flush up against me, the smell of coffee and cinnamon nearly overwhelming. We stand there for a second and I pray that the lift keeps moving and no one calls for it. I feel him shake his head slightly into my shoulder and my hand drifts upwards into the hair at the nape of his neck.

If this had been anyone else, I would have wanted this to end as soon as possible but it's him and I can tell he's scared. There's a chance his mom won't recognise him or he won't be able to help and he'll be sidelined leaving him to watch whilst feeling completely useless. Not only that but if he can't convince the facility to let her stay he'll be tasked with finding somewhere else to look after her to good enough standards on extremely short notice. It's daunting and completely understandable. I may be mad at him but no one deserves this.

Eventually, the elevator arrives on the ground floor and I let my hands drop to my sides. He leans to pick up his bag and it's back on his shoulder as the door opens.

"Do you want me to come with you?" I ask him, because if he wanted me to, I know I would go without another thought, whether Hotch allowed it or not. He shakes his head though, stepping out to stand on the threshold between the doors.

"Let us know how it goes, okay?" I say, hoping he hears my desperate me under the us. "Send her our love."

He gives a curt nod to show he will before half turning to go. I even press the button for the sixth floor before I realise he's still stood in front of me.

"You should still be angry with me." He breathes, like he can’t believe I’m even talking to him despite everything that just happened.

"I am a bit." I say honestly. "Your mom is more important right now, we can sort that later."

"Last time you said that I ended up being an idiot."

"Yeah well, try not to be this time?" I say and I'm trying not to sound too exasperated. "Or maybe we'll wait until we aren't in public."

"I don't deserve you." he mutters before stepping forward and putting his hand on the back of my neck. For a second, my breath hitches and I'm so confused about what's happening until he pulls me forwards slightly and I feel warmth coming from his lips on my forehead. It's brief but after he pulls away the sensation lingers like a brand on my skin.

He seems unsure of the action after committing it, scratching at his neck and looking at the floor between us. I'm still recovering from thinking for a split second that he might kiss me, as if he would do that in the middle of Quantico. I feel my face heat slightly just at the thought.

"I'll keep you updated." He says, before he finally looks me in the eyes again. He gives me his signature tight smile and turns to head towards the door and leaves. My fingertips shoot to where his lips had touched me as the doors shut in front of me and I am surprised at the doors closing before I remember that I'd already pressed for the sixth floor.

The first thing I register is the return of some of the anger I felt this morning. How hypocritical was it to do something like that after the events of the early hours, especially if he still believed that I did like him. The only reason you would do something like that would be if you felt the same damn way, which he had clearly proved he didn't. Then comes the doubt because his behaviour really was also hypocritical and his words come rushing back. To notice my pupils dilated or my rushed breathing, he would have to be looking and the only reason you would look for those kind of things was if you wanted them there. He'd admitted to liking my touch and just proved it by the hug in the elevator.

It was so confusing.

I step out of the elevator automatically as the doors open and linger for a second as my mind can't really settle on the correct next step. Surely, everyone would want to know why Reid had left so quickly although I knew most of them would have figured out only his Mom would make him leave in such a rush. The other details he'd told me I wasn't sure if he would be comfortable with me sharing.

"There you are!" I hear and I watch as Garcia shuffles towards me at speed in a pair of kitten heels. "My office now!" she says, all but grabbing my arms and dragging me there.

When I'm finally in her office, she locks the door and plants me into the chair behind hers as she sits down before looking at me expectantly.

"What's going on Penny?" I ask her seriously and in response she crosses her arms.

"Did Boy Genius just kiss you goodbye?"

Of course it's my luck that none of my interactions with Reid seem to be private; first the jet, now this. I sigh and I wipe my face with my palm in what I know even for someone who isn't a profiler is an act of admittance.

"I just wanted to check he was okay and then you guys kind of just hung around the doorway of the elevator for ages and obviously there's no audio like I just wanted to see what kind of state he was in before he left on his own and then I saw him-"

"We didn't kiss Penny, he just kissed my forehead goodbye for some reason." I sigh, putting an end to her rambling.

"Oh honey, for some reason? You can't be that blind."

"Morgan told you everything?"

"I know that you might have a little soft spot for him which I don't blame at all - I think you guys would be great together and uhm yeah, Morgan told me what happened on the jet last night or I suppose this morning really."

I'm shaking my head. "You weren't there, Penny. I've never seen him so pent up and then to say that I liked him in front of everyone, I mean he knew everyone was listening and he didn't wait or anything he just said it because he was losing the argument and Hotch could transfer me with that-"

"Hey, hey - Hotch isn't going to transfer you. You're too good for that and you're part of our family, even if Hotch knew he would turn a blind eye if he could."

"Exactly, none of this even matters because of the stupid rules Pen. I just want everything to go back to normal. You can't tell anyone what you saw okay? Not even Derek."

She nods and coos at me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. I take this as her agreement and cover her hand with my own.

"You know you can talk to me about this honey bun?"

"I know, I know Garcia but I can't right now. I'm gonna go back to the bullpen."

I'm confused, angry and almost upset and yet as my eyes find the empty desk next to mine, longing becomes the most overwhelming emotion. He's been an idiot but isn't everyone from time to time? He's still my best friend and his mom is ill and I know what kind of emotional toll he must be carrying from his mother must have just got ten times heavier.

"His Mom?" Prentiss asks, her voice drawing my attention away from the row of books that lined his desk.

I nod and meet her eyes. I've known Prentiss long enough to know the look she's giving is her attempt to not profile me but still figure out what's wrong.

"He asked you to walk him out?" She prods cautiously.

"He just needed some comfort before he left. He was aware I was still pissed at him."

She takes a moment, either to digest the information or choose an appropriate response. "Good. He shouldn't have pulled that shit last night. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay."

"I wanted to tell you, you played it off well. I can't imagine how you must have felt."

I give Prentiss a grateful but sad smile and she squeezes my hand. I think about telling her everything, how betrayed I feel and how confused I am but Hotch emerges out of his office in a rush and it drags our attention away. Seeing that he's caught our eyes, he lifts a manilla case file before saying, "Five minutes.", and we know that we've got a case. Prentiss gives my hand another squeeze before letting go and we head to the round table in a comfortable silence.

As we sit and wait for the others to show, I try to kick myself back into work mode. I'd been concentrating on Reid so much the whole morning that I find it hard to stop and his empty chair doesn't help. The caffeine from my earlier coffee must be kicking in because I'm jittery and my leg starts jogging under the table as I think until I register Prentiss noticing it and I forcibly stop myself.

I can't seem to concentrate. The others seem to just appear in front of me and then the briefing starts. I take in all the important information but I let everyone else do most of the talking. It's a set of family annihilations and it's not as if all the crimes we deal with aren't abhorrent but destroyed families are always the worse for me, especially with young kids.

"Wheels up in 30." Hotch finishes with and everyone stands up to gather their things.

"What about Reid?" I ask before immediately wishing I didn't. I feel everyone glance at me simultaneously as if in warning. I had barely said a thing the whole meeting only then to ask about Reid. It didn't even take as good a profiler as Hotch to work out where my mind had been the whole briefing.

"He'll join us when he can." Hotch replies and I'm glad that he lets it slide. Knowing him, he can probably sense my own annoyance at my attention being distracted from the work. I give a quick nod before rushing out of the room, wanting to get out of there before I embarrassed myself even more.

I think I hear JJ calling for me from across the room but I ignore it. I grab my go bag from under my desk and head to the bathroom. I drop the bag by my feet and with both hands grab the edge of the sink in front of me and stare into the mirror.

Something must be wrong with me. I've never had a problem with concentrating when it comes to working because I know how important this is. One missed detail can halt the investigation for days which can lead to more victims when we don't catch the unsub in time. I can't let this happen. In the mirror I see my face which I now regret spending so much time on in the morning. I should have slept more, maybe it would have helped and now I can't splash my face with water to calm me down since I have makeup on.

I'm in the middle of pulling myself together when I hear the door swing open. I'm standing up straight rather than leaning on the sink and washing my hands as JJ walks in.

"Y/N?" Her voice is gentle and quiet much like the tone I had used with Reid earlier in the elevator. Do I really look that fragile? I think to myself.

"It's okay to be worried, you know. I'm worried too. We all know how much Diana means to him."

"I know. I just don't want to be something else he has to worry about, like what if the whole thing on the jet was just him trying to dissuade me or, or I don't know. He must have known his mother wasn't doing well but he hadn't told me because we've been barely speaking and then we were so busy with the case yesterday and-"

"Hold on there." She interrupts, probably not wanting me to fall down a rabbit hole when we have to meet with the others so soon. "What happened on the jet wasn't your fault, he was just...an ass. And he knows it, he was looking at you with such regret the whole morning. Did he say sorry when you walked him out?"

"No, he just needed a hug. His mom assaulted someone and we all know how hard he looked for a good study for her Alzheimers, now he's worried she'll get kicked out for it."

"Oh God. Well, I'm sure he'll find a way for them to keep her." she says and I know she's right but it doesn't seem to help that much. We stand there in silence, not quite meeting each other's eye.

"You like him a lot, don't you?" She asks and I realise that this checkup is for more than what's going on with Reid. "We all assumed it was just a little crush at O'Keefes you know."

I hum approvingly as an almost silent laugh. "I suppose that makes me feel a bit better. I was so embarrassed, knowing all you guys knew whilst he was just rambling off 'symptoms of attraction'."

"He's such a nerd! Not even a 'I saw the way you looked at me' just an immediate 'your pupils dilated by 50%'." We both giggle for a minute, knowing that as much as we make fun of him for it it's never maliciously. "Does that turn you off him at all?" JJ asks cheekily with narrowed eyes and a sly smile and I shove her playfully.

"Is it bad if I say no?" I reply and we laugh some more. Usually, I was much closer to Garcia or Prentiss about personal matters but JJ was definitely the second closest to Reid after me and she had been here for many years with him before I had reached the team. It crosses my mind that he had probably defaulted back to her when I had shut him out slightly.

I dry my hands on some paper towel before tossing it away into the bin. JJ hands me my go bag and we link arms, which we've never done before. I'm not sure if it's a breakthrough in our friendship or if she wants to march me to the jet to make sure I don't delay it any longer and I find I don't really mind either option. Morgan, Hotch and Prentiss are all waiting in an SUV outside the lobby and we hop in ready to start another case.

tag list: @measure-in-pain @ilovespencerreidmarryme @spencersrose @chelsea-the-enchanted @just-arandomwriter @jswessie187 @mynameis3-14

tags that are struck through - check your privacy settings :/

[whitehotharlots]

A movement that cannot be criticized cannot achieve positive goals

The hardest part of talking about malignant trends on the broad left is that, well, you’re not allowed to talk about them. It’s no exaggeration to say that criticism has become fully conflated with violence. If you attempt to engage critically with a left-liberal writer--regardless of how thorough and respectful you may be, and regardless of how powerful, public, or insulated the subject of the criticism--you will be accused of dismissing and erasing the writer, of inciting violence against the writer, and of committing some form of genocide against whichever identity groups the writer belongs to.

Conversely, if you don’t provide specifics, you’ll be accused of making stuff up. The same people who claim it’s an act of aggression to ask for proof when they make claims of victimization turn into immense pedants the moment they encounter a heterodox opinion. 

Unsurprisingly, a discourse milieu in which critical analysis is forbidden is a prime breeding ground for unsustainable (and even horrific) behavioral standards. Never mind improving the world that exists outside their sphere of influence... these people are perpetually on the brink of destroying their allies, their institutions, and themselves.

Today I dug into an especially profane case that highlights both of these points. It’s a matter of public record, so I hopefully won’t get accused of “doxing” anyone for discussing it. It’s also the sort of story where if someone cares about it, they’ll have an opinion of it within a second or two of reading a headline describing what happened. This means it’ll only be of interest to the sort of cranks who read this blog. My goal here isn’t to express outrage or advocate for one side or other--although it is outrageous, and you won’t have to try too hard to see which side I favor. Instead, I’m going to try to move beyond that, to use this instance as a broader cautionary tale in regards to the more horrific tendencies of the identitarian left, and to begin formulating some means of resistance. 

In other words, this might get boring. Even more so than usual. 

The story involves a court case, documented here, in which a young man named Kieran Bhattacharya is suing the University of Virginia Medical School. Mr. Bhattacharya (a white supremacist name if I’ve ever heard one) was subjected to formal censure, repeated psychological evaluations, suspension, and eventual expulsion. This all happened because he raised some concerns after a White Fragility-inspired panel on microaggressions.

This is one of those cases where both sides are going to assume there’s a lot more going on beneath the surface and, like I said, are going to be disinclined toward actually reading the available evidence. Thankfully, the court brief is fairly exhaustive and--importantly--the account provided in the brief has received the approval of both plaintiff and defendant. To stress, everyone involved in this case agrees, legally, that the account provided herein is an accurate picture of what happened. Additionally, we also have audio of the initial microaggression seminar (Mr. Bhattacharya’s comments start at around the 28:30 mark), as well as of the pursuant committee meeting that ended in his expulsion. 

Here is the initial exchange, as documented by the brief:

Bhattacharya: Hello. Thank you for your presentation. I had a few questions just to clarify your definition of microaggressions. Is it a requirement, to be a victim of microaggression, that you are a member of a marginalized group? 

Adams: Very good question. And no. And no— 

Bhattacharya: But in the definition, it just said you have to be a member of a marginalized group—in the definition you just provided in the last slide. So that’s contradictory. 

Adams: What I had there is kind of the generalized definition. In fact, I extend it beyond that. As you see, I extend it to any marginalized group, and sometimes it’s not a marginalized group. There are examples that you would think maybe not fit, such as body size, height, [or] weight. And if that is how you would like to see me expand it, yes, indeed, that’s how I do. 

Bhattacharya: Yeah, follow-up question. Exactly how do you define marginalized and who is a marginalized group? Where does that go? I mean, it seems extremely nonspecific.

 Adams: And—that’s intentional. That’s intentional to make it more nonspecific . . . . 

After the initial exchange, Bhattacharya challenged Adams’s definition of microaggression. He argued against the notion that “the person who is receiving the microaggressions somehow knows the intention of the person who made it,” and he expressed concern that “a microaggression is entirely dependent on how the person who’s receiving it is reacting.” Id. He continued his critique of Adams’s work, saying, “The evidence that you provided—and you said you’ve studied this for years—which is just one anecdotal case—I mean do you have, did you study anything else about microaggressions that you know in the last few years?” Id. After Adams responded to Bhattacharya’s third question, he asked an additional series of questions: “So, again, what is the basis for which you’re going to tell someone that they’ve committed a microaggression? . . . Where are you getting this basis from? How are you studying this, and collecting evidence on this, and making presentations on it?”

You can listen to the audio if you like. There’s nothing there, in my opinion, that is not captured accurately in the written description. Bhattacharya does not yell or raise his voice. He sounds skeptical, but in no way violent or threatening. Nor does Adams, the presenter, signal that she is experiencing anything that approaches fear or trauma. 

Immediately after the event, a professor who helped organize the discussion filed a “Professionalism Concern Card”--a cute academic euphemism for a disciplinary write up--against Bhattacharya, alleging he had displayed a troubling lack of respect for differences (the irony here probably does not need to be explicated).

Soon after that--literally still the same day of the panel--Bhattacharya received an email from faculty asking him to “share his thoughts” so as to help him “understand and be able to cope with unintended consequences of conversations.” The tone of the email is polite and professional, but the text hints toward an attempt at entrapment. You’ll see this a lot in woke spaces--invitations to come to an understanding with one another that are, in actuality, attempts to get a person to say something cancellable.

Bhattacharya took the bait, and, well… 

During Bhattacharya and Peterson’s one-hour meeting, Peterson “barely mentioned” Bhattacharya’s questions and comments at the panel discussion. Dkt. 33 ¶ 73. Instead, Peterson attempted to determine Bhattacharya’s “views on various social and political issues—including sexual assault, affirmative action, and the election of President Trump.” 

At this point, the kid was fucked. He soon after had an uneventful-seeming meeting with a dean. Two weeks after that, a separate panel found him guilty of “patterns of unprofessional behavior and egregious violations of professionalism” and strongly encouraged him to seek psychological counseling. 

Pre-Trump, Bhattacharya still probably would have been fine if he had just kept his head down, gone to a couple therapy sessions, and maybe issued an empty apology. Since 2016, however, the rules have changed. An accusation is now absolute proof of guilt and no amount of ablution can save someone in a vulnerable position. 

Eleven days after receiving the ostensible suggestion that he receive counseling, Bhattacharya was informed that he would not be permitted to return to classes until he had been evaluated. A day after that--before even having the opportunity to seek the mandated counseling--he was given a mere 3 hours notice before having to attend another disciplinary committee meeting. 

This meeting found that Bhattacharya’s continuing behaviors were proof that he posed an imminent danger to the campus community, although the committee did not bother to explain what those behaviors entailed. His behavior was simply noted as “unusual” and this was proof that “Any patient that walked into the room with [Bhattacharya] would be scared.” The following day, Bhattacharya was forcibly removed from campus and told he could not return until he had been screened. He was, subsequently, not allowed to receive sanctioned screening, because of his status of having been removed from campus after being deemed a security risk.

Again, none of what I have described is an exaggeration. None of these details are even being contested. 

Now for my own conjecture: the problem isn’t that anyone genuinely believes Bhattacharya poses a threat to anyone’s safety. The problem is that he attempted to question the ideological firmaments of contemporary anti-racist training. These firmaments are protected with aggressive viciousness precisely because they cannot withstand scrutiny. Had Bhattacharya merely scoffed at them, or even if he had been outright condescending and dismissive, he probably would not have received such a severe punishment. The problem was that he was right, and his accusers knew it.

Understanding speech in the manner prescribed by the peddlers of microaggression theory cannot possibly be codified in a way that won't result in arbitrary punishment. Bhattacharya’s experience demonstrates that with horrific irony. 

The assertion here is that the intention of a speech act should have no bearing on how we adjudicate the morality of that speech act--such a point was made repeatedly in the initial discussion, and stressed once again after Bhattacharya’s concerns have been raised. This standard contradicts how we've processed the morality of speech for centuries, but that's what people are very explicitly demanding.

How is this workable, when literally any statement could, conceivably, be considered offensive by at least one individual? This, I feel, was the point Bhattacharya reaching toward. If you were to say, I dunno, "I love trees" to a group of 1000 people, 999 of them could regard that statement as benign. But what if one person takes offense to it? What if they work in the lumber industry, or they were molested by guy in a Smokey the Bear costume? What if that person then files a report accusing the tree lover of offensive speech? Will the speaker be disciplined? Or will the powers that be take intention and effect into account?

Of course, we're not going to criminalize all speech in this way. Like all extreme and broad-reaching disciplinary standards, this one will only be selectively evoked in order to punish people with heterodox opinions and/or those whose presence threatens the status quo. Someone who says something much more incendiary, like "all men are rapists" or "white people shouldn't get social security" would not receive a reprimand regardless of how much offense their statements caused, because they're saying something that's acceptable in our current milieu. And right now, the least acceptable speech is that which shines a light on the manifest flaws and hypocrisies of corporate anti racism. 

Back to my hypothetical example, if the tree-loving speaker was on good terms with everyone, the complaint would most likely be ignored. But if he had said or done other things that for whatever reason displeased the people in charge, the specious accusation could still ruin him. What's worse, the person who filed the allegation of offense might not have even actually taken offense at the statement--they were just looking for a way to get rid of him.

Bhattacharya was attempting to voice legitimate criticisms about a political movement whose suggestions are functionally unworkable and that, even if it were implemented fully and uncritically, does not contain even a hypothetical explanation in regards to how its goals would result in improved racial equality/equity. Because of that, he was cynically labeled dangerous and expelled from a public university. 

You'd think a group that obsesses over power differentials and their own marginalization would have some grasp of this. Regardless of which side you fall into with this particular culture war, it should fucking terrify you that a movement that’s been tasked with addressing pressing social problems is designed in such a way that any substantial criticism is met with aggressive punishment. 

There’s no way you can win if this is you is how conduct yourself. This is why we’re losing. This is why even if you get all the censorship and deplatforming you can ever dream of, even if every major bank and multinational corporatation professes fealty to your movement, you will still lose. Because there’s no way you can win. 

[bisexualcrowley]

Undercover

Pairing: Harry Hart x Fem! reader

Summary: While doing surveillance at a gala, Y/n and Harry's identities are threatened to be uncovered and they take to a rather intimate method of hiding their faces

Content/warnings: smutty themes? nsfw, fluffy stuff, cursing, suggestive themes, semi-public foreplay/teasing, making out, Merlin’s still alive bc i want him to be

Word count: 3,729

“A Gala. In the middle of winter, this means I might have to fight in heels, is this really necessary Merlin?” Y/n sighed, glancing out at the light drifting of snow that had begun to flutter down from the sky. Its not that she had anything against winter, the woman mused to herself, just that it makes this sort of work so much more difficult. 

The year had been tough enough already, having lost Harry to Valentine, getting Harry back, the whole issue with the Golden Circle, and the constant stress was getting to Y/n, the smallest thing now able to piss her off, and unfortunately for her, this latest mission seemed to be more than a small thing. “C’mon Y/n, i know we all could use some rest but this is important, the target is threatening to release catastrophic amounts of classified government information. I’m not asking you to be on the front line here, I just need you and Galahad on the sidelines, more as surveillance and backup than anything else.”

Y/n had been less than impressed with Merlin’s words, wanting to stay as far away as possible from field work until she had gotten a decent amount of sleep, but her ears perked up at the mention of her best friend and previous partner at Kingsman.

“You’re letting Harry in the field again?”

She asked, surprised at the man’s words. “I thought you said he wasn’t ready yet, after the problems he had while working alongside the American agents.

“Not fully, as i said, the two of you will just be keeping tabs on him from the crowd, not making contact unless absolutely necessary.” Merlin must have picked up on Y/n’s eagerness to work alongside Harry again and allowed himself a slight smile as he spoke, sliding the paperwork across the table to the younger agent. “This place is fancy, i mean really fancy, you’re gonna want to look your very best. Go over his papers today and be here dressed and ready at 20:30 tomorrow. And I mean it, y/n, be dressed to kill, in more than just the metaphoric sense”

Most of her annoyance having melted away at the mention of Harry, Y/n agreed, taking the papers and shaking Merlin’s hand before turning on her heel and jogging down the hall of the Kingsman offices, hoping to find her friend. Luckily Y/n didn’t need to search far, finding him in the actual tailor section of the building being fit for a tuxedo.

Y/n caught Harry’s eye in the mirror in front of him and she shot him a grin, leaning casually against the door frame. “Lookin’ good, Galahad. Excited to be headin’ back into it?” She asked, affection shining in her smile at the sight of Harry Hart suiting up for battle once again. 

