#it's become an instinctual greeting to me now but i always say it in my head luckily

[milf-harrington]

unlocked memory: my friend greeting us with "hello L, G, B, T community" every time she walked into the art room at recess/lunch

#we all sat around this one table in the art room every day #mostly bc i sat in the art room every day bc i was usually working on cert stuff (and my art teacher let me make coffee) #it's become an instinctual greeting to me now but i always say it in my head luckily #captain speaks

[the-dream-team]

Can I Try Again

Another ridiculously fluffy one-shot for @efkgirldetective's summer of jily week four prompt: picking berries // I know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right // the entire song, pink in the night <3

She is beautiful and he is in a perpetual state of falling. Down and down and down the goddamn rabbit hole, but somehow the further James plummets, the brighter his life becomes. It’s the kind of brightness that blinds him- somewhat painfully- and leaves his vision spotty, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lily Evans walks ahead of him, a spring in her step, sunshine pouring through her hair. She’s cut it short for the summer, just above her shoulders, and he’s mesmerized by the way it bounces around her neck as she walks through the gardens of his family’s home. It’s an image he’s played over in his head an infinite number of times, but his rosiest daydreams don’t hold a candle to the real thing. The afternoon light hits his glasses just right and suddenly there’s a halo of glowing stars framing her as she tucks a dark red strand behind her ear. He can’t even see her face, but it doesn’t matter. I could stare at your back all day.

He is the luckiest boy in the world and every moment is made up of the sweetest form of torture. Agony and exuberance whipping his heart back and forth like a rogue Bludger.

She must know, he thinks. Must have some sort of clue that she’s occupied every corner of his mind for well over a year now. Even more so now, after the platform. He wishes more than anything for the ability to read minds as she glances over her shoulder with those startlingly green eyes, that friendly grin.

He can’t help but smile back- or maybe he was already smiling before she even turned around. It doesn’t matter. By some miracle, she’s here, and he can only marvel at the kindness of fate.

***

It had been a passing comment. One of those early morning conversations as his friends frantically scribbled out unfinished essays while shoving waffles down their throats. Chatter muffled by mouthfuls of eggs and yawning. Remus had commented offhandedly about the fruit bowl being passed around, and then-

“Oh, raspberries are my favorite.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already looking at her when she spoke. But truthfully, he was always looking at Lily, a habit he’d long since stopped fighting once he realized how fruitless his efforts were. She was beautiful and he was hopeless. Simply lucky to be in her presence. She was the sun, and he, but