It was no secret among many of the Kingsman agents that Y/n had fallen hard for the man, her feelings becoming clear to them when Harry was shot as she had broken down in tears at the news despite being one of Kingsman’s toughest agents, however she did manage to keep the secret from Harry himself, terrified of losing the relationship they already had by revealing her feelings only to find that they weren’t reciprocated. 

Eggsy and Merlin, of course, had required a fair amount of bribery to be convinced to keep their mouths shut, finding the whole situation more than amusing and wanting nothing more than to spill the beans to Harry, whom they were fully convinced shared y/n’s feelings. Y/n didn’t crack though, and eventually the men had settled on the childish teasing of Y/n and placing bets on who would make the first move. Eggsy had put 50 pounds on Y/n cracking first, but Merlin put his money on Harry, having said something about Eggsy underestimating the woman.

At the moment, despite her refusal to share her feelings with Harry, Y/n feared that Eggsy was going to be the one to win the wager as she felt her heart beat faster at the happy smile Harry had offered her in return.  “Looking forward to be working alongside you again, Y/n, it’s been lonely without my partner”

Y/n felt her face heat up at the compliment, but determined not to let her resolve fail she once again held back the words she wanted so badly to tell her friend, instead choosing to push herself off the doorframe and saunter over to Harry’s position in the center of the room.  “So... A gala. Haven’t done one of these together in ages, have we.”  Y/n’s hand came to rest on Harry’s shoulder, still not having broken their eye contact through the mirror. “It has been a while, although luckily, I never forgot how to dance”

Y/n’s confident exterior faltered at his words, tilting her head to the side and eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “We have to dance?” She asked, voice coming out far quieter than she had hoped. Harry let out a very ungentlemanly laugh at her shock, turning his gaze from the mirror to meet his friend’s eyes properly. “I’d assume Merlin didn’t tell you for this very reason, y/n” He chuckled. “We’d stick out too much, standing in the middle of a ballroom. To draw the least amount of attention to our position, we’re gonna have to dance”

Y/n froze for a moment, weighing her options. On one hand, she thought, I’m dancing with Harry. On the other hand, i’m dancing. In public. What a terrifying thought, i should just tell Merlin i won’t do it. But if i don’t do it, i don’t dance with Harry. 

She squinted slightly, fighting herself for which option was better, but in the end decided that the upside of pretending to be Harry’s date outweighed the negatives in the situation, and after another moment of hesitation, Y/n nodded, nervously drumming her fingers on the man’s shoulder.

“Alright then. If we’re gonna dance, we’re gonna do it right. I’m gonna go find a dress, i guess. See you tomorrow, Galahad” Y/n breathed, a hint of humor making it’s way into her words as she went on, which to her luck Harry picked up on, and replied with an exaggerated salute, earning him a giggle and smile from Y/n before she slung on a coat and took off again.

Lucky for her the London streets were nearly empty, most seeking cover from the bitter cold within the comfort of their homes, and the trip to her own home was quick for Y/n. Almost immediately upon arriving, she threw open the doors of her closet, flicking through hanger after hanger of clothes that Merlin would be less than happy about her wearing to such a prestigious event. It appeared that luck was still on her side, however, as Y/n paused, pulling out a dress previously hidden behind a thick winter coat.  It was beautiful, a slim gown of deep green velvet with a loose, plunging neckline and thin black straps with a shimmering gold woven throughout, and y/n smiled, knowing it would be perfect for the following night.

The next day passed quickly, Y/n having to study the target’s file, shower, do her hair and makeup, fit a variety of concealed weaponry on her person, and what felt to her like a million other things, and it felt like no time at all before she found herself outside the Kingsman Tailor shop, glittering heels clicking along the icy sidewalk leading up to the building. Y/n reached for the door handle, shivering slightly in the cold but was met with the door swinging open in her face, Merlin staring down at her with Eggsy, Tequila and Harry behind him. 

“Y/n, you’re late, c’mon, there’s a car waiting in the back, c’mon lets go” Merlin ushered her along, the group rounding the building to find a black towncar waiting in the alley. It took a bit of maneuvering to fit everyone into the vehicle, coats bunching up in the small space, but eventually the group situated themselves in a somewhat comfortable fashion, and they were off.

The drive was longer than Y/n had expected, but no time was spent relaxing, having found herself rather distracted by her body being pressed against a very well dressed Harry, the cramped space forcing her leg to shift up onto Harry’s so that she was sitting partially on his lap, a position that had the both of them blushing furiously and Tequila chuckling from Harry’s left. 

Hoping to distract from the uncomfortable and unfortunately mildly arousing way she was seated, Y/n leaned forward to peer past Harry and raised an eyebrow at the American agent, who in return mimicked her expression, which brought a mix of annoyance and amusement to the still blushing woman.  “Mind if i ask why Harry was forced into the middle seat? Last time i checked, i’d fit a fair bit better” Y/n asked, Harry humming in agreement with her statement.

“Why, you wanna sit on my lap instead?” Tequila smirked, earning a snort of laughter from Eggsy and Merlin in the front seat and a glare from Y/n, where Harry shifted uncomfortably and blushed harder.

Y/n’s snapped back, but her retort was cut short at the feeling of the car slowing to a stop and Merlin leaning over the drivers seat to run over the night’s details one last time. 

The plan went smoothly from then, Eggsy and Tequila positioning themselves near the main doorways and Merlin settling himself behind a computer, leaving Harry and Y/n to shed their coats and make their way further into the ballroom. A string quartet was set in the middle of the north wall, playing what y/n recognized immediately to be a slower rendition of the seal lullaby, and she fought the urge to twirl around a couple times, instead smoothing out her dress and holding out a hand to Harry.

“Well Mr. Hart, may i have this dance?” Y/n spoke calmly, careful to avoid appearing overly enthusiastic so as not to draw unnecessary attention to the pair, but the warmth shining in her eyes was undisguisable to Harry, who took her arm with a smile and led her to their position in the ballroom.

The image of the two Kingsman agents settling into a graceful mix of a waltz and a simple slow dance was reflected off the marble floors, creating what would have been a beautiful photo had there been a photographer near them and y/n relished in the moment, hand clasped with Harry’s, his hand pulling her waist to his as they swayed to the music.

Harry caught Y/n’s eye as he caught her after a spin, a grin breaking through his character that made her heart flutter. The song slowed to it’s end and the couple for the night paused, the taller figure dipping y/n and freezing, their faces inches apart. Y/n felt her breath hitch in her chest, heart pounding at the intimate position they had paused in.

Her eyes met Harry’s again, the latter panting slightly, his pupil dilated and face flushed red, and dear god it turned Y/n on. Biting her tongue to hold back what would have been a rather humiliating moan, she rested her weight into Harry’s arms, allowing herself a second to catch her breath. As the next song began, Harry shook himself out of whatever state he was in and pulled y/n back up against him, resuming the dance like nothing had happened. Y/n, still flustered, tried to distract herself by shooting a glance towards their target, who had moved from lingering by the side entrance to scanning the crowd from a nearby refreshment table.  As the song reached a peak Harry spun y/n around again, but this time around her heel caught on the seam of her dress and she stumbled, accidentally turning away from her partner. Quickly righting herself, Y/n returned to her previous stance, but not before making brief yet intense eye contact with the man they were watching.  “Shit... Merlin do you have eyes on the target? I might have just fucked us over” Y/n’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper, eyes blown wide with horror at the prospect of ruining Harry’s first real taste of action since the Golden Circle incident.

“Hang on, hang on, don’t abort mission yet” Merlin muttered through her earpiece, y/n hearing the clacking of keys as the older agent fussed with the security cameras

“Fuckin hell, Galahad, Y/n, he’s coming your way. Hold your position, we don’t blow your cover unless we’re 100% sure he knows who you are. Keep dancing, but don’t let him see your face” 

Merlin’s voice cut across the earpiece again, and by the way y/n felt Harry's shoulders tense she knew he heard the message too.

“Shit, what do we do?” she hissed back, watching her partner risk a glance to the left and finding the target moving smoothly through the crowd, eyes set on the couple.

“Keep dancing, stay inconspicuous for as long as possible, if we’re lucky he’ll just pass on by. Now i’ll say it again, don’t let him see your bloody faces.” Merlin’s voice was low, and Y/n couldn’t stop the nervous feeling they caused from setting in as she watched the man grow nearer out of the corner of her eye.

“Merlin i don’t know what you expect us to do here if it’s so imperative we don’t move from this spot, we can’t just-”

Y/n tuned out Harry’s urgent whispers as a solution came to mind, eyes widening at the ridiculousness her own mind had come up with, but not seeing a better solution she shushed him, placing a finger over his lips.

Harry looked confused but went along with it, cocking an eyebrow in silent questioning and giving her shoulder a soft squeeze as the man drew closer, nearly close enough to get a good look at the pair, and y/n knew she had to make her move.  With a quick whisper of “forgive me for this Harry”, Y/n brought her hands up to cup her friend’s face and pulled him into a kiss. Harry froze momentarily, his jaw tensing in shock before he followed her lead and returned the kiss, their lips moving against each others perfectly in sync and y/n couldn’t keep herself from sighing into the kiss, unconsciously pressing her body closer to his. 

Harry deepened the kiss, his hands moving to thread through her hair and a vague thought reminded Y/n he was just helping to conceal her face, but it was shoved quickly to the back of her mind with a particularly passionate movement from Harry which she met enthusiastically. Her hands inched upwards to tug at his perfectly styled hair, which earned Y/n a low moan against her lips, and she pressed closer again, unconsciously slipping her leg between Harry’s. She felt his cock twitch against her thigh and all thoughts of what they were there to do flew out the window, one hand clasping at the collar of his tuxedo’s jacket and the other cupping his cheek, pulling his face down to her own.

Feeling bold, Y/n made a move to nip at Harry’s lower lip but before she had the chance, they were interrupted by a more than amused Eggsy clearing his throat beside her.  The pair flinched in surprise and pulled quickly out of the heated embrace, leaving Y/n wiping speared lipstick from her face and fixing disheveled hair, Harry somewhat discretely adjusting his clothing to hide the now quite sizable bulge in his trousers with a deep blush across his cheeks and Eggsy watching from the side, eyes tearing up from the effort of holding in his laughter.

“Merlin says good thinkin’, Y/n. The two’ve you were a bit busy to notice but Tequila got the guy, he went down nice n’ quiet, we’re supposed to get to the car as soon as possible” Eggsy had a shit eating grin plastered across his face as he spoke, which only got wider when Y/n gave Harry an awkward smile, which he returned briefly before shoving his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes.

Snickering, Eggsy escorted the pair through the crowded room and through a series of side doors, which after a seemingly unnecessary number of hallways led to a back exit where the towncar that had brought them to the gala was waiting. Dreading what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation with Harry, y/n winced at the thought of how inappropriate her actions towards her friend were, and she moved to open the passenger side door but was stopped by Eggsy once again, who flung open the door and threw himself in next to Merlin, who quite to her displeasure shared Eggsy’s smirk. 

Y/n’s eyes locked with his, silently pleading to switch seats but her weak attempt proved to be in vain as Eggsy winked and pointed over his shoulder to the back of the car, where Harry was already seated.  Y/n glared at Merlin but didn’t argue, and took a deep breath before sliding into the car, which to her luck was no longer so cramped due to the third agent having stayed behind with the target. The space was still smaller than she would have wished, but the cover of darkness provided a touch of comfort that y/n was endlessly grateful for. 

Shadows crossed across her legs as the car rolled into gear, Merlin driving out of the alley and beginning the long journey back to the Kingsman headquarters. Y/n sighed, leaning her head against the window and closing her eyes, hoping the cold glass against her skin would help to drown out her racing thoughts.

Much to her dismay, however, they had been traveling for less than ten minutes when Eggsy turned around, leaning over his chair with the same wicked smile stretched across his face as he had worn before.

“So, you two had some fun t’night, didntcha?” Merlin let out a snort of laughter from beside him, Eggsy nodding his head suggestively between the pair in the backseat. Too tired to come up with a snarky reply, y/n simply rolled her eyes at Eggsy, and went back to working up the nerve to say something to the uncharacteristically silent figure seated beside her.

The realization that Harry was rarely this quiet around y/n outweighed her fear of confrontation, concern for her friend pulling her focus from Eggsy to the older man, and she turned to face him.  Harry was sitting stiffly, hands clasped in his lap and head straight forward, but he must have been watching y/n out of the corner of his eye, as he looked to the side to meet her eyes when she turned from her position by the window to look up at him. 

In that moment, the car was silent aside from the low rumble of the engine, the tension between the two growing from tolerable to an absolute peak, hanging thickly in the air between their bodies.  It was thick enough, apparently for Eggsy to pick up on it, and with a chuckle about “giving you two some privacy”, he pressed a button beside his seat that caused a black divider to come up behind him, separating the front from the back of the car and leaving Y/n and Harry in silence.

Both Harry and Y/n stayed frozen in place, faces turned to each other and her eyes locked on his. Hesitantly, y/n placed a hand on Harry’s knee, a motion that years of friendship had taught him meant she had a lot to say, but didn’t yet know how to say it, and Harry nodded, the silent exchange sharing more than words would be able to.

“...I... I’m sorry, Harry, i shouldn’t have...” Y/n’s voice was low, barely above a whisper as she spoke, trailing off as the words caught in her throat. 

"No, y/n, it was my mistake, i just...” Harry's voice faltered as well, fingers coming up to fuss nervously with the strap of his eyepatch, a habit y/n had noticed Harry picked up when he felt flustered.

Neither of them knew what had happened; one moment they were sitting in silence, y/n’s hand on his knee and tension high, and the next moment y/n found herself being pulled into Harry’s lap, her hands once again tugging at his hair as they met again in a heated kiss.  Her dress had hiked up to her hips at this point, allowing Y/n to straddle her lover properly, and this time she didn’t hesitate to grind down against him, Harry’s hands coming to grip her smooth hips as she rubbed her barely covered sex along the bulge in his trousers, both letting out groans of pleasure at the friction.

Harry’s fingers trailed down y/n’s body as they made out like horny teenagers in the backseat, moving from her hair down to cup her covered breast, and down further to trace along the slick fabric of her panties. Y/n whimpered at the touch and moved to return the favor, her own hand coming to palm at his cock through his pants, at which Harry gasped and yanked her down onto his lap once again, hips thrusting up to grind against y/n’s cunt.

She moaned against his mouth once again, pulling away for just long enough to strip off Harry’s coat and unbutton his shirt before returning to her position on his lap. The two were so caught up in the moment that they didn’t notice the car pulling up to the curb and stopping, however they did take notice to the door flying open and the flash of a camera, followed by Eggsy’s delighted voice and a deep laugh from Merlin.  Embarrassed, y/n quickly tugged her dress back into place and slid out of the car, holding out a hand for Harry to take as he climbed out, looking as red faced as y/n felt.

“Go on, buggers, we took you to Galahad’s place. I’ll find out who won the bet tomorrow, go have some fuckin’ fun.” Eggsy laughed at their dumbfounded expressions at his words, but chose not to respond, instead returning to his seat beside Merlin who drove off a few seconds later, leaving two very sexually frustrated agents on the sidewalk. 

“Well then... Wanna take this inside?”

[realllllfangirllllll]

Beyond Lovers || Chp. 24

{More Than Friends Sequel}

Chairman!Jaehyun AU x CEO!Reader AU

Summary: You find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with the former CEO after overcoming your fear of love. Although there were rough patches, both of you are now stronger than ever. However, you realize that maintaining a relationship and a company at the same time can be very difficult, especially if someone is out to destroy the both of you.

Warning: The vengeance we’ve all been waiting for?

Masterlist

{ Previous / Next }

Credits to rightful owner for this amazing gif

———

1 day ago

Drumming his fingers along the smooth leather steering wheel, Yuta kept watch for any movements on the quiet streets. Soon enough, he spotted his arrogant step-cousin drive up to the gate of her house. Quickly, he got out of his car dashing in front of the moving vehicle. The car came to an immediate stop as the screeching of tires can be heard. 

The window to the driver’s seat rolled down and Emily stuck her head out in shock, “Are you fucking crazy?! I could’ve killed you!”

Yuta paid no mind to the risk and gave her a cold smirk, “Why hello my dearest cousin.”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t ‘hello’ me. I have an important day ahead of me and I have no time to waste by talking to a psychotic sore loser like you.” 

Smiling with his arms crossed, he asked, “And what game did I lose?” 

“Oh don’t act like you don’t know dear Nakamoto. Weren’t you just begging me over text to give up?” She looked into Yuta's eyes with a wicked smile, “Don’t worry I won’t.”

“Emily. Don’t you fucking dare.”

With her arms crossed, she scoffed and looked him dead in the eye, “Who’s going to stop me?”

His arms shot up to grab her arm over the opened window, “Don’t you even-”

“Even what? Take over SM? Are you scared because you know daddy’s going to make me the heir of YG once I take over this shabby company too?”

Yuta let out a sigh and loosened his grip around her arm. “You know what?” He continued with an exhausted voice, “I give up. You’ll never listen anyway. You just do what you want and see what you want. There’s no stopping you anyways. There never was…”

Emily gave him a sly smile at his words as if she won the unspoken war of nerves. That was until he suddenly gave her a cold smile that sent shivers down her entire body. In a chilling tone, Yuta stared at her and warned, “But every action has its consequences my dear cousin.”

Emily feigned indifference and rolled her windows back up, driving into her house driveway.

Yuta watched with pity as she disappeared into the front door. You always put up an act with everyone just to win a petty competition. It’s what your father raised you to be and there’s no way I can change you. Once this is all over, I hope you will learn to truly be yourself without having to worry whether your father will approve or not.

~~~

The building that started it all. You thought to yourself as you stared at the large building in front of you. You’ve seen the SM building countless times, but today felt different. And oddly enough, you don’t hate it. There was a time you’ve walked in with regret, fearing you’ll have to face your feelings for the man you had a one-night stand with. There was also another time you’ve walked in feeling anger and resentment coursing through your body, ready to meet the person who terrorized your boyfriend’s former position. This time, however, you felt none of those negative feelings. You were instead glad to be back as the person who will claim what’s rightfully yours and Jaehyun’s. This building held as much happiness as it did sadness, and you weren’t going to let some ungrateful chick take that away. 

Stepping through the sliding glass doors, you strode in your pointed heels to the lobby desk with Mark by your side. The workers were shocked to see the two of you as you greeted them with a smile. “Wendy, Jisoo. Nice to see you’re still working just as diligently.”

“Y/n… Mark... W-what are you doing here?”

You playfully retorted, “You’re not going to call the security on us are you?”

The two women looked flabbergasted, unsure of whether they should carry out their duty or stay loyal to their former boss’s girlfriend. You chuckled and placed a hand on one of their shoulders. “I’m joking. Lighten up girls!” Taking out your id badge, the girls relaxed their bodies once they saw ‘Conference Attendee’ written on it. You analyzed their behaviors and scoffed, “I don’t know who took away the wit from my front desk girls, but I’ll be sure to bring it back,” you thought for a second as you placed a finger underneath your chin, “in about one hour…” They looked confused by your statement but you simply shared a knowing smile with Mark before scanning your id and passing the heavily-secured entrance.

As soon as you got in the elevator, you and Mark were met with Taeyong and his secretary. Although you have seen him many times, you were still stunned by the power his look held. He dressed in a dark navy blue suit with his hair parted and slicked to the right, much different than when you first met him as a casually dressed barista.

“Mr. Kim, please take the next elevator,” Taeyong firmly told his secretary before the elevator doors closed. 

You chuckled slightly, “You know if anyone else did that, it would be extremely rude. But how do you still sound like a gentleman doing that?”

“It’s because I know how to treat my employees properly, and in return, I gain respect.”

You nodded over dramatically, “Wow. So sexy.”

He laughed and slouched a bit from his previous demeanor, “Ok stop teasing me y/n. You know it’s my job to maintain a serious image.”

Taeyong turned to stare at you oddly as you softly nodded, “What’s got you in such a cheery mood? I know everyone else right now is as nervous as I am.” He gestured towards Mark, “Look at this poor boy. He looks like he’s about to take the SAT without studying at all.” Mark responded with a glare as you laughed.

Tilting your head to the side, you tried to find the right words to explain to him. Taeyong cocked an eyebrow, expectantly waiting for a reply. Letting out a chuckle you asked, “Remember when I told you Emily laced my drink with food poisoning?” 

He crossed his arms and turned toward you, “How can I ever forget? Jaehyun even had her arrested.” You laughed as Taeyong continued with a furrowed eyebrows, “Did the chairman ever find out?”

You scoffed, “If he did, do you think she’ll be able to attend this board meeting?”

Taeyong gave you an “oh right” as he slowly nodded his head. You chuckled and continued, “But that’s even better for us because now we can finally put this battle to its end. I felt so weak and clueless when I first met Jaehyun. I let Emily poison me, threaten my boyfriend, and even let her get in between my relationship. But you, Jaemin, and even Yuta showed me what it can be to stand up for myself. Frankly, I never thought about my future. I just lived according to what my brother wanted. I always thought that would be the only way to not feel like a disappointment. My exact thoughts were: I disappointed my parents and was abandoned, I don’t want my brother to think I’m a disappointment too.”

Your gaze met Taeyong’s and you saw a look of pity. Chuckling, you told him, “You don’t have to look at me like that.” With a genuine smile on your face, you assured, “I’m not the same person I once was. Jaehyun changed my perspective on life. I guess he showed me what it really felt to be strong, to own up to the world.”

Taeyong mirrored your smile, knowing very well that you were more than capable of handling anything. As the elevator doors opened, you gave him an imperturbable look. “Today isn’t any different.” 

~~~

One by one, the shareholders of SM and other crucial directors started to fill the room. A few journalists sat at the side of the packed room, ready to announce to the media anything they find intriguing, or more so, scandalous. A few people gave you odd glances, wondering what NCT’s CEO was doing at SM’s board meeting, especially seated at the very front of the room. You paid no mind to them as you waited for the main characters of today’s show.

Annoyance filled your body as a fuming Emily caught your eye. She marched up to you with anger and looked down at your seated figure, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”

She radiated negative energy and her impulsive statement caught the attention of other directors and even the reporters. You gave her a sly smirk, “Better keep your anger caged missy.” You glanced around the room and left your gaze lingering a second longer on the vigilant journalists then back to Emily. With a hint of mockery, you told her, “It won’t do you anything good to act like a snarling bitch in front of your VIPs, am I right?”

She looked around and saw the glances she was receiving. Taking a deep breath, she glared at you and left. Swallowing her pride, she took a seat at her assigned chair on the opposite side from you. The seat adjacent to hers was empty, waiting for the chairman to claim its place.

A few minutes later, you felt a tap on your shoulder, and you were met with a bright smile. You reciprocate the gesture as Jaemin sits in between you and Taeyong. As the remaining guests filed into the room, you checked your watch: 10 minutes, 20 minutes, to 30 minutes. It’s been exactly half an hour since you sat down and still, the chairman was nowhere to be found. 

You looked at Jaemin and he gave you a slight nod of assurance. Glancing around the room, you can see the people around you were starting to get confused and impatient. However, a smirk appeared on your lips as the door swung open.

One of the directors was about to announce the rescheduling of the meeting but immediately stopped in his tracks. Quickly and nervously, he bowed to the elder and retreated back to his seat. As the chairman announced the start of the meeting through the microphone stand, you saw Emily sit up a little straighter than before. 

“Thank you everyone for being patient with this old man.” He spoke firmly into the mic even as he was joking. The other attendees forced a laugh as he continued. “However, I will make this meeting short and concise.”

“As you all know, rumors have been speculating around the media about SM’s position of chief executive officer. I am here today to tell you that it is true.”

Emily’s eyes lit up as her father finished the statement. You saw her give you a cold smile but you brushed it off, waiting for the rest of his announcement.

“It is true,” the chairman cleared his throat, “that SM will no longer have Nakamoto Yuta as it’s CEO.” 

Whispers and murmurs could be heard from the back as the reporters discussed amongst themselves. The chairman gave you a look of uneasiness as you stared back ushering him to continue with your eyes. 

“However, my daughter, Emily Ahn will not hold the position to this title.” With that announcement, you saw Emily’s shocked gaze at her father as the shareholders and directors started to whisper amongst themselves as well.

The chairman ushered the secretary to turn off the lights as a projector screen lit up the room. “My main goal today is to share with you all the changes that will be taking place in this company the minute we walk out this room. Prior to my appearance at this meeting, I had a discussion with my lawyer to transfer my shares.” He then looked to the projected screen, “As you can all see on this chart, I no longer hold any amount of the shares in this company. What you see on this chart are the current shareholders and the percentage of shares they hold.”

The people in the room burned holes onto the screen, looking to see if, by chance, the chairman would’ve transferred his shares to them. But once they have thoroughly read the chart, they were left speechless. Emily stood out among the rest of the crowd as you, Taeyong, and Jaemin shared a knowing look with each other. 

“As of today, the Chief Executive Officer of Starship, A Cup of Coffee, and NCT will be the top shareholders of SM Management.”

The sounds of the secretary furiously typing onto his laptop can be heard as he tried to keep up with the constant announcements. You saw some questioning looks from the shareholders and directors as Emily carried fire in her eyes. You felt her glare never leaving your side. A brave shareholder suddenly spoke up, “Mr. Ahn, with all due respect, I don’t see how any of this makes sense!” A group of shareholders and directors chimed in to agree but stopped immediately once the chairman cleared his throat in a loud manner.

“As you are all very well aware, Starship Enterprises is a major benefactor to SM Management and Lee Taeyong is a major key figure in the promotions of this company. As for-” Before he could continue his justification, Emily screeched out in anger, “As for NCT?! You can’t tell me you’re serious! What have they ever done that could be of use to this company?! They are just some dumpster start-up business that can’t even raise their stocks up!!” 

Everyone’s eyes were on Emily now. The journalists smirking as Emily’s rage gave them exactly what they needed. The chairman kept a cool facade as he sighed out, “NCT has been and will continue to be the biggest contributor towards SM Management’s success. It seems my words aren’t enough to convince everyone,” his stare went towards Emily as if to warn her not to cause a scene, but she only reciprocated her father’s intense gaze. “So, I will let the person in question explain.”

Standing up confidently, you turned towards your audience. With your best smile, you rectified, “I’m not the person in question, per se, but I will tell you this today so all misunderstandings are cleared.” Everyone in the room turned towards you waiting for your response to clear up their confusion and anger. “I am the current CEO of NCT, but what has established the growing success of this company has nothing to do with me.” You gave them a shrug and an innocent smile, bathing in Emily’s anger. Continuing to speak, you started to move slowly around the room as if you were targeting your prey, “However, doesn’t one person come to mind when speaking of SM Management’s success? Who has built this company with his blood, sweat, and tears? Who was it that gave you all a high-paying job at this well-known management so you won’t have to crawl back to your family in shame?” You looked directly into the eyes of the directors as they look down in discomfort. You then turned your gaze towards the shareholders and said without remorse, “And do you think the company shares would have any value at all without his hard work in refining this management?” You let out a little laugh at their speechless figures and turned, stopping right next to Emily, “And do you, Miss Ahn, remember how many times this person has left you off the hook for fraud and even harassment?” Defeated, Emily dropped back down to her seat and stayed speechless like the others. 

You turned toward the secretary in charge of meeting notes and told him, “Please make sure you get down every word of what I’m about to say. This will be the highlight of this meeting.” He gave you a questioning look but quickly nodded the moment you raised your eyebrow at him, warning him to question you any further. “SM Management has managed to become this successful because Jung Jaehyun was capable of handling this company with his brain and with his heart. If anyone wants to refute this claim then I guess we will be able to see who the traitors of this company are. Hence, the chairman is simply disconnecting his traces on this company because he knows who the real benefactor of SM Management is. Jaemin, Taeyong, and I are fully aware of this and are committed to restoring this company to its former glory.” You paused for a second as you glanced at your phone buzzing in the pocket of your blazer. You smiled and continued, “And if this doesn’t ease your concerns, I believe these two particular people will be able to help with that.”

The projector screen closed as the lights turned back on. Right on queue, the door to the conference room clicked open. Everyone’s eyes widened with shock as Yuta and Jaehyun appeared before the attendees. Yuta wore a sly smirk on his face while Jaehyun held a stone-cold look that could kill. Their crisp suits and slick, gelled hair perfectly accessorized their intimidating persona. A small smile crept up onto your face while Emily, on the other hand, had shaking pupils. The journalists sat up straighter and furiously scribbled all over their notes.

The two men stood side by side at the front of the room capturing everyone’s attention. Yuta spoke first with his firm but laid-back tone, “Clearly, all of you in this room must be taken aback by the changes in shares and the confirmation of my absence. I will tell you all right now that I, myself, have decided to leave from my title as SM Management’s Chief Executive Officer. And not because Miss Ahn over here,” Yuta turned toward the speechless woman next to the chairman and smugly said, “but because this title does not belong to me. However, before I leave my position there is one proposal I am here for. I, along with Ms. y/l/n, have recently flown to discuss with our Japanese investors to have SM Management merge with NCT as a cooperative branch.”

At this rate, the secretary seemed exhausted as he tried to keep up with the news of the meeting. Murmurs can be heard all over the room but everyone settled down the moment Jaehyun moved an inch. He spoke with a powerful yet calm voice, “If this proposal carries over, I, as chairman of NCT, will be handling all deals within both companies. I am sure the directors here at SM Management are capable enough to know whether or not the company will be in good hands. I also believe that the shareholders will understand the benefit and high possibility for the shares to sky-rocket once this merge has been made.” 

The shareholders and directors were deep in discussion before the chairman spoke up. “As of right now we will take a vote for and against this proposal. Please keep in mind that your votes would be counted according to the changes I have mentioned earlier. The top 5 shareholders’ decisions will count for three votes each while the rest will be one vote per persons.”

A good amount of hands can be seen for both decisions. Everyone, especially Emily, grew anxious. Turning their attention toward the secretary, everyone awaited for his announcement for the voting, including the reporters and the chairman. 

A mix of emotions can be seen as the secretary said, “By a vote of 3, this proposal has passed.”

———

• Back from hiatus! Thank you sm for waiting 🥺•

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 137

Trying to figure out Author’s notes is hard.... Sometimes I just don’t have anything pithy to say, or have too much to say and don’t know where to put it all.

Obviously I am an overthinker.

So, for the sake of everyone reading: Let’s cut to the Shoutouts!

The obvious first: @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog! I love all of you, you are the best.

Special mentions to: @zommbiebro bc I miss you and hope you’re okay. @nekohuntslight for being the OG person to message me about liking the story (yes, Bael, this is the dirty secret behind why I thought you lived in Australia when we first started talking.... shhhhhh). And alllllll the binge readers who blow up my inbox every day, Iloveyousomuchyoudon’tunderstand. Very much adore all of you, you have no idea how serious I am being right now. I need to go through and make one post just screaming all your names to the universe.

Tyche brought drinks and snacks from my kitchen before flopping on the couch in my quarters. The guys were at work, along with Antoine, but my office was closed down for the day. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asked.

“Vati and Hannah have everything planned to the smallest detail,” I shrugged. “They’ve already coordinated with Xio and Evan for all the crowd control and monitoring shifts, and the murals are going up today.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware of the logistics stuff. I literally handle all the staffing for the humans on the Ark, and Antoine was also part of the crowd control conversations.”

“Then why did you ask?” I laughed, grabbing a cracker and carefully stacking cheese and other toppings on it. 

Before I could get it to my mouth, she snatched it and held it out of my reach. “Because I’m asking how you feel. You’re only attending as… well, an attendee. No monitoring, no calling the shots, no working from the floor.”

She surrendered my cracker, but I found myself setting it down, appetite gone. “I’m okay - “

“Lie.” There was suddenly a finger levelled between my eyes like a gun. Just as quickly, it was lowered, and my sister was tilting her head at me. “Come on. You know you can’t lie to me - I’ve known you longer than literally anyone on this ship except yourself.”

“Fine! It’s weird!” I admitted in frustration, standing to pace and shoving my hands through my hair. “My skin is crawling with anxiety, my hands are twitching to snatch up the files and nitpick everything to the smallest detail….”

“Except they locked you out.”

“Except they locked me out, yeah. But I’m pretty sure I could get Derek to let me in, which is why I’ve made a point to tell him not to, no matter how much I ask.” Dropping my hands, I sighed. “But if I ever want to leave this position, I have to let them do this.”

She shrugged and stole my cracker, this time chewing and swallowing before she responded. “You could have kept some involvement in it, you know.”

“Pfft, yeah right. I would have taken it over, and you know that.”

“Yep.”

“Then why even ask.” I dropped back down on the couch.

“‘Cause you needed to hear yourself say it,” she explained, nonchalant as ever, snagging an olive and watching me calmly.

I sat in silence, processing it.  I hated when she outsmarted me like that, especially when she was right. “Can I at least eat first?”

She laughed and let it go, telling me how well the murals for the Festival were coming.  I hadn’t even gotten to - allowed myself - to see the designs, and the more Tyche talked about them, the more I wanted to see them.  By the time I finished my share of our snack, I decided to check out the progress.

We finally made our way to the decks where the Festival would take place, and I thought Tyche was going to die laughing at the way I gaped. The alcoves where the vendors would stage looked the same on first glance, but a closer look revealed very subtle shapes added that would give them a more savage, wild look in the right lighting. Metal sconces had been added to hold what looked like torches, but with special light emitters to simulate open flame. As we walked further, swirls of color revealed themselves slowly, first in light, curling tendrils, but slowly sharpening and taking on a more angular shape, twisting together into phantasmal images that vanished as soon as you tried to focus on them.

“It’s like walking through a garden, or a rainforest, but when I turn my head, I’m in a city.”

“Right?” she laughed as we came around the final corner. 

At this point, we were surrounded by this mural.  Just up ahead, there was a messy head of black hair tied back with a green piece of cloth. Bare feet and arms show smears of paint, and overalls covered a tank top - that, or the cloth for the hair had formerly been sleeves, I couldn’t tell.  One hand propped up on hips while the other hung down, holding a very familiar paint pen.

“Christ on a triscuit, Vati, this is incredible,”  I gasped softly.

She turned and smirked at me over her shoulder. “Not yet, but it will be when I finish.”

“I mean, all of it. The sconces…”

“Those were Hannah and Ivan.” Parvati walked over and touched one with her finger tip, stroking it gently.

Tyche made an impressed noise. “I’m only a little shocked that he had enough time.”

“The materials are on loan from the engineering departments, and we wanted them to be rather rough in the finishing. It helped. Sophia, no matter how curious you are, please do not lick the walls.”

A giggle bubbled up through my chest. “The thought never crossed my mind. I was trying to put together all the flavor profiles here. It’s… a lot.”

“Forgive me if I focused more on color than how the walls would taste. I don’t generally cook, remember.”

I stared down a swirl of pomegranate, popcorn, and gochujang. The colors - blue, pink, and yellow, respectively - worked well together, but the thought of the flavors made my stomach churn. “I solemnly swear not to lick the walls,” I promised. “How much of this are you expecting to still be up by the third night?”

“We have a team that will specifically come touch up the mural in specific places the morning before the second day.”

Tyche turned toward me and away from her study of the art. “Also, you would be surprised how much paint is on the walls. It will take a lot for Else to eat it all, once they are allowed in the area.”

“Before you ask,” Parvati cut me off. “We just asked them nicely. Well, Sam and Derek did.  They’ve become quite the ersatz diplomats to Else.” 

“Anything left?”

“Hannah is putting the final touches on the curtains for the alcoves and the seating areas. She’ll have a team installing them tonight once I finish.”

It was clever, and explained why she was only touching up part of the mural halfway between now and the closing of the event. “You two have really put your stamp on it.”

“Feel better?” She held one hand up gesturing at the entire entire project, eyebrow arched  to show me that she hadn’t been fooled for a moment.

I rubbed my neck, and glanced at her from underneath my eyelashes. “Busted, I guess.”

“That would imply that anyone had believed your charade,” she smirked.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around us again. “I honestly do. I could never have done all this. Holding on would have…”

“Kept you in a position you frankly hate,” Parvati interrupted gracefully. “It’s the same reason Sebastian went back to the Undine. He’s passionate about it, and it shows in the quality of his work.” When I gaped in insult, she held up a hand. “Not everyone can succeed through fear of failing and a determination that things be done right if they must be done at all.”

“Everyone talking about me needing to retire, like I’m old or something,” I joked, throwing my hands into the air.  “Physically, I’m only thirty-five.”

Tyche nodded to concede my point. “What about the food? I haven’t seen a menu come out yet.”

The change in topic made Parvati’s face collapse. “What? It should have gone out yesterday…” She flicked open her datapad, which flickered from the overspray that covered it. Frantically scrolling, she groaned. “This was scheduled, why didn’t it send?”

“Did you check the date?” I asked calmly. “Specifically the year.”

“Three times, it’s scheduled for tomorrow,” she insisted. “Right here: May seventeenth, twenty-forty aw fuck….”

“At least you got the decade right,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t believe how many scheduled emails I’ve tried to automatically send out for ten or fifteen years ago.”

She nodded and seemed to get her bearings back. “So, protocol for this is… just send it right now and apologize for the late notification, don’t try to make excuses or explain?”

“Exactly. They won’t care why, they’ll just be excited the list is out.”

With a couple quick gestures, she sent the email and dismissed her datapad. “Okay, that was the last thing, then.” Turning back toward the wall she was working on before, she waved to us over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I really do need to finish this up. Thank you for coming to see everything… it was oddly reassuring to have both of you give us your stamp of approval before the Festival instead of making us wait until after.”

“For the record, you two have always had my stamp of approval, or I wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep my nose out of it.” I knew she couldn’t see me, but I still smiled. “We’ll catch up with you after the Food Festival.  Remember: both of you need to plan on taking the day off afterwards. I’m serious.  Have your unofficial advisors drop in and chat about everything, that’s fine. But no actual work, and I won’t let either of you see the survey results until the second day after. So rest.”

“Got it, boss lady. Have a good night!”

Tyche and I turned and headed back to my quarters. We remained silent as we took in all the preparations that had been done, waving to the handful of vendors who were bringing their supplies in already. Once we were back in normal corridors, the silence broke almost immediately.

“I think they’ve got this,” Tyche suggested nonchalantly.

“Oh, I know they do.”

<< Prev   Masterlist  Next >>

[disastermages]

[read it on ao3]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Wen Qing isn’t in the kitchen by the time Meng Yao walks back in, though her voice does call out to him when he passes by a door that’s always been previously closed. He doesn’t expect her white coat, nor does he expect the way it makes him feel smaller than her, though she sits in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. Her jeans and boots ruin the picture of her as a doctor, but she’s pulled her hair back, making her look professional from the knee up.

“Can I help you, Miss Wen?” Meng Yao won’t let the confusion sound in his voice, though he still holds onto the doorway. Wen Qing looks meaningfully at the chair across from her, but Meng Yao won’t take the bait until she asks him to. For a long few seconds, Wen Qing seems content to wait him out too, studying her short, unpainted nails and writing things down on the clipboard she balances on her knees.

“Mrs. Yu asks that every member of the household undergo a monthly check up. I’m not doing this for fun.” Wen Qing says finally, clicking her pen once, twice, three times while she frowns up at Meng Yao, “Please have a seat so we can get the questionnaire done.” Meng Yao sits down across from her without further fight, but he doesn’t stop himself from looking around.

“Why have I never seen this room before?”

“Because you aren’t Wei Wuxian and you don’t insist on climbing every tree you can find.” Wen Qing answers, but doesn’t look up from where she’s printing his name onto the form, her hand heavy and sure as it carves out the letters. “You have your office upstairs, and I have mine down here.”

At second glance, Meng Yao sees the piles of books laying just behind a cluster of mugs and glasses, though no plates lay in the office. There’s no examination table to be found, and Meng Yao is grateful for it. “Your birth date and year, please.”

“February 20th, 1964.” Meng Yao answers easily, his hands sit carefully on his own knees, but his fingers still want to tighten and pull at his pants. His chair was already uncomfortable.

“Can you tell me what today’s date is and where you are?”

“The date is May 16th, 1988, and I am at Jiang Manor.” The questions were simple ones, Wen Qing even nods approvingly to herself, but Meng Yao can guess what’s coming. Doctors always asked for complete patient histories, though nothing Meng Yao told her would leave the office, he’d shut the door behind him after he’d finally come in. She would ask eventually, and Meng Yao would have to answer her. He couldn’t lie completely, just in case she already had his records, but he could tell the same lies that were already in those records.

Still, she asks all the questions she should, moving down a list as if he were sitting down inside of an actual doctor’s office. No, he does not smoke, nor does he drink more than the occasional glass of wine. No, to his knowledge, heart disease does not run in his family.Yes, he is sexually active. Yes, he is using protection.

Meng Yao hadn’t missed the flicker of amusement in Wen Qing’s eye when she’d asked the last two questions, but she’s still playing at being professional, so Meng Yao will play along. “Why does Mrs. Yu ask that we do this?”

“Hypochondria by proxy.” Wen Qing says it with a snort, but then her eyes widen and snap up to Meng Yao’s face, her mouth growing hard for a moment before she sighs and sets the clipboard aside. “Don’t repeat what I said, it’s not even an official diagnosis.” Wen Qing pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers and when she takes her hand away, the spot between her eyes is pink and irritated. “Yanli’s illness is autoimmune, but that doesn’t stop Mrs. Yu from worrying that we’re all going to bring in something that’s going to kill her. She’s getting better.”

Meng Yao isn’t sure who Wen Qing means. The whole house had been treating Jiang Yanli delicately since her fainting spell, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t feeling better. If Yu Ziyuan were getting better, why would she still mandate his check up? He doesn’t ask, he’d have to wait and see.

They go back to playing professionals after that, with Wen Qing shining a flashlight in his eyes and knocking a plastic hammer against his knee caps. She doesn’t ask him to test his grip strength on her fingers.

“You have a broken wrist and three broken ribs on your file, following a fall down a flight of stairs, could I see the flexibility in that wrist? I’ll want to take a look at your ribs, too.” His wrist only ached when it was cold, Meng Yao tells her as he bends it back and forth and rolls it easily. There’s still a clicking sound, but the pain of it has long since faded.

“I’ll be quick about this.” Wen Qing promises as Meng Yao removes his button down and then his undershirt, pressing her cold fingers into his ribs harder than Meng Yao deems necessary. “How did you fall?” The question is neutral, and Wen Qing’s voice is calm, but the voice of the triage nurse had also been calm while she took down his information. He hadn’t been able to write it down himself, he’d driven himself to the emergency room one handed.

“I was at my father’s house, I tripped.” Meng Yao chooses the words carefully, just like he had the night it happened. The doctors and nurses at the hospital had been willing to take his word for it then, but when he glances down at Wen Qing, he sees something hard and cold in her eyes. It doesn’t fade as she sits back into her chair, giving him room to dress again.

“You’ve healed well.” Wen Qing offers it up without roughness or warmth, as if she already knew the truth and she could accept his lie as some sort of gift. It was a gift Meng Yao is willing to take, though, better the gift of acceptance than the charity of pity.

Her examination is complete, but Wen Qing still doesn’t set Meng Yao free, her small, pale hands coming to rest in her own lap as she sets the clipboard aside for good. “You have to understand, Meng Yao, that Yanli has grown very attached to you, very quickly. She’s friendly with everyone, but even with me, she didn’t share everything right away.” Wen Qing does not touch him, but she looks as though she’s thinking about it, her eyes going dark and still, “She considers you a friend, please don’t make her regret that choice.”

There were a dozen things Meng Yao could say to defend himself, but when he opens his mouth and Wen Qing looks up at him again. He realizes then that she’s asking him for a favor, and he nods along with it, swallowing thickly.

“Something else before I let you go, Meng Yao,” Wen Qing nods and looks away from him, pulling herself back together while she wrestles an envelope from the stack of papers on her desk, “my uncle has found out that you’re here, he’s asked me to pass along his letter of recommendation to you, should you ever need it.” For a long moment, the letter hangs between them, and Meng Yao’s mouth hangs open like a fish.

Wen Ruohan and both of his sons were supposed to be in three separate maximum security prisons, Meng Yao had only worked for them for a year when the offices and three of the houses had been raided. Meng Yao had been spared implication by eight months. Misfortune had reached for him and grabbed Wen Ruohan and his sons by the collars instead.

“I thought…”

“He’s still allowed to write to family, Meng Yao, but I wouldn’t doubt they check his letters.”

No matter how badly he wants to, Meng Yao won’t tear the letter open in front of Wen Qing, instead, he nods his head once more and turns to leave, listening to the scratching of Wen Qing’s pen as the door nearly shuts behind him.

“You’ll find a shoe box full of condoms in the third drawer of my filing cabinet, should you need them. Mrs. Yu makes me keep those, too.”

Wen Qing tosses it over her shoulder as if it means nothing, but Meng Yao feels his cheeks color as he hurries away from her office as quickly as he can without running. He’s grateful that she doesn’t like him enough to ask him for details. Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian either didn’t know, or didn’t care, and Jiang Yanli was too kind to ask, she only hinted and grinned when Meng Yao’s cheeks colored, when she wasn’t passing along gifts from Wen Qing’s hands.

Still, part of him wants to tell someone, so it’s more real than the small, cold square of his bedroom or stolen kisses in the woods while Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian ran ahead of them to push each other into the river. Part of him wants to know if Lan Xichen would mind such a thing, or if he intended on keeping what lay between him and Meng Yao more of a secret than it already was.

Bile and worry rise up in his throat, but Meng Yao chokes them down. He wouldn’t go there. Lan Xichen hadn’t given him any kind of indication that he wanted to keep what’s between them the kind of secret one keeps locked in the basement or in a closet with skeletons, he’d only told Meng Yao to be careful of Yu Ziyuan, that she wouldn’t fire either of them, that she would just plant herself between them if she saw them getting too close. Lan Xichen didn’t strike him as cruel, so he couldn’t be. He’d always been kind, even when he stole into Meng Yao’s room, even when he was forced to wrangle Wei Wuxian or Jiang Wanyin.

Lan Xichen is kind. Meng Yao would allow him to be.

The taste of something bitter and cruel is just leaving Meng Yao’s mouth when he sees him, the same boy from the woods, wearing the same clothes and lingering at the edge of the Jiang’s property line, one hand resting on a tree, while the other holds a knife, an amused smile on his face, even as Meng Yao turns and hurries back to the kitchen, uncaring if anyone hears him run now.

Jiang Yanli whirls around with a knife still held in her hands when Meng Yao scrambles into the kitchen, an apron protects the gray-white of her dress from whatever it is she’s cooking. “Do you see him?” Meng Yao asks, turning the lock on the back door and latching it.

For a moment, Jiang Yanli only looks at Meng Yao, before she turns to look out the window, and then she pales further. “Xue Yang.” Her voice doesn’t climb above a whisper as she backs away from the window, the knife still held in one hand while the other grabs onto Meng Yao’s elbow, holding him tight as they both back out into the dining room. “You have to go get A-Xian and A-Cheng.” Jiang Yanli’s voice is tight as she gives her orders, her grip tightening still, “He’s tried to hurt A-Xian before, but A-Cheng’s temper… I don’t want either of them going out there. Where is Wen Qing?” It doesn’t feel as though Jiang Yanli is going to let him go long enough for Meng Yao to collect her brothers, but he still backs her further away, until he’s sure she’s out of sight from any of the kitchen windows.

They both back into the same chair, but Jiang Yanli is the one who threatens it with her knife, her shoulders high and tight.

It takes Meng Yao nearly five minutes to guide Jiang Yanli back to Wen Qing’s office, but the door is locked when they get there. Meng Yao doesn’t stop himself from pounding on it with the flat of his hand. He doesn’t see the boy, Xue Yang when he dares to glance at the window, but that meant nothing at all, not when Wen Qing still hadn’t answered them.

Meng Yao’s hand almost meets her nose when she finally opens the door with a jerk, a question already halfway out of her mouth when she sees the knife in Jiang Yanli’s hand, for the first time, Meng Yao sees that there’s still broccoli stuck to the blade. Wen Qing insists on calling the police after she’s gotten Jiang Yanli to sit down in the same chair that Meng Yao had occupied earlier, but the knife lays on the desk, just within her reach as Meng Yao turns to try and call Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin down, but he gets no response.

Licking his lips, Meng Yao glances back once, his eyes meeting Wen Qing’s while she stays on the line, one of her hands has already found its way onto Jiang Yanli’s cheek, one show of affection already bigger than what Meng Yao had already seen. Without a word, she frowns and nods, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear to wave him out of the room.

He didn’t have to ask her to lock the door, and she didn’t have to tell him she was going to. Jiang Yanli would be safe with Wen Qing, at least until he could find her younger brothers and herd them into Wen Qing’s office too.

Meng Yao keeps clear of the windows, calling them again, even as he starts down his short flight of stairs. Wei Wuxian’s workshop was mostly soundproofed, they might not have heard him call because they were in there with the door closed, but when Meng Yao opens the door without knocking, everything is still and dark. It makes Meng Yao’s skin prickle, Wei Wuxian’s workshop wasn’t meant to be still, Meng Yao knows that much.

“Jiang Wanyin! Wei Wuxian!” Meng Yao doesn’t shout for them, but he lets his voice become sharp as he climbs the stairs two at a time. He should have grabbed something. There were knives to spare in the kitchen, but Jiang Yanli wouldn’t forgive him if he lost one or damaged it, it was better to leave them where they lay in their drawers. “Your sister and Miss Wen want the both of you downstairs.”

Meng Yao isn’t foolish enough to pretend he has any authority over them, if Lan Xichen had been present, Meng Yao might have invoked his name too, but Lan Xichen would be home with his family by now. What would they do with them when they did get them downstairs and herded into Wen Qing’s office? They couldn’t stay there all day and night, there’d hardly been enough room for Meng Yao, Jiang Yanli, and Wen Qing in the office. Five people would be unforgivably tight and nervous while they were stalked by Xue Yang in the yard.

Meng Yao should have grabbed something, even if it were just the fire poker, like Yu Ziyuan had done. It would have been a constant in his hands. It might have done something.

He opens the doors without care now, stopping for only a handful of seconds to look before he moves on again, anxiety climbing up his throat and bringing that bitter-sick taste back into his mouth.

Calling again, Meng Yao rounds the corner that leads to the west wing of the house without realizing it until the chill surrounds him. He doesn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around himself, he won’t acknowledge that he can see his own breath, not now, not until he finds Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian.

“I won’t ask again, come out and come downstairs with me!” Finally, Meng Yao allows his voice to become stern, though who knows if they’d think anything of it, if they did hear him. He’s just about to turn around and start searching downstairs when the creaking of a door makes Meng Yao walk too quickly towards it, his hand catching the knob and pushing inside before he can think better of it.

“Your sister wants you downstairs, the police are on their way, please come down with me now, before she starts to worry.” Frustration had kept him blind for a moment, but when Meng Yao looks, the room is empty and colder than the hallway had been. His breath is clinging to his lips in steady, white clouds now, and his hand leaves the doorknob.

The door wastes no time in slamming shut the second his back is turned, the knob refusing to turn no matter how many times Meng Yao rattles it or tries with all his strength. “Let me out.” Meng Yao tries to gather what’s left of the sternness before, but his throat is starting to feel thick. “Jiang Wanyin, Wei Wuxian, now isn’t the time for pranks, let me out and I won’t tell Miss Jiang what you’ve done.” He’s not pleading, Meng Yao tells himself, he’s bargaining. If he bargains, they might let him out with the cruel laughter only teenage boys are capable of.

Meng Yao pounds one fist against the door now, the other still rattling the doorknob, as if someone might hear him and let him out from the outside, shivering all the while. He doesn’t dare glance behind himself, even as he hears another door in the room swing open. He tries to tell himself that he’s imagining the fingers curling around his neck, his voice raising as he finally lets himself plead to be let out, but no answer ever comes. No cruel laughter ever echoes through the halls and no footfalls of Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian ever sound as Meng Yao squeezes his eyes shut.

A voice Meng Yao has never heard before calls out to him, and air, still colder than before, nags at his ear and at his upper arms while the voice pleads for him to turn around, to turn around and look. He won’t pretend he can’t hear the grin in that voice, it makes him too sick to ignore. Laughter rings out around him, changing the voice from high pitched and grating to something lower and closer, but madder all the same, the hands at his throat squeezing tight once more before they’re gone and the door swings open, dropping him onto the hallway floor while Meng Yao coughs and sputters.

His vision is still blurry when two shapes come running to him, both of them dropping down to their knees and calling out to a third, smaller shape behind them. He has to blink and cough a while longer before his eyes focus on the faces of Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian, even as Jiang Yanli comes to kneel between the two of them, her face wild and afraid.

“Where were they?” Meng Yao asks Jiang Yanli instead of either of her brothers, his throat still feeling rough, but he doesn’t dare reach for it, Jiang Yanli’s hands are already on his shoulders, stopping Meng Yao from trying to stand up on his own.

“A-Xian and A-Cheng were in the downstairs west wing,” Jiang Yanli says calmly, trying hard to control her face, even as both of her brothers sit back and look away, or at each other, “they said they heard a door slam and someone start screaming right above their heads.” Meng Yao wouldn’t call what he’d done screaming, but he still swallows and nods, though his throat aches. “What happened?”

Jiang Yanli’s voice isn’t accusatory, but she does look over Meng Yao’s head and into the room, a frown on her face and her hands holding Meng Yao tighter. “The door was open, I thought your brothers might be in there, but when I went in to look, the door slammed shut and wouldn’t open again.” Meng Yao doesn’t tell her about the hands, or the laughter, not yet, not in front of the other two.

“It gets drafty up here.” Jiang Wanyin supplies weakly, and Jiang Yanli shakes her head.

“You know that’s not what it was, A-Cheng.” One hand leaves Meng Yao’s shoulder and presses against Jiang Wanyin’s cheek, tilting his head up from where he’d lowered it. Jiang Yanli does not smile, but she nods her head and strokes her thumb underneath her brother’s eye. “A-Yao, the police are searching the woods right now, and Wen Qing is waiting on the porch for them, I’d like to get you downstairs where we can look at your neck.”

Meng Yao knows the tone that Jiang Yanli is using now, he’d heard her use it dozens of times with both of her brothers, and even more rarely, with her mother or Wen Qing. She’s plying him with a sweet tone of voice, and Meng Yao lets her, though he insists on getting up on his own.

All three Jiang Siblings clump around him on the stairs, keeping him safe in the middle, with Jiang Yanli leading and Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian bringing up the rear.

Meng Yao lets it be.

For now.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr | Also on AO3

Epilogue: Martin Prime

“…see it into a new era. Please join me in welcoming to the podium the Head of the Magnus Institute of London, Dr. Walter…Kos-ki-e-wicz.”

“Fifteen months and he still can’t pronounce it properly,” Jon whispered under the cover of the applause that followed the introduction.

“He’s better than he used to be,” Martin whispered back, squeezing Jon’s hand gently. “Go make nice.”

Jon lifted Martin’s fingers to his lips and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the knuckles before pushing back from the long table and getting to his feet. Martin turned his head towards where the podium ought to be, thankful they’d been able to come in early and get the layout of the room so he didn’t look like a complete tit staring off into the wrong direction, as the clapping gradually tapered off into an expectant silence.

“Thank you, Mr. Campbell.” Jon popped the normally silent P with a dry, pointed humor Martin knew well. When the laughter had died down, he continued in the deep, rolling affectation he had begun adopting when he needed to act as the face of the Institute. “Friends, colleagues, distinguished guests. I stand before you tonight with the awesome and humbling privilege of thanking you all for coming to celebrate two hundred years of the Magnus Institute.”

Martin, who had listened to Jon practice this speech in the comfort of their living room at least twenty times in the last two weeks, let it fade into the background and settled back into his seat. Not being able to scan the assembled gathering was annoying, but while this might have been the largest event they had attended in the past year, it was by no means the first. He was used to having to fold his hands over his stomach, or the end of his cane, and imagine what everyone’s faces were doing.

A familiar whirring started up from the space Jon had vacated, and Martin smiled and laid his fingers on the tape recorder as it buzzed away. Somehow, it was comforting to know she was still listening, even now.

It hadn’t been easy getting to this point. Martin had never really actually expected killing Jonah Magnus to instantly make everything sunshine and roses again, but he definitely hadn’t expected the attempt to drain Jon so badly that he collapsed in his arms. Nor had he expected that it would take three days for him to open his eyes again. (Melanie had teased Jon a bit about “taking this whole Messiah Complex to extremes”, but even she’d been strained.) And the news from Great Yarmouth hadn’t helped matters. Martin was still kind of thankful that he hadn’t been able to see Sasha’s face when she got off the phone with Basira and reported what little she knew. Or the look on his counterpart’s face when he called and filled in the gaps thirty-six hours later. Martin had hoped they’d get out of the building before blowing it up, but at least they hadn’t gone into the Unknowing itself.

It had still been touch and go, though, and Tim was still adjusting to his new reality, but thankfully he had plenty of support. Martin could hear in their voices when they spoke that they were happy, in a way he was only just learning himself that he could be.

Jon made a surprisingly good Institute Head. It hadn’t necessarily been something he’d planned on, but when they got back from taking Charlie to see Present Jon and Present Martin—who refused to leave the hospital until Tim was awake and ready to come home himself—and Melanie informed him about the new temporary head, Jon had almost literally hit the roof and stormed the Institute himself. It had taken him two days to manage to get an audience with Peter Lukas, but in the end, he’d stood before him and informed him that he had a choice: Vacate his position and leave the Institute alone, or be destroyed utterly.

Peter Lukas, unsurprisingly, had chosen poorly.

For Jon to subsequently take control of the Institute had been Sasha’s idea, and her points—that Jon was bound to the Institute and would need a reason to stay close to it, that he was the only person who knew enough to keep it running and keep it safe, that anyone else would either make things worse or become corrupted by the Beholder—had been valid. She’d crafted an entire identity for both Jon and Martin and somehow managed to have Dr. Walter Koskiewicz declared Elias Bouchard’s sole heir. Publicly, that was who he was and who he remained, but on the day he’d assumed the position of Institute Head, he had called a meeting of all the department heads and bluntly, concisely, and completely told them the entire truth. He had left it up to each head whether or not to tell their staff everything—although he was emphatic that they be told about the Eye, at least to some extent—and had made it clear that anyone who wanted to quit would be more than welcome to do so, with full severance; he wouldn’t hold it against anyone who chose to leave. But, as he had told Martin that night when he got back from the Institute, he didn’t want anyone else feeling trapped, or to not know they were working for, essentially, a fear god. He’d been far more surprised than Martin when, out of eighty-seven employees, only three had chosen to leave and one had asked for their job back a week later.

Getting the rest of Elias’s estate had taken longer. Obviously there was no body, so what they technically had was a missing person. Surprisingly, it was Daisy who’d pushed that forward by manufacturing proof that he’d been killed in the explosion at Great Yarmouth, claiming she’d followed him there as part of her hunt for Gertrude Robinson’s murderer. When Tim, freshly back in the Archives, looked over the assortment of tapes that had previously been in the tunnels and unerringly plucked the one with Gertrude’s death on it, Daisy’s superiors decided that he was responsible for the House of Wax as well, closed both files, and declared him officially dead.

Jon told Martin that Jonah Magnus had terrible taste in interior decorating. Martin told him he would just have to take his word for it.

Martin tuned back into Jon’s speech as he caught the words that meant he was winding down. He’d been reluctant to agree to this event, especially given what today was, but it was expected, so he’d caved, with a few stipulations. The speech, unfortunately for Jon, was non-negotiable, but at least he was able to keep it fairly short.

“And so, as we move into our third century, I leave you with a few carefully chosen words,” Jon said. “To our Institute donors, I give these words: Thank you for your support of the Magnus Institute over the years, and I hope that you will continue to support us throughout the changes to come. To those who come to the Institute to study and learn, I give these words: Your work furthers ours as much as ours furthers yours, and we look forward to working with you and developing that relationship, now and well into the future. And to you, the Institute employees, those who make this Institute what it is, I give these words…” He paused for a moment, letting the suspense build, and Martin licked the corner of his mouth to hide his smirk. It was obvious from Jon’s voice, though, that he wasn’t bothering to hide his own. “Three-day weekend. See you all on Monday.”

The cheers, applause, and laughter nearly drowned out Jon’s “Thank you”, and Martin let his grin escape as he joined in the applause. He heard the rustling of fabric and guessed what was happening a split-second before Wade’s tap to his elbow told him for sure they were giving Jon a standing ovation.

It went on for nearly a minute solid before it started to die down, and as Martin slowly sank back into his seat, he felt Jon’s gloved fingers tangle in his.

“Almost done,” Martin murmured, knowing Jon was close to his breaking point but would never admit it.

There were a few closing remarks, and then footsteps came over to them. “All right, if you’ll just stand over this way and greet a few people…”

“No more than half an hour. I mean it, Harrison,” Jon warned.

“I know, Mr.—I mean Dr.—uh, sir,” Harrison stammered. “I promise.”

“Mister Doctor Sir?” Martin teased Jon as Harrison walked away. “Sounds like something you’d name a character in Spire.”

“That’s Mister Doctor Director Sir to you.”

They shared a laugh before Martin took a half-step back, cane folded up in one hand and his other resting discreetly against the small of Jon’s back. Jon took a deep breath and straightened himself up, but didn’t move away from the point of contact. They’d learned their lesson one of the first times Jon had had to do an official event. Martin did some of the bookkeeping and budgeting for the Institute—God knew he’d picked up enough being Peter Lukas’s assistant, and Jon knew bugger all about the business side of things—but for the most part, he wasn’t an employee and certainly wasn’t who the more important guests at these events wanted to talk to, so he’d stepped back and stayed quietly in the background. Unfortunately, the Lukases were still Institute donors, and even if they avoided Jon beyond the bare minimum that politeness dictated, the presence of even one was still enough for Martin to slip back into old habits. Thank God the bond Annabelle had put on them was still extant and he’d been able to pull himself back, but it had still been a scary few minutes for both of them.

Most of the donors who spoke to Jon—briefly, Harrison was being as good as his word about limiting the official greetings—either ignored Martin or only acknowledged him with a silent nod, which amounted to the same thing. For the most part, Martin didn’t mind, but he could tell it was getting to Jon long before the fifteen-minute mark.

“Last one, sir, I promise,” Harrison whispered at last.

“Harrison, I have told you about the ‘sir’ thing,” Jon muttered. Martin hastily turned his laugh into a cough.

“Dr. Koskiewicz, so good to see you again.” Martin couldn’t place the speaker’s voice except that it was posh, which meant it was an Institute donor, and loud. Probably belonged to a large man, almost certainly an older one.

“It’s an honor to have you here, Sir Henry,” Jon replied, his voice slightly strained. Martin guessed that the man had a very firm handshake; an ordinary hand would be swollen and sore after half an hour of shaking, but the scarring on Jon’s made it far worse. “And you as well, Lady Vane-Tempest.”

“Lovely party, darling, so kind of you to invite us,” Lady Vane-Tempest said. Her voice, at least, Martin couldn’t forget—well-bred, but harsh and grating at the same time. He’d met the Vane-Tempests at the Christmas “party” he’d been forced to run on behalf of Peter Lukas and had not enjoyed the experience. “Congratulations on two hundred years. Obviously you haven’t been here the whole time, of course!” She trilled with laughter.

Martin felt Jon stiffen, and then he said with forced politeness, “Thank whatever gods you believe in that I haven’t, madam.”

“Looking forward to touring the building,” Sir Henry said. “Understand you’ve got some new interesting new acquisitions in your Artifact Storage. Love to see them.”

“We’re not doing tours this evening, I’m afraid,” Jon said. “That was the end of the gala, but it’s good of you to come. If you’ll get in touch with Ms. Zampano, I’m sure we can arrange a suitable time for you to see the building.”

“Oh, come now, darling, surely you can spare some time now,” Lady Vane-Tempest coaxed. If Martin was any judge, she’d been imbibing freely of the champagne, enough to get at least slightly tipsy. “We’re so looking forward to it.”

“I do apologize, but I have another commitment this evening.” Martin was a bit startled when Jon’s arm slid around his waist, but he willingly shifted his own position to return the gesture. The smile in Jon’s voice was obvious; he’d never been very good at hiding his pride and delight in anything to do with their relationship. “It’s our first wedding anniversary, you see.”

The Vane-Tempests mumbled polite congratulations, wished Jon a good night, and moved away. Jon let out a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his toes and sagged against Martin. “Thank God that’s over with.”

“That’s the last one,” Harrison promised. “I’ll just go say a few words to the press. Have a good weekend and—um—happy anniversary?”

“Thank you,” Jon and Martin said in unison. Martin unfolded his cane, and they walked out of the Institute the same way they had since escaping Peter Lukas in their own time—arm in arm.

Ninety minutes later and Martin, wearing his most comfortable sweater and a soft, threadbare pair of jeans, walked into the room they had designated as the “living room” with two mugs of tea and set them on the heavy, solid coffee table. “How’s the hand?”

“Still a bit sore, but I’ll recover.” Jon’s voice sounded slightly muffled. Martin wasn’t sure why until he heard the soft crackle of burning wood, and then Jon was right next to him and pulling him down for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Martin murmured, brushing his nose against Jon’s. As he pulled back, he added, “By the way, there was a message from the agency. They’re coming by for another assessment tomorrow, around noon.”

“Good thing I gave everyone the day off, then. Did she say anything about how the application is looking?”

“I don’t know that they’d tell us that on a message. We can ask when she gets here.”

The doorbell rang with the deep, sonorous tones Martin still privately felt belonged in a Gothic soap opera, and Jon sighed and slid out of Martin’s arms. “Bets on who got here first?”

“Not against you,” Martin informed him. Jon’s snickers followed him out of the room.

After more than a year of living in the house, Martin knew his way around by heart, especially after they redid the flooring so that he could tell by the texture beneath his feet which way he was heading. He made it to the front door without bumping into anything, made sure the chain was still secure, and pulled the door open to the length of the chain. “Who goes there?”

“Just the usual suspects,” Tim’s voice said. “We even found a Sasha rattling around in the gutters.”

“Shut up, Tim,” Sasha said, a bit grouchily.

Martin chuckled and closed the door enough that he could undo the chain, then pulled the door open. “Come on in. There’s a fire going.”

Each one of them gave him a hug as they came in, prefaced by a greeting so he’d know who he was hugging. He was pleasantly surprised when, after a fierce hug from Melanie, he heard a higher voice say, “It’s Georgie. Will you accept one from me?”

“Oh, sure, of course.” Martin hadn’t worried about any of Jon’s exes, or anyone who might possibly catch his interest and remind him that he could do better, since—well, actually, since they’d been reunited after traveling back in time, but the weight of the ring on his left hand and the memory of the tremble in Jon’s voice as he’d promised ‘til death comes for us both had finally quieted the last of his doubts. And Georgie did give good hugs. “Glad you could make it, Georgie. Anyone else?”

“No, Basira pulled a night shift tonight, I think. Here, let me get that.” Georgie—or someone, anyway—pulled the heavy door shut and slid the chain into place. “Hope we’re not too early.”

Martin shook his head. “You’re fine. Not like we’re doing anything particularly exciting.”

It took a few minutes of arranging, playful debates, and mostly-joking grumblings about getting those disgusting socks away from the food, Timothy Stoker, but soon everyone was settled down with something to drink and a baked good from the basket the others had brought with them. Jon sighed with obvious pleasure and curled up against Martin’s side; Martin wrapped an arm around him and held him close.

“Where’s Charlie tonight?” he asked.

“Late rehearsal, and Sasha’s uncle offered to pick him up and watch him after,” Present Jon answered. “We’d have brought him along, but he’s got a maths exam tomorrow and I know he’s not ready for it.”

Tim laughed. “Come on, Jon, cut him some slack. He’s doing much better this term than he did in the spring.”

“To be fair,” Melanie pointed out, “there was kind of a lot going on in the spring.”

There was a hum of agreement before Georgie added, “From everything you lot told me, I didn’t expect that grandmother of his to fight you so hard on custody.”

Present Martin sighed heavily. “I did. I mean, the last thing she wanted was for people to think she was a terrible guardian, you know? Even if Children’s Services didn’t get involved and take him away, the very fact that someone else dared ask to take him—and the fact that Charlie wanted to go…”

“And the fact that you kept insisting on referring to him as him, despite the fact that she has consistently and for his entire life refused to accept that he’s a boy,” Sasha put in. “She’s a poisonous old witch and he’s lucky to be shed of her. But yeah, between that and the fact that he got anxious and panicky and afraid to let any of you out of his sight—you know, at the beginning of April—it’s no wonder he came close to failing the spring term.”

There was a short pause before Present Martin asked carefully, “Did he tell you that, or…?”

“Oh, goddammit,” Sasha sighed. “He didn’t say anything to any of you about that, did he?”

“No, but we should have noticed,” Present Jon said quietly.

Melanie snorted. “I’m not sure how you would have, considering how clingy the three of you were being.”

Martin tightened his arms around Jon as the Archives crew began bickering, mostly lightheartedly but with an undercurrent of seriousness. During their first time experiencing…well, everything they had experienced…he and Jon had never really had a chance to stop and consider anniversaries. The one-year anniversary of Jane Prentiss attacking the Institute had fallen while they were trying to get ready for the Unknowing; the one-year anniversary of that had been while Martin was still having to avoid Jon, but he remembered staring at his reflection in the mirror and wondering if he would be better off calling out of work or if he should go in and lurk in the shadows of the Archives to reassure himself that Jon was actually still there. Passing the anniversaries—or, for that matter, the dates themselves—in a timeline where they didn’t technically happen hadn’t made things significantly better, so he could definitely understand why the present crew had been reluctant to be far from each other a year after so nearly losing one another, and more particularly nearly losing Tim.

Jon sank against him, also clinging tightly, and let the banter go on for a bit before he broke in. “Have you told Charlie about the trip?”

“We’re going to surprise him after school tomorrow,” Tim said, and Martin was pretty sure he could hear the relief in it. “Hope he likes the plan. He’s been asking to come with us the next time we go out of town since Jon got back from Jonah’s little hell-quest, and I don’t think he’s ever been out of London.”

“Well…you weren’t conscious at the time, but they did bring him to visit while you were…” Present Jon’s voice trailed off.

Martin was about to say something when something solid and heavy hit his leg on four tiny pressure points and screamed. Only six months of practice enabled him not to jump completely out of his skin. “Hello, Duchess.”

“Oh, damn, I didn’t feed them before the gala.” Jon carefully disentangled himself from Martin and removed the solid iron weight masquerading as a ball of fur from his lap. “Come along, Your Grace. What have you done with your sister?”

Martin couldn’t help the soft smile that touched his lips as he stared off in the direction Jon had gone. Hearing him talk to the cats in that tone of voice always did something funny to his insides.

The smirk in Melanie’s voice was obvious. “I genuinely can’t decide which one of you is going to be the bigger pushover when you get approved to adopt.”

“Have you heard anything yet?” Present Martin asked.

“There’s another visit scheduled tomorrow. We’re almost four months into this part of the process. I’m hoping we’ll have an answer soon.” Martin picked up his mug of tea and took a sip. It had started to cool a bit, but it was still drinkable. “Not that we’re in a hurry or anything, but it’d be nice to know, you know?”

“I could probably poke at your social worker’s mind and see if they have an answer,” Sasha offered. “It’d be easy.”

“Sasha, we’ve talked about this,” Present Jon said with an audible frown.

“Yeah, if I can manage to keep myself under control…” Tim trailed off. “Sorry, Georgie. I know you’d rather we didn’t talk about it.”

“It’s fine,” Georgie said with a sigh. “I’m getting used to it. It’s not like any of you can just…stop being what you are. Did—um—did your Georgie have a problem with it?”

It was the first time she’d asked about her past self since being introduced to Jon and Martin over a year ago, and Martin couldn’t explain why it felt so weird. “She did. At first, anyway. But I think it was less the whole…supernatural fear thing and more the fact that we—and particularly Jon—kept acting like nothing was wrong.”

“Yeah. At least you lot admit this is messed up.”

“Not so much the admitting it’s messed up as trying from the get-go not to play into it,” Jon’s voice said from the direction of the kitchen. The loveseat bounced slightly—very slightly—as he sat down, leaned into Martin’s side, and kissed his cheek. “Your cat is a menace.”

“Why is she only my cat when she’s misbehaving?” Martin teased, turning his head to capture Jon’s lips with his own before they moved away. “What’s Cosmic done now?”

“Just the fact that you know it was Cosmic Creepers—”

“The Duchess has made it very clear that she’s your cat.”

Sasha gave a mock-groan. “You two as actual parents are going to be insufferable.”

Melanie’s snort was practically elephantine. “Like you don’t have the three of these with Charlie as evidence for that.”

Martin sensed the remark calculated to cause maximum chaos coming before Tim opened his mouth, but there was nothing he could do to head him off. “So, Melanie, when are you and Georgie going to add a bundle of joy to your family?”

The resultant storm of profanity and invective directed at Tim sent Jon into paroxysms of laughter, and from the sound of it, Present Jon as well. Martin could imagine Tim’s triumphant, shit-eating grin. Even Sasha was giggling.

“Seriously. I don’t even want more than one cat,” Georgie finally said when the chaos wound down. “Children have never been in my plans. Not even remotely.”

“Have you ever thought about fostering?” Present Martin asked. “Teens, maybe? I bet you’d be good at it.”

A short silence followed the question, and when Melanie answered, there was a note of surprise in her voice. “Maybe. Not right now, though.”

“I guess my question is—and please, none of you take this the wrong way—why would you want to involve a child in the…life you’re all leading?” Georgie asked. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No more than being a child is dangerous anyway,” Jon said. “Most of the fears don’t…a child’s fear isn’t fully formed, so it’s not as satisfying, but that doesn’t mean they don’t pay attention. I was marked young. So was Annabelle Cane. Callum Brodie was on the Dark’s radar long before Rayner chose him as a vessel. A-apparently the End was paying attention to all of us before my father died. A child being taken care of by someone who knows what’s out there, and isn’t…enamored with it, I suppose, stands a better chance than a child wholly unprepared.”

Martin rubbed Jon’s arm. “Besides. The more connections you have outside the Archives, the harder it is for the Fears to…use you. I guess. Even besides the Lonely, the more isolated you are, the easier you are to hurt.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Present Jon said, sounding like he was talking half to himself. “But it does make sense why Jonah tried so hard to pit us against one another. A person with no support is far more vulnerable. Far easier to use and manipulate.”

“And that’s what beat him in the end,” Melanie said. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Hear, hear.” Martin raised his mug in salute. Someone clinked a mug or glass against it, and the conversation drifted to other, less volatile topics.

They’d done this a lot over the last year. Ever since Jon, or his alter ego, had officially inherited the estate, they spent more evenings and weekends here than they did in Tim, Present Martin, and Present Jon’s house. First there’d been the intense repainting and redecorating period, during which Martin had offered deadpan commentary on color choices until Jon threatened to paint his mouth shut and Tim had unearthed more than a few artifacts belonging to other entities in various nooks and crannies. Once they were settled in, there had been pizza and pasta-making parties, movie marathons, drinks after hard weeks, and game nights. They’d come over to wrestle the garden into submission in the spring, helped decorate the house for Christmas, and watched fireworks on New Year’s from the widow’s walk on the roof. Jon had even organized an Easter Egg hunt for the neighborhood children, which had been when Martin had finally broached the idea of reaching out to the local authority about beginning the adoption process.

And exactly one year ago tonight, they had stood in the drawing room they never otherwise used and finally, finally made the bond between them a legal one.

“I can’t believe you two are spending your anniversary like this,” Sasha said, and if Martin didn’t know for a fact that she couldn’t read his mind beyond finding a back door into his dreams when Jon’s lay alongside her, he’d have told her off for it. “You’re such hopeless romantics, I expected you to go out for a candlelit dinner somewhere. Moonlit stroll in the park. Kissing under the stars.”

“It’s Thursday,” Martin reminded her.

“We’re going to Scotland for the weekend,” Jon said. “That’s part of the reason I gave everyone a three-day weekend, so we could get an early start and make the most of it.”

“I accuse you of abusing your position for your own gain,” Georgie said, but she was laughing as she did so.

“I’ll confess to that,” Jon replied immediately. Martin couldn’t help but laugh. “But seriously, we—it’s going to be a nice, relaxing weekend, but we thought spending the evening with our family would be a good start.”

Something thumped down on the coffee table. Martin guessed it was Melanie’s glass. “You know what I can’t believe? That you picked the eighteenth of October to get married. I mean, you know literally everything in the world, and certainly everything about the Institute. You had to know that was the day the Institute was founded. And then you had to spend your first anniversary making nice with the donors. Why would you do that?”

Martin looked in Jon’s direction. “You want to tell them, or shall I?”

Jon sighed heavily and dropped his head to Martin’s shoulder. “You go ahead. I’d rather not say it out loud.”

“Uh-oh.” Tim sounded worried. “This is…what happened on the eighteenth of October, 2017 in your timeline?”

“Bugger all,” Martin replied. “It was today. In our original timeline, this was when Jonah slipped his ritual into a statement and fed it to Jon against his will. Eighteenth October, 2018.” He ran his hand through Jon’s hair, which had fallen out of its braid. “We didn’t want to wait until this year to get married, but we’d already agreed that we wanted it to be the eighteenth. We wanted to take back the day Jonah Magnus tried to ruin and make it ours.”

“To replace the memories,” Present Martin said softly.

“Exactly. He’s taken too damn much from us already. We’re not letting him have everything.” Martin pressed a kiss to the top of Jon’s head.

“So where in Scotland are you going?” Present Jon asked.

“John O’Groats. It’s—Daisy used to have a safehouse up there,” Jon explained. “Well, she still has the house, but she’s just renting it out to vacationers these days. She told us we could use it for free a couple times a year as a thank-you for helping her get the Hunt under control.”

“Yeah, Basira says she’s a lot more relaxed than she was when she was a cop,” Sasha said. “If you can believe it. Is that where you two stayed…um, up until the eighteenth of October?”

“Yep.” Martin popped the P in a method that, he hoped, would indicate the subject is closed and you should not push further, Sasha James.

Thankfully, it seemed to work. Georgie was the next to speak up. “What about you three? Do you have plans for your trip to America or is it just more of a ramble?”

“We were planning to visit Boston,” Present Martin answered. “Lots of history, lots of walking trails, lots of potentially haunted stuff. But…well, Jon changed things around a couple weeks ago and he’s been vague about what we’re doing now.”

“Oh.” Present Jon sounded both embarrassed and excited. “I—ah—I’m sorry, I got so…I completely forgot I hadn’t told you. I managed to track down my cousin. You know, the one I stayed with for a bit before starting uni? He moved to a new town about the time I started at the Institute, actually. Apparently he’s married now. His husband sounds…um, interesting. And he wants to meet you two—and Charlie, too. I actually managed to get us tickets out there. I—I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind getting the chance to meet a relative that not only doesn’t hate you, but doesn’t care you’re in a relationship with two other men and is excited about the idea of meeting us? Of course we do, it sounds horrific, why would you do something like that,” Tim said flatly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jon, we’d love to meet your cousin.”

“It’ll be fun,” Present Martin agreed. “Did you ever…I mean, have you met him?”

It took Martin a second to realize the question was directed at him. “Honestly, until you all started talking about him, I didn’t even know Jon had a cousin.”

“I’d love to see him again,” Jon said, a bit wistfully. “I do miss him. I suppose asking you to pass on my best wishes would be a little much, but…”

“I’m going to tell him,” Present Jon said softly. “About all of this. I think he deserves to know, and…I think he can handle it.”

“Well. Give me a call if you get the chance. I’d love to talk to him.”

“Of course.” Present Jon hesitated. “I—um, I think he might have a couple…statements. Something about the way he said ‘scientifically interesting’ when talking about the town. I’m going to tell him about…this, and us, and what we can do. Let him decide if he wants to share.”

Jon made a slightly pained noise, but Martin rubbed his arm soothingly and said, “You’ll probably need something. At least Tim will. That’s—you’ll be too far from the Institute for too long not to take a statement or two. Better if it’s someone willing, wouldn’t you say?”

Tim took a deep breath. “Does it ever get any easier? Needing to—sensing in your case, or seeing in mine, that someone has a statement, and needing it so badly?”

“Not really,” Jon admitted. “It’s why I don’t go out alone so often. The trouble is that sometimes it helps them and sometimes it…doesn’t, and you can never tell before they tell their stories whether it will or not. The Eye likes it better when it’s…forced, but the Eye can honestly get stuffed. We’re doing this on our terms.”

“Hell yeah,” Tim said with a laugh. Jon leaned forward at Martin’s side, and from the sounds, he guessed they were bumping their fists together.

They spent about another hour together, talking and laughing and generally relaxing. Finally, though, Present Martin asked, “How early were you two planning to head out?”

“Not until early afternoon. The social worker is coming, remember?” Martin shrugged. “But if you lot want to get going…”

“Yes, we—we should probably make sure Charlie’s in bed, and I’m sure Wade is ready to be released,” Present Jon said. There were a number of rustles and creaks as everyone got to their feet, and Martin stood, too, stretching out his spine. “Call us when you get there.”

“We will. Let us know when you get to America,” Jon replied.

“Are you taking the cats, or do you want us to stop by and look after them?” Melanie asked.

Martin paused and looked in Jon’s direction. He could practically feel his thoughts flowing between them, running through the bond Annabelle had put on them like a telegraph wire. “Well, we were going to take them, but…actually, would you mind?”

“Of course not. We’d be delighted,” Georgie said.

Jon squeezed Martin’s waist, then slid away. “Come here, then, let me show you where we keep the food.”

Martin saw the others to the door and handed out another round of hugs. Jon arrived with Georgie just before they pulled away, so was at least able to wave, and he hugged both Georgie and Melanie and thanked them again. And then it was just the two of them, alone in their house, and together.

Jon shut and latched the door, then took Martin’s hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm. Close your eyes and follow me.”

Martin smiled more broadly, but he did as Jon asked. Jon led him through the house and up three flights of stairs. It somehow didn’t surprise Martin when Jon pushed open a final door and he heard the soft sounds of an autumn evening.

“Stargazing?” he teased.

“It is a good night for it,” Jon said, not rising to the bait. “But no, not what I had in mind.” He tugged Martin forward a few feet, then added, “You can open your eyes now.”

Martin didn’t point out that it wouldn’t do any good; he simply opened his eyes. He could smell roses and peonies, he thought—the same flowers they’d decorated the drawing room with for their wedding. There was a soft click, and a tape recorder began playing—which made him smile—and then Jon was there and holding his hands. “Can I have this dance?”

Martin’s smile broadened as he recognized the song. “For the rest of your life.”

Martin let Jon lead him, singing quietly along with the music as he did so. He was still barefoot and it was a bit cold on the widow’s walk for that, but he didn’t care. It was the song they’d chosen as their first dance at their wedding, something of a fast waltz, but the lyrics had struck both of them as being so very them. As soon as Martin realized that, he also realized that this was probably the tape Tim had made for them to play at their wedding. It had been their way of ensuring that Annabelle, if she was still listening, would be able to be a part of things, too.

They still made a point of shooing out spiders and cleaning out cobwebs, but the tapes? Those could stay.

When the first song was over, rather than let Jon go, Martin simply shifted his grip and took the lead for the second song on the tape—the first song they had ever danced to, in Tim and Present Martin and Present Jon’s kitchen the night they’d moved in. He pulled Jon closer, letting their foreheads touch, and sang along to that one as well. He could feel Jon shiver in his arms and knew, knew, it wasn’t the cold that was doing it.

They slowed to a stop just before the song ended. Jon slid his arms around Martin’s neck and simply held him; Martin wrapped his around Jon’s waist and pulled him even closer until their bodies were flush, until they were practically fused into a single person.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too,” Jon whispered back. “Happy anniversary, Martin.”

“Happy anniversary.” Martin leaned forward and kissed him thoroughly.

Jon kissed him back, deeply and intensely and with all the emotions they had built up between them over the years: loneliness and desperation and fear, love and tenderness and hope. They had fought their damnedest for a moment they thought would never come, and now that it had, Martin was going to savor it. This and every other moment that ever could be.

At last, the need for air forced them to separate, and Jon laughed quietly. “You know what I didn’t think through about this?”

“We’re still barefoot?” Martin guessed.

“We are still barefoot,” Jon agreed. “And I’m still rather…worn out from the day. What do you say we go inside, shut the cats in their room for the night, and make use of that oversized tub in the downstairs bath?”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Martin said. He kissed Jon again, very softly, and then stepped back. “Lead on, Mr. Blackwood-Sims.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Blackwood-Sims,” Jon drawled. He stopped the tape with a gentle click, then laced his fingers through Martin’s, the metal of his wedding band smooth and cool against his fingers as it rolled over the webbing between them. “Come on, my love.”

Hand-in-hand, Martin and Jon, the man he’d loved for years, the man he’d fought for, fought with, the reason he had survived apocalypse after apocalypse, his anchor—his husband—turned away from the world they had somehow managed to save and into their home, into the future they had made.

Together.

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“Somewhere Just Beyond My Reach, There’s Someone Reaching Back For Me” -- Wilhemina Venable x Mildred Ratched

Mildred Ratched already owns my heart. That’s just the sad truth. She shares the space with Venable now. Which means that I’m left thinking of the two of them together almost constantly. And eventually it got too loud and I had to write it. 

Please bear with me, the show hasn’t even dropped a trailer yet so this is just me having fun with the little I know about Nurse Ratched (and the little I am hoping for gathered from promo pictures/teasers). Also, I wrote it in maybe two days, so I apologize in advance for any typos.

Words: ~13,500

Warnings: None? I’m hesitant to say none on a fic with ~these women~, but yeah I think that’s where we are right now. Just a bit of smut (shhhh) 

~I really hope you all enjoy this one, it’s probably a bit different than everyone was expecting, but I couldn’t resist. Alright, LET’S DO THIS~

Wilhemina’s fingers twitched on her cane, thumb rubbing reflexively against the handle as she watched the line in front of her. Stagnant. And she had been waiting for almost twenty minutes. 

She was just starting to lose her patience, especially with the man she was behind. Too tall, smelling of cigarettes. The future of her day pressed against her, the knowledge that she was going to be faced with hundreds of these men, large and consuming and throwing too much ego around. 

This convention was entirely men, as far as she could see. And as she looked around, took in their shining shoes and their notebooks and their stares, she shifted, setting her posture on her cane and standing up a bit straighter. 

Until heels clicked through the room, tapping steadily and coming to a halt just behind her. 

And Wilhemina realized that they hadn’t been staring at her. 

Soft muttering, a huff, and then Wilhemina turned, her curiosity peaked. 

Her eyes landed on a woman, entirely too perfect for her own good, from the way her hat sat at an impeccable angle to the way her feet crossed smoothly, one in front of the other, as she dug through her purse. 

A second later, her mouth pursed into a thin line as she pulled out a neatly folded stack of papers. And as she looked up, straightening, her eyes met Wilhemina’s. 

A small smirk played over her lips, no doubt at the realization that Wilhemina had been staring at her. And all Wilhemina could think to do in the moment was pop her brow, quirking her head. 

Composure. Self-preservation.

A long moment where Wilhemina let herself look her up and down, take in her quartered sleeves, peter-pan collar, the row of thick buttons that ran a perfect line down to a flared skirt. And black, velvet gloves to match. 

And then she found her voice.

“I was under the impression that I would be the only woman speaking here today.” 

And this woman, so impeccably dressed, so impeccably put together, had the nerve to pop her brow right back. 

“Well,” she countered quickly, tipping her shoulders back. “One should never assume.” 

And this time, Wilhemina couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at her lips. She offered her free hand, tapping her cane as she spoke. “Wilhemina Venable. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

And to her surprise, the woman took it, gloved hand warm in Wilhemina’s grip. 

“Mildred Ratched,” she replied smoothly, eyes hot as a smile curved her lips. 

Wilhemina couldn’t help but shift as she shook the woman’s hand, some sort of victory, of smugness, folding into her from the power radiating through this simple gesture. Her nose twitched and then Mildred’s hand was falling away, finding the strap of her small purse and rubbing at it absently as she pulled her composure back around her. 

She watched Mildred’s eyes flick past her, and then immediately around the room. Watched the slight shake in her breath as she undoubtedly realized what Wilhemina had only moments before. It really was all men here, save the two of them. 

“What are you lecturing on?” Wilhemina asked, pleased when Mildred’s eyes snapped back to her. 

“Psychological advances made through study of post-trauma triggers and observances in the field of action.”

Wilhemina hummed, her fingers tightening on her cane as the implication of what the woman said settled around her. “You helped during the war?”

A smug look crossed Mildred’s face, but she morphed it into a passive smile. “Helped might be an understatement.” 

There was a long moment as Wilhemina realized that Mildred was probably entirely capable of handling herself around so many men. Commanding so many men. And then the woman spoke again. 

“And you?” 

Wilhemina swallowed, tapping her cane as she set her shoulders against inevitable backlash that always came when she admitted to never helping with the war efforts. 

“No.”

To her surprise, Mildred only chuckled. Shook her head. “I meant what are you lecturing on.”

She set her jaw, fingers twitching at her error. Her mistake. But Mildred hadn’t scolded her. Hadn’t judged. She was only curious. So polite. So focused. 

“I’m simply posing the question of technology versus consciousness. And somehow, I have a feeling that these men will not like it.”

A small laugh from Mildred, and then something settled over her that looked almost uncomfortable, an uneasiness radiating off of her like a wave. 

Wilhemina quirked a brow. “Perhaps you’re not fond of it either, Ms. Ratched?” 

But Mildred shook her head. “Nurse,” she corrected. “And it’s not that. It’s simply...” 

Her eyes pulled over the men surrounding them. Staring at them. Undoubtedly murmuring about them as they walked. Always together. Always in pairs. 

Mildred fingered the strap of her purse, teeth scraping over her bottom lip for a fraction of a second before she schooled her features.

Wilhemina let her eyes run over her once more, top to bottom and back again. The language of her movements, scribbled down in books on how to cover yourself from the world. How to block everyone out and set yourself atop the pyramid of society. 

“Well, Nurse Ratched,” Wilhemina tried, smirking as she tapped her cane once more. “Order on the outside does wonders to keep the chaos safely on the inside.” 

And then those eyes, those brown, piercing eyes, viciously slicing through Wilhemina. She knew that look, that shock. She had seen right through her. Exposed her, clear as day. Mildred was vulnerable. Mildred was broken. 

Mildred was just like her. 

~~~ 

There was an expression on Wilhemina’s face that Mildred couldn’t read. And try as she might, eyes searching and picking apart the minuscule eyebrow quirks and eyes narrowing and lips twitching, she was completely lost. 

And nothing set her more on edge.

Mildred had always been able to read everyone. It was her first priority. Get a feel for them, dig down into them. Find the thing that makes them tick and spin it on its head to stay on top. 

But Wilhemina had some sort of wall around her. Something that fuzzed out Mildred’s mind and kept her pulled in tight. A magnet against a metal strip. 

A soft, “I look forward to hearing you speak,” and then Wilhemina was turning away, stepping forward in line and giving her name to the man sat at the table just in front of them. 

She watched as Wilhemina handed over her papers, shoulders askew and tapping her cane. Impatiently, Mildred realized. And she schooled her features as she recognized the difference between this tap and the way it had clicked when they were speaking. Absently, an extension of herself. 

And then, with an irritated smile, Wilhemina was checked in and moving aside, fingers flexing on her cane as she sauntered past the table. 

Mildred watched Wilhemina walk away, handing her papers to the man before her. And her eyes stayed locked on Wilhemina as she paused just before she fell out of sight, turning mid-step. 

“Name?” the man asked, pulling Mildred’s attention from the smirk that sliced across her face. 

She took a deep breath, voice perfectly even as she replied. And as he sifted through files and documentation, Mildred let herself look up again. Wilhemina was gone. 

She shoved the pang of sadness aside, straightening out the hem of her glove and shifting her purse further up her arm. And only after clearing the woman from her mind and focusing back on the man before her, did she notice how careless he was being. 

“Excuse me,” she tried, voice suddenly firm. Still impeccably soft. “You’re wrinkling the edge of my papers.” Mildred indicated to the corner of the page, where the man’s arm was pressing a nice crease into the side of her registration documents. Her fingers twitched on the strap of her purse as she composed herself. 

“They’re just papers,” the man said, offering her a small smile as he finished scribbling. 

“They’re just things, Mildred. You don’t need things.”

“Daddy, please. Not mommy’s necklace.”

“You don’t deserve it. You haven’t been a good girl.”

Mildred pressed her mouth into a thin line, taking a deep breath against her father’s voice in her head. 

“They’re my papers,” she said firmly, pressing her hand into the table and leaning forward. “And good manners would indicate you having respect for others’ things. Would it not?”

The man’s smile fractured, and Mildred almost smirked as she watched him gulp. He straightened out the corner of her papers, handing them back to her. 

“Apologies, Nurse Ratched. Your first lecture is in room 42 B, just down the hall on the right.”

“There’s a good boy,” she drawled, pulling the papers from his fingers and frowning at the line down the edge. “And you’re going to be more careful with everyone else’s belongings, yes?”

“Yes, Nurse Ratched.” 

And then she was walking away, that nice little bubble of satisfaction wedging into her heart. 

~~~ 

“Eyes up.” 

Mildred’s voice rang out through the hall, and Wilhemina was shocked at how her heart leapt at the tone of it. So commanding. So dominating. 

“Our boys sacrificed their lives on these battlefields for us. The absolute least we can do is pay attention and listen and learn, to further the pursuit of medicine that they gave their lives for. Is that not correct?”

“I don’t think they sacrificed their lives for medicine, Nurse Ratched.” 

And Wilhemina smiled at the fire that licked over her eyes, watching the way her hands splayed out on her podium. The way she straightened out her neck as her eyes bored into the boy who had interrupted her. 

“What is your name?” she asked calmly. Too calmly.

“Jimmy,” he replied smoothly, and Wilhemina’s fingers itched at the smug look on his face. She could barely see him, sitting impeccably still in her seat and tracking him with her eyes. But she knew that tone of voice. She knew that type of man. 

“Well, James,” Mildred continued, stepping around her podium and crossing her legs as she folded her hands neatly in front of her. “They may not have gone to war with the intention of furthering medicine. But they did go to war with the intention of saving lives. And how we use these lessons that they have taught us, intentional or not, could change the course of humanity as we know it. So would we not be remiss to waste such a hefty sacrifice? Do we not owe it to our boys to take as much as we can from the lives they gave so freely?”

And the sound that followed as Mildred looked over the men, eyes tracking them sharply as her expression morphed from perfectly concerned to smooth and kind, made Wilhemina’s heart pound. Because you could hear a pin drop. And never in her life had she ever come across another woman who had the same affect that she did on a group of men. Another woman who was so commanding. And so impeccably composed. 

~~~ 

Wilhemina’s cane tapped with her words, punctuating points and emphasizing the way her eyes would narrow at questions. 

“So, are you saying that we could make robots, Ms. Venable? Like…from the movies?”

A few laughs threaded out through the room and Mildred shifted in her seat, nose twitching at the innate possessiveness that pooled in her chest. 

But as she looked up at Wilhemina, vision blurring, just so, her cane slammed against the wood. Mildred had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the way the men jumped in their seats. 

“If you were listening, Mr. Brannard, you would understand that not only is it a possibility, my colleagues and I have already accomplished it.” 

Her eyes narrowed, and Mildred hated the way that even that small act of dominance made her heart pound. 

Wilhemina pursed her lips, tilting her head and tutting softly. Condescendingly. “Or are you too naive to imagine that something this advanced could be achieved so soon? By a woman?”

The boy stuttered, looking to the man beside him for help. But he was head down in his papers, scratching out notes. 

Mildred took a deep breath, eyes falling back to Ms. Venable as she stalked around the podium. Slow. Practiced. She was making them wait, and she knew they would. 

And suddenly, just like that, in a moment — Mildred was addicted to her. 

~~~ 

The door shut behind Wilhemina and she let herself sigh, leaning onto her cane as her eyes fell closed. There was something about being surrounded by men, constantly, their eyes on her as she spoke, that always made her feel dirty. And it was exhausting, having to keep her steel walls up when Mildred was sitting in the back of the room watching her with so much intensity that she should have caught fire. 

It was sad when the only place that she could get a moment to breathe was the ladies’ room. 

That moment ended quicker than she would have liked, the squeak of the door opening forcing her to stand straighter on her cane and busy herself in the mirror. 

Strong. Unaffected. 

Heels clicked as Wilhemina wiped at the corner of her mouth, flicking off the smallest speck of stray lipstick. She waited for the woman to lock herself in a stall so that she could make a clean exit. But to her surprise, the footsteps stopped just short of her. And when Wilhemina threw a hot look over her shoulder at the intrusion, she was almost impressed. 

“Hello, dear.”

Wilhemina popped her brow, a small smirk making her lips twitch. “Ms. Ratched.”

“Nurse,” she corrected, tipping her chin up as her eyes lit from behind. 

“Mildred.”

A pause, Mildred’s gaze falling down Wilhemina’s form. “What are you doing?”

“Well I was intending to use the restroom,” Wilhemina replied, smoothing a hand down her skirt as she turned to face the woman. 

Mildred’s eyes were calculating, twitching almost imperceptibly at the corner. “Unacceptable.”

Wilhemina scoffed. “And why might that be?”

“You’re scheduled to speak again in ten minutes. You should be prepping your presentation in five.”

She gestured to the space around them, head tilting challengingly. “Hence why I’m using the restroom now.”

A beat. Mildred stared at her, fingers slipping on the strap of her purse. And Wilhemina had only spoken to this woman once, but she had watched her for almost three hours, and then another two during her own lecture. She knew why her fingers twitched. She could read her like a book. 

So she took a step forward, tapping her cane out in front of her and leaning on it, just enough to get in Mildred’s space. 

“Did you miss me, Millie?” Venable breathed, eyes flicking over Mildred’s face. And she didn’t miss the way the other woman’s breath hitched, body stiffening. “Were you hoping to get me all to yourself for a few minutes?”

Mildred cleared her throat, straightening. “And if I was?”

A smirk. 

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

~~~ 

Mildred had had plans for dinner. Of course she had. Very rarely did her schedule slip away from her, especially so when she was in a strange city around strange people. 

But somehow, for some reason, she had changed her plans. For a woman.

Slap. “Disgusting, stupid whore. Is this who you want to become? Disgrace. Pull yourself together.”

Pull yourself together. 

Wilhemina set the plate down before her and Mildred shifted in her seat, smoothing her already impeccably placed napkin on her lap. 

And only when she finally pulled her eyes off of Wilhemina, sitting down opposite her at the table and propping her cane against the wood, did she realize that this woman was an incredible chef. 

The dish was colorful, sausage swimming in pasta and decorated with fresh herbs. She comforted herself in the knowledge that she was eating better here than she would have been at the restaurant where she had reserved a table. 

A logical decision. 

They ate in silence for a few moments, Mildred fighting the shaking of her hands and trying to come up with a halfway decent conversation starter. But Wilhemina beat her to it. 

“Tell me about the war,” she said softly as she twisted her fork in the pasta, looking up at Mildred with such blatant curiosity and innocence that she couldn’t say no. Couldn’t bear to shove that wall up and bark at her and throw out her usual excuses. 

Which is how she found herself, almost an hour later, plate nearly empty as she covered her mouth with her fingers, swallowing around a bite that was just a fraction too large. 

“No no,” she corrected, taking a sip of water. “It wasn’t the bombs that were distracting. It wasn’t the gunfire. It was the screaming.”

Something flashed in Wilhemina’s eyes and Mildred stuttered, almost convinced she was about to smile. Almost convinced she was about to cry. 

“It was constant,” she continued, fingers playing over her fork as the memories flooded back into her mind. The smell of it, the sound. “Poor boys, too young to be fighting. And they never stopped. They never stopped screaming. Eventually you learn to tune it out. You have to. If you focus on them, if you let yourself hear it, everything else breaks away. You have to block it out. Or you lose the order of your surgical tent.” 

Wilhemina nodded, swallowing. “Seems impossible.” 

But Mildred shook her head again, shocking herself at how forward she was being. At how the words were spilling from her lips. Like she had known this woman for hundreds of years. 

She was almost certain that she had, the way Wilhemina’s eyes pierced straight through her every time their gazes met. 

“Logic and responsibility. That’s the key.” 

And to her surprise, Wilhemina laughed. A full, pretty sound that was too raspy for her own good. 

Mildred flushed, taking a long sip of water as Wilhemina spoke. 

“No, no. Rules. Clear lines and boundaries. A straight right and a firm wrong. It’s the only way to keep them all in line.” 

“You’re wrong,” Mildred stated, matter of fact. And when Wilhemina rose from her seat, she almost flinched. 

But she only stalked over, a smirk slicing across her face as she collected Mildred’s plate and walked it over to the sink. 

Cool. Calculated. Every one of Wilhemina’s actions had an equal, opposite reaction. They stalked around each other in perfect circles, and halfway through the dance Mildred’s mind was absolutely spinning. This time, she didn’t have a justification. Didn’t have follow-up. She was losing her grip. 

The silence was deafening, exacerbated by the tapping of Wilhemina’s heels and the clattering of tableware against porcelain. 

And then, just like that, she was back, pulling out the chair directly next to Mildred and settling down into it. 

“Most people don’t get the privilege of telling me I’m wrong.” 

Her voice had lowered, dangerous and sharp, a snake bite. And Mildred couldn’t help but dig her teeth into her bottom lip. Because this woman was so perfect, and so beautiful, and so intelligent. Sitting before her like it was nothing. Like the heat in Mildred’s cheeks wasn’t creeping down into her fingers and making them itch. 

Her eyes flicked down to Wilhemina’s lips before she could help herself, and her fingers dug into her skirt as she watched Wilhemina flick her tongue over them. Wetting them. So slick. So perfectly shaped. 

And then Wilhemina’s hand covered hers, skin soft and smooth and tender against Mildred’s. 

She looked back into Wilhemina’s eyes, suddenly dark, suddenly entirely too intense. She wasn’t prepared for this. She wasn’t ready. She wanted this more than anything she had ever wanted before in her life. 

And she silently thanked whatever gods lay above her for getting her through the war and straight to this moment. Because her entire life would be worth living if Wilhemina would just— 

Wilhemina leaned forward, and that was all it took. Just the slightest tilt of her chin. Mildred hadn’t realized how close they had gotten. But then Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, so firm and yet so, so delicate. 

She let her eyes fall closed, let herself sigh into the feel of it. The feel of her. Turned her hand and threaded their fingers together and squeezed because this was all she had wanted. Since the moment that fire-red hair had turned and she had looked up into those deep, brown eyes.

Wilhemina pulled away before Mildred was ready to let go, and she couldn’t help the half-whine that lodged itself in her throat. That she tried so desperately to swallow down. 

“Better?” Wilhemina teased, pressing their foreheads together.

She let out a shaky breath, thumbing at Wilhemina’s knuckles. “Infinitely.” 

There was a long moment of silence, and Mildred was almost getting accustomed to these spaces, these gaps between their communication where they just let their feelings hang between them. Let their hearts speak without words getting in the way. 

Mildred swallowed, licking her lips slowly as she looked up into Wilhemina’s eyes. 

“What are the rules now, Ms. Venable?”

Wilhemina hummed, nudging their noses together as her eyes flicked down to Mildred’s lips again. “You relax and let me take care of you.” 

A wobbling breath, and Mildred wet her lips again, hands trembling as she leaned into Wilhemina. So close to what she wanted. So close. “And if I say no?”

Wilhemina smirked, hand coming up to Mildred’s throat before moving to brush delicately over her cheek instead. And when she spoke again, her eyes were lidded and she breathed the words almost directly into Mildred’s mouth. 

“Now where’s the logic in that, Nurse Ratched?” 

~~~ 

Mildred toed off her shoes. Delicately. Carefully. And Wilhemina watched in awe of the woman before her. Perfectly pristine. 

She always strove for perfection. Perfectly presented to the world, perfectly protected. Perfectly hidden. And she had thought she almost had it. But now, watching Mildred, she realized that perfection was far out of her grip. Not when it looked like this. 

Wilhemina wasn’t perfectly presented, not compared to the way Mildred took care with every tiny pleat and line and cuff. Down to the perfectly straight earrings. Down to the parallel lines of her stockings that ran up the back of her calves. And Wilhemina certainly wasn’t perfectly protected when Mildred looked at her like that, eyes wide and lips pink as she slowly, purposefully started picking down the buttons on her shirt. 

Wilhemina was only and solely perfectly exposed, her heart entirely too vulnerable around a woman that she knew would protect it. Around a part of her that she didn’t know had existed until it had tapped its way up behind her in line and pulled the zipper on the curtain over her heart. 

She couldn’t stop watching Mildred. Not when she let her shirt fall to the floor. Not when she unbuttoned the top of her skirt and tugged at the zip, shimmying out of it and letting it pool around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but a thin, silk slip and black pantyhose. 

And then she bunched up her slip and rolled them down, Venable’s eyes tracking the way that perfectly straight line up her calf crumpled as she went, bending and morphing as Mildred let her walls down. Let her in. Let Wilhemina see her for who she really was beneath all of that perfection and obsession and compulsivity. 

Suddenly it was too much, and Wilhemina simply couldn’t sit on the edge of the bed watching anymore. She needed to touch. She needed all of Mildred pressed against all of her. Every inch. Every piece. 

Wilhemina walked up behind her, wrapping her hands around her stomach and pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder before resting her chin there. 

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Mildred turned, a smile flickering over her lips. She had been so serious when she was undressing, her mouth pulled into a line, eyes flicking between Wilhemina behind her and the mirror before her, her hands pulling over herself to smooth everything down, make sure her hair was still curling down her back, making sure her pins were all in place. But now she looked lighter. Now she looked like she had at the table, open and soft and pliant. 

“Show me,” Mildred whispered, and Wilhemina pressed another kiss to her shoulder before shifting her in front of the mirror. Her hands found the pins still holding her hair up, pulling them out slowly as she nipped and bit her way up Mildred’s neck, sucking just a bit to hard at the crook of her jaw. 

And Wilhemina couldn’t help but smile as Mildred sighed, her hand reaching up behind her and twisting through Wilhemina’s hair. 

Mildred knew when Wilhemina got the last pin out, shaking her hair out and fluffing it almost immediately. And then she turned in Wilhemina’s arms, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as she reached around and pulled the tie from her own hair. 

It fell in heaps around her shoulders, and Mildred giggled softly. 

Wilhemina’s brow popped, sarcasm pushing through as a weak attempt at self-preservation. “Is something the matter?” 

But Mildred only laughed, shaking her head and running her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair. 

“Cinnamon sugar,” she murmured, twisting her finger through a lock and admiring it. And Wilhemina felt herself flush against her will. 

“I’m almost certain our hair is the same color,” she tried, fingers twitching on Mildred’s waist. 

Frustrated. Exposed. Worshipped. 

Mildred only shook her head, leaning forward. She hesitated for a brief moment before pressing a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s lips. And suddenly Wilhemina didn’t care if she was giggling or teasing or playing with her hair. As long as she was here. As long as she kept doing that. 

“You’re awfully sweet for someone who is supposed to be so intimidating, Ms. Venable.”

Wilhemina scoffed, rolling her eyes before Mildred grabbed at her chin, raking her eyes over her and making a shiver run down her spine. 

“Why don’t you take all of that purple off for me, cinnamon? Hm?”

And Wilhemina hated how deeply she flushed, the nickname getting under her skin like it shouldn’t have. But this was Mildred. And somehow, she knew exactly what Wilhemina wanted to hear before she realized it herself. 

It only took a few moments, untying the top of her shirt, pulling it up over her head. Sliding out of her skirt, peeling her gloves off. And Mildred watched her the entire time, eyes hot as they followed her fingers. 

She held out her hands as Wilhemina stepped out of her shoes, keeping her steady. Making sure she didn’t wobble. 

And this time, for the first time, Wilhemina completely forgot to feel exposed. She forgot to feel embarrassed about her back. She forgot to warn Mildred. 

But when Mildred kissed her again, this time a bit harder and a bit deeper, fingers wrapping up around Wilhemina’s neck and sliding down over her shoulders, over her spine, nothing happened. 

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil. She didn’t even gasp. She just kept kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, until Wilhemina’s thighs hit the mattress. 

Mildred pulled back, breaking the kiss as her teeth dug into her lip, fingers rubbing together absently. Just like they had over her purse. Over her fork. 

Wilhemina gave her a small nod, tentatively grabbing for her wrists and guiding them to her stomach. 

She didn’t miss the way Mildred’s fingers flexed before she touched her, didn’t miss the glint in her eye as she hesitantly, delicately, grabbed Mina’s waist and pushed her down into the bed. 

And the way she touched her, warm palms pressing against Wilhemina’s sides before pulling away almost immediately, and then replacing them in an instant. This time firm. This time sure. This time pushing Wilhemina onto her back and smoothing up her stomach so that nails were pricking at the very bottom of her bra. 

Mildred crawled over her, pressing a singular, wet kiss just below Wilhemina’s jaw. 

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, squirming under her. 

“My name is Mildred,” she corrected, and Wilhemina let herself smirk, catching the way Mildred hardened and taking the opportunity to flip the switch yet again. 

She hooked a leg over Mildred’s hip, pushing her and flipping them and bracing herself above her. 

Mildred gasped, a soft whine pushing out of her as she was slammed back into the mattress. Wilhemina leaned down, nudging their noses together before flicking her tongue out and licking the tip of her nose. 

“What are you afraid of, Millie?” Wilhemina breathed, hands sliding slowly up her sides before locking over her ribs and pinning her to the bed. “Is someone losing control?” 

She couldn’t help but smirk at her own joke, amplified by the way Mildred’s eyes widened and hardened. 

“No. It’s just—“ 

Wilhemina bit down on her collarbone, cutting her off as she squirmed beneath her. She hummed, pushing her further into the bed. 

“Oh no? So you’re fine then, right?”

And after a second’s hesitation she nodded again, hands coming up to smooth out her hair as her eyes bored into Wilhemina’s. 

The word “yes” left Mildred’s mouth, but Wilhemina had already seen it in her face. The screaming. The need to dominate. The need to be dominated. The want. 

“Millie,” Wilhemina sing-songed, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. She wasn’t surprised it was warm, the flush already clouding her perfect, porcelain skin. She was surprised that it was scorched, Mildred’s teeth dug into her bottom lip as she watched Wilhemina carefully. 

“Let go, darling,” she murmured, nails scraping lightly down Mildred’s sides. “Let me be in charge of you for once, yeah? Let those pretty little walls down. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” 

~~~ 

Wilhemina kept saying it. That stupid little nickname. Over and over. She wouldn’t stop, and Mildred couldn’t think. And it was making her furious in the absolute best way. 

She was losing control. She had always been so careful. She had always tried her absolute best. But somehow, tonight, she could feel it slipping through her fingers with every kiss, with every gasp, with every moan. 

And she was okay. 

Her world wasn’t crumbling. Mildred was surviving. And to her surprise, the world seemed to actually sort itself in those small moments, the fractions of seconds where Wilhemina panted that little nickname and Mildred’s body responded of its own accord. Mildred was thriving, Mildred was being loved. Mildred was finally living. 

And so she let go. 

She twisted her fingers in the sheets, Wilhemina’s name falling off her tongue as she arched into her. 

Wilhemina hummed, a nice, satisfied sound, and then she was kissing down her neck, fingers scratching up under her slip, up the inside of her thighs. 

Mildred should have wanted to pull away. She should have wanted to clamp her thighs shut and pull her slip down and shove herself up against the headboard. But to her surprise her thighs fell open, and before she knew what she was doing she was lifting her hips off the mattress and reaching down, tugging her slip up over her thighs, up past her stomach. 

Wilhemina pulled off of her, for a split second, and Mildred froze. But then she wrapped her hand around Mildred’s and pulled her forward, pulled her up, kissing her temple as she helped slide the slip up over her head. Threw it on the floor. 

And then Mildred was completely exposed. Completely vulnerable. Her hands came up to cover herself instinctively, suddenly too cold and too naked without the heat of Wilhemina’s mouth on her neck. 

But she was right there, threading their fingers together and pulling her hands back down into her lap. 

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” she cooed, and something deflated inside of Mildred. She let out a long breath, squeezing Wilhemina’s hands as she swallowed. And then, in a desperate attempt to gain some kind of control back, no matter how futile, she tried something. 

“Touch me, Mina.” 

She watched the other woman gasp. Let pride fill her at the pure smile that made tears prick in Wilhemina’s eyes. Traced her thumb over the back of Wilhemina’s hand. 

“Mina,” she tried again, suddenly feeling more comfortable with this intimacy. Because now they were both exposed. Equal. Again. Just like they should be. 

Wilhemina lunged forward, mouth hot and hungry as she pushed Mildred back against the mattress. And her hands. Her hands. Everywhere, all at once. Like she was trying to memorize the shape of her. Like she needed to touch her or she would disappear. And Mildred understood. Because she had that same ache, the same need within her. If her fingers weren’t on Wilhemina, pulling her tighter to her, pulling her closer, she was absolutely certain that she would vibrate and explode into a billion atoms, right there in the middle of the room. 

It suddenly turned so desperate, Mildred just about to beg for Wihemina’s fingers, for more when she felt them brush against her, cold against the heat burning between her thighs. 

Wilhemina pulled back, just so, just enough to look her in the eyes. And Mildred pushed all of her emotion, all of her want through, nodding frantically. 

“Please—“

But no sooner had she opened her mouth than Wilhemina’s fingers pushed inside of her, filling that space there perfectly and making Mildred finally feel like she was whole. 

Wilhemina smirked, and Mildred let out a soft “oh” at the unfamiliarity of it all. The comfort. And then she was moving and Mildred was moving, hips rolling down against Wilhemina’s wrist as she curled her fingers and sped up. 

And before she knew what was happening, that heat was building in her stomach, toes curling where her heel dug into Wilhemina’s back. She didn’t know how she had gotten like this, one leg thrown over her shoulder, a hand in Mina’s hair as she pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs while her fingers pumped slowly, gently, intently. 

It seemed dirty. It seemed wrong. And Mildred couldn’t have cared less. All she could fathom was that little knot of control, holding onto it as it vibrated, threatened to explode. Gripping into it with her teeth if she had to, clinging to it until that exact moment, the perfect—

It snapped, Mildred scrambling to find purchase on something as she fell through the galaxy Wilhemina had built around her. She knew her mouth was moving. She knew she was probably whining for Wilhemina. But she couldn’t hear anything. Not over Mina’s voice against her skin. 

“Yes. That’s it. Perfect. Let go. I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

It took too long for her body to come back to her, for her to regain her grip on reality and grab at some sort of control again. 

But as she opened her eyes on Wilhemina between her thighs, brow pushed up as the most beautiful, genuine smile graced her mouth, her perfect mouth, Mildred decided that right now, just for this one moment, she didn’t want control back. She wanted to just be. 

“Kiss me,” she breathed, and Wilhemina was right there, mouth pushing insistently against hers. And when Mildred tasted something tangy, something sharp and spicy and unfamiliar, she realized with a start that Mina must have put her mouth on her at some point. 

She hadn’t even realized. Hadn’t registered. 

She had given herself over completely into Mina’s mercy, and she had never felt so happy. So light. So utterly and completely protected. 

A small shuffle, sheets being rucked down, and then Wilhemina was sitting up against the headboard, and Mildred was right there, curling into her side and pressing herself in as close as she could. 

She smiled as Wilhemina’s arms wrapped around her waist. Almost possessively. 

They laid like that for a moment, Mina’s fingers tracing over her side as silence fell down upon the room, all remnants of Mildred’s screams dissolving into air. And then she finally, finally got her feet back under her.

“I want to take care of you,” Mildred said softly, pressing a kiss just over Wilhemina’s heart. But to her surprise, Wilhemina only shook her head. 

Lips against her temple, and then she spoke. “Not tonight, beautiful. We both need to be up early tomorrow.” 

Mildred wanted to say that she didn’t care. She wanted to argue and protest and throw something until Mina listened and let her feel her. All of her. 

But somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized that she would have to deal with those same men tomorrow, lecturing and commanding and spending too much of her energy trying to keep herself in control. So she nodded. Because they needed sleep if they were going to survive. 

“Tomorrow,” she sighed, looking up at Mina with eager eyes. And Wilhemina smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple. 

“Tomorrow.”

She curled further into Wilhemina, letting her hands wander just a bit further than they should have, suddenly feeling so entitled to this woman. She had permission to do whatever she liked to her. Just not quite yet. 

Wilhemina hummed, pressing one last kiss to the top of Mildred’s head, and then time slowed and the air grew thick as she started to move. 

Mildred felt her shift, turning just so and pulling an arm from around her waist as she reached for the lamp by the bed. 

“Don’t turn off the light, please. Daddy, please.”

“Why, are you afraid of monsters?”

A nod.

“Oh honey, the only monster you have to be afraid of is standing right here.” 

A sickening grin.

"You’re a big girl—“

“I’m not—“

“—you can handle this. Besides. Nothing is going to get you... As long as you don’t make a sound.”

Tears welled in Mildred’s eyes as she watched Wilhemina’s fingers inch closer. And how was she supposed to tell her about this? How was she supposed to explain that this one, tiny thing was her absolute weakness? She almost didn’t. Almost made it. But just as fingers brushed against the lamp, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she tasted something bitter, bristling. 

Time sped up all at once then, Mildred clawing at Wilhemina’s hand and wrapping her fingers tight around her wrist to stop her. 

“Wait—“ she tried, but it came out broken and wrinkled.

Wilhemina froze, looking down at her. “Is everything okay?”

And Mildred couldn’t help the tears then, sniffing as they blurred her vision and letting her fingers fall from Wilhemina’s arm. 

“Please don’t turn it off just yet,” she tried, and she scolded herself for how weak she sounded. 

Unacceptable. Pull yourself together. 

Something crossed Wilhemina’s face that she couldn’t read, and her heart dug down deep in her chest as she braced herself. 

But then Wilhemina softened, brows raising, just so, as she stroked her thumb over Mildred’s side. A smirk pulled at her lips and she quirked her head. 

“My my, Nurse Ratched. Is someone afraid of the dark?” 

And the way she said it, almost laughing, simultaneously made Mildred feel like a child being scolded and a woman being loved. 

It was a blessing that she had used her title. It had given Mildred that shock to her system to jolt her out of her vulnerable state, building her walls back up as quickly as she could as she formed the searing negation on her tongue. 

Of course not. You’re mistaken. Don’t be ridiculous. 

But she couldn’t land on one that felt quite right. Because lying didn’t feel quite right. And Mildred told herself, assured herself, that it was only because she hadn’t thought of the perfect logical theorem to support her argument. She wasn’t prepared to have this conversation. Once she found one, she would be back in control and she could right her world back on its feet. And one time, maybe this time, they could turn the light off. 

She hadn’t realized how long she had been silent until she felt Wilhemina press a kiss to her hair. Mildred was still staring her down, nose twitching as Wilhemina’s eyes searched her face. 

A deep breath, a hard swallow. And then she nodded. 

And there it was. That was it. The most open and vulnerable and exposed she had ever been with another person in her life. 

And Wilhemina, her Mina, took it in stride, simply humming before threading fingers through Mildred’s curls and pulling her up closer so that she could pepper soft kisses across her face. 

“Oh, Millie,” she whispered, and Mildred was shocked to find a gentle smile on her lips. 

“It’s childish, I know.”

She shook her head, fingers playing over the edge of her face. “Not to me.” 

“You can turn it off once I’m asleep. I just—“

“No. If you prefer it on, we leave it on.” Wilhemina hooked a finger under her chin, tipping it up. “That’s that.”

A sniff. A shaky breath. “Are you certain...?”

“Anything for you.”

And that night, when Mildred closed her eyes and steadied her breathing and melted into the warmth of her lover, she somehow, some way, felt like she had finally found her way home. 

~~~ 

“That’s it, just like that.”

Wilhemina cooed, smirking as Mildred whined and rolled her hips down her thigh. A soft gasp, and Wilhemina tightened her hand in her hair, forcing her head back to expose more of her neck. 

“Oh my, Ms. Ratched,” she tried softly, ignoring the way her mouth watered at the sight of her muscles pulling taunt. The way she swallowed. 

“Millie,” Mildred gasped, letting out a small cry as Wilhemina latched her mouth to her neck. 

She hummed as she nodded, relishing the taste of her when she was unraveling like this. Sticky, hot. So different from that sharp, sweet, clean taste when she was still dressed and still protected and still in charge. 

“You’re learning.”

Mildred scoffed beneath her, and Wilhemina had a split second to brace herself before nails were raking up her thighs and up her lower back, Mildred’s hands splaying out and holding her close. 

“And you’re going too slow.”

Wilhemina was flipped before she knew what was happening, gasping as Mildred grabbed her shoulders and shoved her down in to the mattress. Hard. 

“Millie—“

But Mildred cut her off, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. And when she pulled back she was smiling. Sickly sweet. 

“Besides, I thought we had an agreement that I could take care of you tonight, yes?”

Wilhemina’s brow furrowed, the need to top Mildred too intense for her to think of anything else. Until Mildred spoke again, her voice threading through the air, slicing through Wilhemina’s need like a knife. 

“Unless you were planning on breaking the rules, Ms. Venable?”

And now it was Wilhemina’s turn to smile, laughing sarcastically as Mildred pinched at her sides until she squirmed. 

“Mina,” she corrected over a giggle, biting down on her lip to keep from completely losing herself. 

Mildred smirked, cocking her head as she repeated Wilhemina’s words back to her. 

“You’re learning.” 

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Mildred quirked a brow. “Language.”

But Wilhemina was too desperate, reaching for her hands and pushing them down over her hips. 

“Now, Millie.”

And when Mildred smirked, nails pricking into Wilhemina’s tender skin there, something caught in Wilhemina’s chest. 

Her eyes were razor sharp, lips twitching from a smirk to a smile, back and forth and back and forth. And just when Wilhemina was starting to think she looked almost sickening, she spoke, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. Just out of reach. Just a bit too far. 

“Oh now now, cinnamon. You know better than to rush me. I’m in charge tonight. That was the agreement. And I decide when you get my fingers. Understood?”

And Mina found herself nodding. 

She was rewarded with a delicate kiss to her lips. Not nearly deep enough and entirely too sweet. 

“Just so long as we’re both on the same page.” A moment, a breath spent staring into those predatory eyes. “Now why don’t you spread those pretty legs for me, hm?” 

~~~ 

Mildred combed her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair, laid out so beautifully across her, head in her lap, fingers tracing the bones of her ankles. 

Intimacy entangled.

“What did they do..?” Mildred breathed, running her fingers delicately over the morphed skin. A fleeting touch. 

Wilhemina drew a slow breath. Calculated. Shaking. “First it was the brace. Screwed in. Stretched.”

“And the appointments for the table?” Mildred asked, her own breath starting to tremble at the idea. 

Wilhemina nodded. “Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven,” Wilhemina said softly, gasping as Mildred’s fingers tucked under a soft piece of her spine, bumping along the gaps in her vertebrae. 

“And it hurt.”

It wasn’t a question. She knew it had hurt. Especially on someone so young. So pliant and vulnerable. 

But Wilhemina didn’t answer, instead plowing ahead. “And then the surgery when I was thirteen.” 

Mildred flinched, the images flashing through her mind. She had seen the slides. She knew what they did. Sliced tendons and ligaments. And there was rarely any progress. 

“It didn’t work.” 

Again, not a question. And this time, as Wilhemina shook her head no, Mildred found what she was looking for. The scars from the screws. Spaced evenly apart, marred by scars from the surgery. Exactly where they should be. 

Wilhemina’s breaths stuttered as Mildred’s fingers slid over them, and she found her own breath speeding up at the thought of this woman on a table. So small. So scared. So cold. 

“And the tethers?” Mildred asked, running through the typical steps in her head. Trying to remember what she had learned in her training. 

But to her surprise, Wilhemina shook her head. She was panting now, and Mildred could feel her chest tightening in response as she trailed her fingers further down, where the spine corrected and compensated and bulged in the opposite direction. 

“Electroshock therapy.”

Wilhemina had barely spoken, barely whispered. But Mildred heard her, completely and solely focused on this poor, fragile, broken thing beneath her. And she couldn’t help the way her heart lodged in her throat. 

“W-Why?” she asked softly, her thumb brushing absently over a particularly bad scar. 

Wilhemina took a deep breath, fingers flexing in the sheets. “There was a time where they thought it would help. A misalignment of the neurotransmitters firing. Especially with younger patients. I was already through puberty. It wouldn’t have made a difference. But I was broken. They were desperate. I was the shame—“

“—shame of your family,” Mildred finished for her. And she surprised herself when a tear fell onto her cheek. A quick swipe of her thumb and it was gone, and she leaned down and pressed a small kiss at the very top of Wilhemina’s spine. “You’re not the only one.” 

Wilhemina shifted in her lap, fingers tracing Mildred’s knee as her breaths pulled long and shaky. As they slowed. 

Mildred closed her eyes, centering herself. “Did they do the final surgery? With the pins and the staples?” 

And she hated herself for how clinical it sounded when she asked. She wanted to be vulnerable. Wanted to be softer. For her. 

For her. 

But Wilhemina didn’t seem to mind, only shaking her head and sighing, her eyes fluttering closed. “I was pushed out of the house after the shock therapy didn’t work. And by the time I had earned enough of my own money to pay for the surgery, I was too old. It was too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Mildred tried, the motto ringing through her head. 

“But it was,” Wilhemina replied, her voice low and raspy. “Even if it would have worked, I was already an adult. I was already... who I was. And I didn’t know who I was without my disability. Without my cane. Without my past and my pain and my perseverance. I’m not myself without this. And I can’t fully be myself with it.”

Mildred hummed, shaking her head softly. Because she knew. Of course she knew. The more she spoke to Wilhemina, the more she was convinced that they were the same person. The same soul, split between two bodies. With the same wants and needs and desires. 

Her fingers skimmed down Wilhemina’s spine for what felt like the hundredth time, and suddenly she had this all-consuming need to memorize the exact shape of it. The exact way that it bulged and twisted and dipped. The exact way that this faulty thing kept this woman up and held her on her feet. 

Another kiss. A sigh. And then, fingers shaking as they pulled through Wilhemina’s hair, brushing it back from her face. 

“I know exactly what you mean.” 

“Stay with me,” Wilhemina breathed, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Mildred’s thigh. And Mildred’s fingers stuttered in her hair as another tear fell, unbidden, onto her cheek. 

Because she wanted to. She was pulled tight to this woman, an anomaly of existence, the very piece of her that she had always felt was missing, that she had always been searching for. 

But she could never be so irresponsible to leave her home and leave her work and settle in with a woman that she had only known for two days. 

“Stupid, idiotic girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Could she? 

~~~ 

She had said no. And Wilhemina had broken right there, exposed and entirely too vulnerable, in her lap. 

She had cried herself to sleep that night, curled against Mildred as she cooed and shushed her and stroked delicate fingers through her hair. 

And when she woke in the morning, filled with the smell of Mildred and the feel of Mildred and the taste of Mildred still on her tongue, everything seemed a bit grey. 

They made breakfast, speaking politely and laughing occasionally. Always broken, always half-formed. Got dressed and ready for the day, separately. Dolled themselves up in different types of armor—pantyhose, gloves, skirts, glasses. 

And then Mildred left. 

And then, she came back. 

It was like the universe couldn’t fathom them being apart, a rip torn through their plane of existence when Mildred boarded her train and went back home, clear across the country. 

Wilhemina hadn’t gone with her to the station, but she could feel when she left the city, when she left the state. It was a series of ties being broken, strings snapping in her chest as each one was pulled to breaking and eventually gave out. 

Except the last one. The one that left a buzzing in Wilhemina’s ear, a ringing every time her cane tapped down that sounded so awfully close to the way Mildred sighed just as she was about to orgasm. The way she hummed, barely audible, when they kissed. 

That tie remained. And one day, almost three months later, it got hotter. 

Wilhemina had been making dinner, listening to the television drone on as she stirred her pasta in the pot, when her chest warmed. It was so sudden and so all-consuming that she almost dropped her tongs, Mildred’s name pounding through her head on a loop. 

She had known what was coming before it did. She could sense her presence. Could practically see her smoothing down her skirt and running a finger over the brim of her hat as she walked up Wilhemina’s drive. 

But the knock on the door — soft, three times — had still made Wilhemina jump, a lump of emotion lodging in her throat as she grabbed for her cane and walked slowly to the front door. 

She knew it was her. Deep down, she knew it in her soul. They were tied together, whether Wilhemina liked it or not. But there was still that tiny, nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her not to get her hopes up. That wishing only led to disappointment. 

Until she opened the door, heart pounding, and saw Mildred Ratched standing perfectly straight on her doorstep, a singular suitcase in hand. 

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, like she needed confirmation. Like she was seeing a ghost. 

Mildred swallowed, the smallest of smiles pushing at her lips. 

“I was transferred to an institution not far from here,” she said softly, pointing absently behind her before ducking her head against her blush. 

But Wilhemina caught it. She caught everything with this masterpiece. 

“I couldn’t stand the thought of living in this city and...” She cleared her throat, fingers fidgeting with the handle of her suitcase. “And being apart from you.”

And just as Wilhemina glanced past her at the taxi sitting idle in the street, Mildred looked up, eyes glassy and almost vibrating with emotion. 

“Does your offer still stand?”

Wilhemina had to physically bite the inside of her cheek to keep tears from her eyes, her fingers itching and playing on the top of her cane accordingly. 

“Are the rest of your bags in the taxi?” Wilhemina asked, trying not to focus on the way Mildred’s chin was trembling. Trying not to hear the pounding in her head to kiss her. 

Mildred nodded, and then Wilhemina was moving past her. A gloved hand skimmed over Wilhemina’s shoulder as she passed, just fleeting enough to be a tap.

“I haven’t paid the driver yet, I—“

But Wilhemina turned, and the angle was exactly like the first time she had walked past her in that stuffy university. But this time, the setting sun was glinting off of Mildred’s hair and there was a hope in her eyes, an intimacy that had Wilhemina’s hand tightening on her cane to keep her balance. 

“You go inside,” she started, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. “Make yourself comfortable, set your things down. I’ll retrieve the rest of your bags and take care of the cab fare.” 

It’s the least I can do, for him bringing you back to me.

Not even five minutes later, Mildred’s luggage was stacked in the foyer and the cab was driving away as Wilhemina stalked back up the short walk to her door. 

She had expected Mildred to be sitting at the dining table, or putting her things in the bedroom. But to her surprise, when she closed the door, locked it safely behind her, and turned, Mildred was standing in the middle of her entryway, still holding tight to her suitcase and watching Wilhemina with sharp eyes. 

Wilhemina tapped her cane, swallowing, and she didn’t miss the way Mildred’s eyes flicked to it. 

And then, just like that, Mildred dropped her suitcase and practically ran to Wilhemina, gloved hands pulling her face down, pulling their mouths together.

Wilhemina let herself moan, tears instantly pricking her eyes at the memory of how good this felt. How right. And then Mildred’s hands were on her waist and she was pushing her back against the door. Hard. 

“I missed you so much, Mina,” she breathed between kisses, peppering them over Wilhemina’s cheeks and down her jaw. 

And then the tears did fall, because she had missed Mildred, too. So, incredibly much. More than she would have missed the air she breathed, the food she ate. More than she had ever missed anyone or anything in her entire life. 

Her soul had been ripped from her, torn away and shipped off across the country. And now it was back, and with every kiss, they sewed themselves back together. 

Stitch by stitch. Piece by piece. 

~~~ 

She crowned herself with her nurse’s hat, pinning her hair back carefully around it and buttoning it up in the back. Wilhemina watched her. Watched the way she stood a bit straighter. Watched the way her feet came together and she shifted her weight, perfectly even. Perfectly level. 

Wilhemina walked over, drawn to her like a magnet. And her cane clicked as she went, tapping down beside her and forcing a smirk to curl Mildred’s lips as she glanced at Wilhemina in the mirror. 

She walked right up to her, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling Mildred back against her chest as her mouth found her ear. 

“You look impeccable, darling.”

Mildred quirked a brow, eyes like daggers as they bored into Wilhemina from the mirror. She hummed. 

“Almost good enough to eat.” Wilhemina pressed a kiss to her jaw, letting her eyes rake over Mildred’s perfect neck, the way it quivered as she swallowed, the shine of her hair pulled up in impeccable fashion just above her collar. She fingered the fabric there, letting her nails scrape over the soft skin just below her ear. 

“Why don’t you take a bite, hm?” Mildred’s voice caught as Wilhemina’s nail pricked against her pulse point, and when she spoke again it was low, raspy. Dangerous. “See what happens.”

Wilhemina growled, leaning forward and tugging her earlobe between her teeth. She pulled Mildred flush against her, hand splaying out on her stomach. And Mildred gasped as her fingers found Wilhemina’s thigh, nails piercing the fabric. Wilhemina felt her swallow down a moan, tense, stutter. And then there was a long breath and a shaky sigh, and the nails in Wilhemina’s leg retracted as Mildred pulled away. 

“I can’t be late for my first day of work, dear.” 

She brushed down her dress, straightening out that perfectly pinned crown and putting the finishing touches on her hair. 

And then, before Wilhemina could blink, Mildred wrapped her slender fingers around her tie and pulled her forward, dragging her out of the bedroom and through the house to the front door. 

A disapproving tap of her cane, a small frown, and then Mildred had her purse and pressed a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s cheek, skirting out the door with a dark, “See you tonight, cinnamon.” 

And she almost felt like it was a threat. 

~~~ 

Wilhemina had never known love. 

She had told Mildred flat out over dinner one night when traumas and pasts and fears were all laid bare on the table. 

Mildred was different. She had known it and lost it. Seen people shattered beyond repair because of it. And she had put up those brick and mortar walls around her heart so that she couldn’t feel that kind of sadness ever again. 

Yet somehow, every night that she came home to Wilhemina’s arms and her small smile and her absolute and complete honesty, she felt those walls start to fall. Little by little, brick by brick. And every morning when she awoke in her lover’s arms, after breakfasts shared and dressed zipped and buttoned, she had to rebuild it. Fortify herself for the world that lay just outside their door. The evil of it. The hurt. 

It became all-consuming, this uneasy thought of love. It permeated every minute of her waking day, and haunted her dreams like some sort of cruel, intangible thing. But she always woke in Wilhemina’s arms. Safe and protected and entirely too vulnerable. 

And one day, one tiny day that should have been absolutely nothing, Mildred was so consumed with the inkling of possibility of falling entirely too hard in love with Wilhemina, and what that meant for her future in this world, that she lost herself. Faltered, for a moment. Had to do up the buttons of her uniform twice before getting them to align. And forgot her lunch as she grabbed her purse and walked out the door. 

~~~ 

It wasn’t unusual for Mildred to leave for work before Wilhemina did. It wasn’t unusual that she left for work before Wilhemina was even awake and out of bed. 

At first it had scared Wilhemina, waking up alone and cold in a bed that had been so comforting and warm just hours before. Abandoned. Forgotten. 

But Mildred had only been in the kitchen, cracking her eggs with such precision that Wilhemina had almost decided right then and there never to touch another egg again. 

It just so happened that Mildred’s mornings got earlier just as Wilhemina’s nights got longer, the flex and pull of their schedules only crossing at certain points. A whirlwind of a double helix in flux. 

Those days, Mildred would slip out of bed so quietly that Wilhemina wouldn’t even notice, usually awoken by the inevitable cold of an empty bed, rather than some sound from the bathroom or clattering from the kitchen. 

Today had been no different. Today had been routine. Until Wilhemina opened the refrigerator almost three hours after Mildred had gone, only to find her lunch sitting packed and abandoned on the second shelf. 

It wasn’t even a thought, the decision to take it to her. Just an action. The institution was on her way to work — well, almost on her way — and Wilhemina was already running early. It was nothing. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Wilhemina picked through the patients that crowded the common room, pursing her lips against the disgusted expression that was forming against her will. She stepped carefully, cane tapping lightly as she watched where she was going. The facility was impeccable, but this space, so unlike the hall, belonged to the patients. Not the nurses. Blankets were left forgotten on the ground, and shoes had been kicked off. And Wilhemina was just uncomfortable enough to worry about losing her footing. 

She made it all the way to the other side of the room, coming up on a window like a sanctuary, before she realized that Mildred wasn’t here. 

But just as the thought crossed her mind and she leaned forward to peer outside, Wilhemina heard her. 

It was easy enough. The rooms were lavish, but mostly tile, and Mildred’s voice tended to carry, no matter how soft. But right now, it was hard. Harder than Wilhemina had ever heard it. 

“I don’t care if he won’t take it, he needs it. If he doesn’t take his medicine, then not only will it put everyone else here at risk, but how soon can we expect them all to start refusing their medication? They need it, Betsy. They don’t know what is good for them. We know what is best.”

Wilhemina turned from the window, Mildred’s lunch clutched between gloved fingers. And Mildred must have noticed the movement, because she looked up. But just as Wilhemina let her guard down and offered a small smile, fingers twitching in a half wave, Mildred’s face melted, something like humiliation flushing through her perfect complexion as she marched straight to Wilhemina. 

Shit. 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing here?” Mildred whispered, gripping her fingers into Wilhemina’s elbow and pulling her back across the room to the nurse’s station. 

“You forgot your lunch,” Wilhemina tried, keeping her voice down. Because somehow this was what wasn’t allowed. This was what was compromising. 

A lunch. 

Mildred’s humiliation shifted to horror, glancing for maybe the first time down at Wilhemina’s hands. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I don’t understand what the issue is, Nurse Ratched.” Wilhemina made sure to drag out her title. Just a bit too loud. Because she couldn’t seriously be upset with her for trying to be kind. For trying to do the right thing. She couldn’t possibly— 

Mildred’s eyes narrowed before she glanced behind her. And when she spoke, it was through gritted teeth. 

“Go set that down over there.” She indicated to a desk in the corner of the room. “And then go back to work before you screw something else up.”

A flat laugh fell out of Wilhemina almost before she could help it, fingers tightening on the bagged lunch. And before she knew what she was doing, she had shoved it into Mildred’s hands, leaning in impossibly close as she growled.

“Go set it down yourself.” She tapped her cane, too hard. Too loud. A few of the patients covered their ears. “You can be certain that this is the last time I ever do you any favors. Do you understand?”

Mildred’s nostrils flared, and her fingers twitched over the bag. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

And then Wilhemina straightened, nose twitching as she quirked her brow. “And let’s hope you never need it again.”

And then she was gone, breezing past Mildred before she said something else and the tears sticking in Wilhemina’s throat pushed up and fell. 

She heard the bag crunch as she hit her cane on the floor, propelling herself forward, one step after the other, closer and closer to the exit. And she hated the way she hoped for Mildred’s voice to ring out, to call her back. 

She almost looked back over her shoulder, a moment of weakness that she couldn’t afford. So she ducked her head instead, plowing ahead and storming down the hallway. Out the doors. All the way down the stairs to the street. 

She fumed in the taxi, fumed all the way to her desk. Fumed for the next nine and a half hours that she sat at work, fingers picking at her typewriter as she swiveled back and forth in her chair, digging and twisting her cane into the weak wood floors as she ran over arguments and words to spit at her Mildred. Her Mildred. Nurse Ratched. 

They weren’t the same woman. But neither was she. How could she be? 

By the time Jefferson came to get her, going over final plans for the next day and collecting her paperwork, she had dug a nice little dent into the floor. 

Small, deep. A bullet hole kneaded slowly and steadily. Just like the one Mildred’s words had worn into her heart. 

~~~ 

“You wouldn’t like it if I showed up at your place of work without warning, would you?” Mildred’s voice was steady, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Don’t—“ 

“Would you?” 

Wilhemina’s cane hit the ground. “Stop that. Don’t treat me like you treat them. Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what? I’m just asking a simple question. The answer is either yes, or no.”

“Mildred, stop shrinking me.”

“You think I’m trying to control you?”

“No,” Wilhemina growled, stalking over to her as the last of her patience wore through. “I know you’re trying to control me. And you know that that’s not how this relationship works.” 

She bent over Mildred, practically panting, and Mildred was shocked when a pang of regret shot through her. But then something hardened, because no. Wilhemina didn’t get to win this one. She had come to her office out of the blue. Could have exposed them. Put them both in danger. 

Because Mildred had been careless. Forgotten her lunch. All for being so consumed with the idea of—

Mildred tipped her chin up, eyes hard as they met Wilhemina’s fiery ones. She stood her ground. 

“Apologize.”

Wilhemina set her jaw. “No.”

She leaned up on her toes, leveling their height. “Apologize.”

Wilhemina shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing as her nose twitched. As her jaw set. 

And then there were hands on Mildred’s shoulders and Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, hard and fast and furious as she pushed her back, back, back, slamming her hard against the wall. 

“Fuck,” Mildred hissed, and then Mina broke from her, mouth on her ear as she purred. 

“Language.” 

She scoffed, shoving at her, needing her off of her so that she could breathe. Think. Because when her hands were on her like this, and she was breathing like this, quick and ragged and right behind her ear, Mildred’s mind only comprehended one thing. 

“Mina,” she tried, nails digging in as Wilhemina pulled her off the wall for a split second, only to throw her back against it again. She cried out, something hard knotting over her heart. 

So this was how it was going to be? Fine. 

Mildred lunged forward, kissing Wilhemina sloppily, desperately. Any way she could hold on to some semblance of control. 

And she gasped, just as Mildred knew she would. So she took the opening, gripping hard into her waist and pushing her off, before her nails raked down Wilhemina’s arm and her fingers closed around her wrist. 

Mildred pulled, yanking Wilhemina after her, across the living room, around the sofa. Down the short hallway, pulling harder every time Wilhemina tried to plant her feet. Until she threw her into the bedroom, Mina practically spinning around and pinning Mildred against the wall, the door jam digging into her spine. 

She cried out, hands flying to Wilhemina’s shoulders. Clawing at her. Grappling for something to hold her down and hold her steady so she could get her advantage back. 

“You’re so fucking infuriating,” Wilhemina growled, biting hard on Mildred’s neck. But no. She didn’t get to win. 

So she pushed, hard, and sent Mina stumbling back. And Mildred was right there, stalking after her and shoving again, and this time, when Wilhemina stumbled, she landed hard on the bed. 

Mildred was over her in seconds, panting as she crushed her mouth back against Wilhemina’s, tongues fighting as their teeth clashed. Her fingers found buttons and she yanked, the rip cutting through the room. 

She didn’t even wait for Wilhemina to shrug the shirt off, fingers already dug into the waistband of her skirt and rucking it down, down, down. 

She got it down around her ankles, but as she braced herself on Mina’s knees and pulled herself back up, Wilhemina’s hand found her chin, pulling her in for a bruising kiss and holding her firm as her free hand flicked open the buttons on her shirt, one by one, so fast it should have been impossible. 

“Get your shirt off,” Mildred panted, hands scrambling to find purchase on Mina as she crawled up on the bed and straddled her. 

But Mina pulled back, a smirk like death making her eyes go black. 

“Ladies first.” 

And that was the last straw. Mildred’s patience had already been tested from the ordeal this morning, amplified by the unexpectedness of Wilhemina showing up at her work. That stupid, thoughtful way she brought her the forgotten lunch. The tiny wave. Like she cared. Like she—

Mildred growled, practically a scream as she grabbed Wilhemina’s shoulders and shoved her down until she was swallowed by the mattress. Splayed a hand out over her chest to keep her pinned. Keep her down. 

She could feel Mina’s heart hammering, could feel how fast she was panting. Gasping. 

Nails clawed at her arm, dragging down as Mildred cried out. There would be blood soon. She knew that feeling. 

But then Wilhemina pulled her hand from her chest, twining their fingers hard and pressing hot, wet, quick kisses down over the already reddening marks. Yanked her fingers back. Licked. Right over her palm. 

Mildred moaned, the feeling going straight to her core, and then her hands were in Wilhemina’s hair and she was pulling her neck taunt to get better access. So she could bite and suck and mark her for everyone to see. 

She sat up on her knees, gaining leverage. And Mina’s hands were on her ass in an instant, kneading. Hard. 

“Logic would imply that I shouldn’t let you touch me until you apologize,” Mildred managed, back to base form as she leaned into Mina’s hands. As she moaned into her neck. 

Her teeth dug into a particularly sensitive spot, pinching the already flushed skin. And just as Mina gasped, just as she thought she’d won, Mina’s hands fell to her thighs, the world spun, and she was on her back. And Mina’s hand was wrapped tight around her throat. 

“No more talking,” she growled, her free hand scraping roughly down Mildred’s stomach, under the band of her skirt, and straight between her thighs. 

“Fuck, Mina,” Mildred gasped, the words melting into a groan as her thumb slid over her underwear. 

Wilhemina shoved her further into the bed, fingers tightening. And Mildred’s vision blurred at the edges as she gasped for breath. 

Perfect. Delicious. Exactly what she wanted. 

No talking. Only feeling. Only Wilhemina. 

But then Mina spoke, voice hot by her ear. 

“I said no talking. I don’t want another word out of you until you’re ready to apologize.”

She pushed her underwear aside on the last word, slipping two fingers easily inside. Mildred cried out, hands grabbing for the arm braced on her throat and holding on tight as her hips started rocking of their own accord. 

“Apologize for what,” she panted, eyes screwing shut as Mina curled her fingers. 

A flat laugh. A squeeze to her throat. Heat pooling between her thighs. 

“For making an entire scene just because I brought you your lunch. Because I took time out of my day to make sure you were taken care of.”

Mildred was slammed back into the mattress again. 

“What does your logic say about that, Nurse Ratched?”

There were tears pricking at Mildred’s eyes now, because she wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t. But Wilhemina’s fingers picked up their pace, and then her mouth was on hers, and Mildred knew exactly what was coming. 

Mina bit down on her lip. Hard. Yanked at it, pulling until Mildred whimpered. 

“Apologize,” she growled, fingers twisting and curling and nails pricking against Mildred’s throat. 

Mildred barely had the competence to shake her head no, but she managed it. Because as loud as her body was screaming with a need for more, for so much more of this woman, her brain wouldn’t let her. 

The rational part of Mildred’s brain kept the words stuck down in her throat, pounding that she didn’t need to say them. That this wasn’t her fault. That she had only been protecting herself. But the sentimental part kept pushing them back up again, harder and harder the longer Mildred stared at Wilhemina, eyes dark and predatory and so filled with hurt. 

“I’m not letting you come until you apologize,” Wilhemina scolded, nails scratching over Mildred’s throat as her fingers moved faster, harder. Her thumb brushed over her clit. 

Mildred sobbed, entire body vibrating with the beg for release. 

It almost felt like she was choking, the way she was swallowing the words down, only for them to get stuck again. Suffocate her. 

Wilhemina shook her head softly, holding Mildred’s eye contact like a lifeline as the smallest smile graced her lips. An angel above her. Salvation. 

And that was it. Mildred broke for the millionth time with this woman, relinquishing control. 

Letting go. 

Her orgasm hit her without Mina’s permission, shaking through her body and sending lightning down her spine. And the words were pulled from her just before her vision went black, hands twisting on Mina’s arm and toes curling hard in the sheets. 

“I lo-ove you.” 

She didn’t realize that she hadn’t apologized, the wrong words coming out of her, until she blinked her vision back and saw Wilhemina’s wide eyes, clarity piercing through whatever hurt and determination had been there just moments before. 

And then Mildred realized why the words had burned so hot in her throat. It wasn’t an apology. It was the truth. The reason. The explanation of why she had behaved the way she did and why she had lashed out. Why she had felt so scared and vulnerable that she couldn’t emotionally handle seeing Wilhemina somewhere she didn’t expect her. 

She wanted to apologize then, wanted to take them back. Because she had let herself slip. Again. And all it seemed to be doing was causing more trouble. She wasn’t tampering anything down, she was spinning the world further and further out of control. Unthreading her reality and watching the picture unravel before her eyes. 

“How do you always seem to mess everything up?”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Everything you touch turns to dust. How is that even possible? You should win some sort of prize for screwing this many things up. I swear.”

Wilhemina’s hand over hers brought her back, the air deathly still as Mildred’s voice rang off the walls. Over and over and over. 

She met Wilhemina’s eyes, heart still hammering in her chest as she fought to regulate her breathing. To calm herself down. It had always been so easy. Why was it so difficult now? 

“Does that scare you...?” Mina asked softly, shifting over her as her gaze burned through Mildred. 

Before she knew what she was doing, she nodded. Because it did. She did.

And Wilhemina matched her, nodding in time. “It scares me, too.” 

At that she did apologize, a soft “I’m sorry” falling from her lips in a last desperate attempt to calm the situation. To salvage the last piece of anything. To pull control back down over herself. 

But Wilhemina only shook her head, a softness in her eyes that Mildred had never seen before. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

And then that heavy silence. So familiar. So comfortable. Give their souls space. Let them figure it out. 

The words would come when they were ready. 

Wilhemina sniffed, tracing her thumb over Mildred’s cheek. “Do you remember when I told you that I had never known love?” 

And Mildred nodded again, finding herself unable to do anything else with the way Mina was staring at her. Eyes glittering. Galaxies. 

“I’m not sure that’s true anymore,” she whispered, gaze falling to Mildred’s mouth. Across the ages and spaces and miles between them. It could only have been inches now. “I don’t think it’s been true for a while.” 

Mildred let the words swim around her, furnishing her sanctuary here, pressed into a bed underneath Wilhemina. Locked in orbit, pulled in tight and unable to do anything but stare. 

She startled as a tear fell onto her cheek, swiping at it quickly as she sniffed. Came back to the present. The room fell back into place. 

And then her world, her life, her eternity, her Wilhemina kissed her. 

“My beautiful Millie,” she murmured, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. Until the world swam again, this time for a completely different reason, happiness and joy threading through her and pouring like stardust in her veins. 

“Yours.” 

~~~ 

“Shall we?” 

Mildred threaded her arm through Wilhemina’s, pushing her hair up and letting her fingers ghost over the rim of her hat. 

“I’d love nothing more, Ms. Venable.” 

And the way that they walked together, their steps perfectly in time, Wilhemina’s cane tapping as she moved forward steadily, one foot after the other, matched with Mildred’s calculated walk, the way her feet barely crossed and she was almost pigeon-toed, like she was strutting down a runway. 

It should have been illegal, just after the war. It should have been frowned upon. But the power that flowed off of them when they were arm in arm like this, the way Mildred’s heart swelled and her chin tipped up and she managed to physically look down on everyone in her path, had people scattering like rats as their heels clicked along the tile. 

And the entire night, everyone at Wilhemina’s office party steered more than clear of them. Hushed whispers behind their backs had Wilhemina’s hands skirting just a bit too far down Mildred’s hips as she took small sips of her champagne, setting her gloved fingers itching and her thighs pressing together under her perfectly asymmetrical skirt. 

And Mildred made it a point to turn her head, just so, and whisper in Wilhemina’s ear whenever she was mid-conversation with her coworkers. Sometimes it was nothing. Sometimes it was filthy. 

But either way, she knew just the breath on Wilhemina’s ear was enough to make her pulse run a bit quicker. 

And sure enough, before dinner was even served, Wilhemina had made some sort of excuse and the two of them were running from the taxi, through the rain, and huddling together on the porch as Mina dug for her key. 

That night was her favorite night. 

Both of them soaked to the bone, sharing over-poured glasses of wine, half-dressed and drying out in front of the fireplace. 

And when Wilhemina gave her that smile, that particularly fond smile where her cheeks pushed up and her eyes softened, Mildred pushed her tongue into her cheek, fighting her own grin. 

They kissed until the fire burnt out, embers barely flickering in the black room. And just as the last of the light died, Mildred and Wilhemina sticky and naked and curled together on the floor, Wilhemina made to get up. 

Mildred’s hand on her arm stopped her, and she snuggled further against her to keep her still. 

“No light tonight,” she said softly. And she meant it. 

She wasn’t frightened. Not now. Not anymore. 

“Millie?” 

And Mildred let herself smile as she nodded. Because she had never been more certain of anything than she was of loving Wilhemina in this moment, and of letting herself be loved in return. Letting herself go. 

The world wasn’t logical. The world wasn’t ordered. Not when it came to her. Wilhemina had come in and spun her right out of control. And she kept doing it. Over and over again. Like it was a game. 

Maybe it was. 

And as Mildred leaned forward, capturing Mina’s lips in a languid kiss and humming contentedly, she realized that she was absolutely fine losing, if it meant that she got to have this. 

Tag List: @shineestark​ @duchessfics​ @darling-dontforgetme​ @midnight-lestrange​ @nerdaroo​ @thatgirlintheleatherjacket​

[miraculous786]

Adrien and tim being conspiracy nuts together? I feel like if adrien could do his own thing he would end up believing some crazy conspiracy. Add a very sleep deprived tim who is running three days worth of coffee amd i can see the two making up some very crazy/entertaining conspiracys

Masterlist

Crazy Coffee Conspiracies

"Hey, Mari?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you read about this?"

The woman that Adrien was talking to shook her head, not bothering to look up. Her fingers were occupied with weaving a needle in and out of a sheet of fabric, that was a dark shade of scarlet.

"There's been a conspiracy theory floating around Tumblr about Ladybird and Red Robin."

"Really?" Marinette asked in an amused tone.

"Yep. People are saying that the two are dating and both aliens from different planets."

She froze in her stitching.

"...What?"

"Crazy, right? And there's loads of proof!" he exclaimed. "For starters, they always patrol together. Second, there's been pictures of them holding hands for god knows how long. Third, did you see what happened with the Riddler last weekend? They ripped into him so much that he started crying! #CoupleGoals!"

"...Did you just say hashta-"

"So, do you think it could be true?"

Marinette pursed her lips, whilst absentmindedly poking at a few pins stuck to a pin cushion nearby. "Ehh, what the hell, sure. Just give me some solid proof of all the alien stuff and I'm on board with the theory."

"Already on it!" Adrien said with a grin, as he stood up from the sofa he was sat at. Then, he made his way over to the front door, but not before bidding, "I'll be back later with some evidence."

As soon as the door shut, the designer shook her head, proceeding to carry on with her work.

"I'm not an alien," she muttered to herself. "At least...I don't think so."

~*~*~

"Hi Tim! Whatcha got there?"

"...A smoothie."

Adrien watched as the CEO sipped out of a pink mug, that contained a chocolate brown liquid within. Cream and bubbles sat atop the surface of it.

"Are you sure that's a smoothie?"

Squinting blue eyes glanced at him in confusion. "It's coffee, what are you talking about?"

"...Nevermind."

He situated himself at the kitchen counter that Tim was leaning on, and started, "I wanted to ask you for some help on a theory I've stumbled upon."

"Sure," the answer was, as the man in the room took another gulp of his sugary beverage. "What's the theory?"

"That Ladybird and Red Robin are aliens."

There was a moment of silence.

"...Huh. Is there any evidence?"

"Thaaat's what I actually needed help with," Adrien revealed. "I want to convince Mari that's it's true, since I actually think it is."

Tim gained a slightly confused expression on his features, prompting the blond to elaborate, "Marinette. You're girlfriend?"

He gazed to the side a bit, then spoke in a daze, "Y-Yeah, my...my girlfriend."

"Are you okay? When's the last time you slept?"

"Sleep is for the weak. Now, I believe you said something about Mari- I mean, Ladybird being an alien?"

~*~*~

"So, Pixie, any news you got for us?"

"There is, yes. I've managed to get a lease to open up an MDC store in Gotham, actually."

"Where?"

Marinette turned to Bruce with a wide smile. "There's a reason I didn't say. I don't want you guys to come and buy everything on my shelves anytime soon."

"Oh, c'mon, you know we wouldn't!" Dick whined with a pout. At the flat look he got, he backtracked, "Well, maybe we would, but-"

The oldest cut himself off when the lights in the living room dimmed, followed by the television screen nearby lighting up. It revealed what seemed to be a chart of some sort, though the scale and readings were confusing, to say the least.

"Attention all of the Wayne Family," a voice boomed from the entrance of the place, making everyone snap their heads there. The sight of Tim with a pointing stick in his hands met them. "I have gathered you here today to discuss a conspiracy that - after filing through the amount of evidence I have - will be proved true."

"Replacement, what the hell? 'Keeping Up With The Kardashians' was on."

"Oh no..." Marinette groaned, head held in her hands.

"...and so to prove that they are indeed aliens in a relationship, I present you this."

The TV soon projected a screenshot of a Tumblr post, that had parts of its text circled in red.

"As the user 'NoobMaster69' explains, Red Robin has frequently been seen to only be living off of coffee and 'Five Hour Energy'. How else could one do such a thing without eating? Or drinking anything else? Well, it's simple. He must be an alien."

Adrien, who had suddenly appeared beside the rest of the family, nodded along with a determined gaze, but then raised a hand. "But what about Ladybird? How is she one?"

"There isn't much to say about her," Tim replied. "How does all of the damage caused in any of her escapades get reversed? How was she able to befriend the Sirens? How is she able to date an alien from another planet? Easy - she has to be one too."

Everyone in the room remained quiet for another few seconds, until Marinette decided to speak up. "Honey, what the actual f-"

"Hey. No bad language, Pixie," Jason hushed with a hand covering her mouth. "But seriously Timbers, what are you even doing right now? When was the last time you slept?"

"...Sleep is for the-"

"Weak, we know."

Dick sent his brother a worried look. "Tim, you do realise that you're Red Robin, right? And that you're girlfriend is Ladybird? Marinette here?"

There was no answer. Bloodshot eyes simply shone in confusion.

"Master Dick, I do believe that you mean fiancée when speaking of Miss Marinette."

"...WHAT?!"

"Wait, you guys didn't know? I thought Tim told you after he proposed to me, didn't he?"

"Wha- Pixie, no! We had no idea!"

The bluenette let out a tired sigh. "Great."

There was a poke at her shoulder, causing her to turn her head to a wide-eyed Adrien, who was studying them all in panic.

"Y-You're Ladybird?" he asked in disbelief.

"Great job, Replacement. You've just shared your identity and Pixie's here with someone else."

"What identity? I'm not Batman."

"You're Red Robin, Drake. It doesn't take a genius to tell that you're the same."

~*~*~

@soupfilledboots @northernbluetongue @moonystars14

@zebrabaker - Thank you for the help on figuring out the name of ‘Five Hour Energy’! :D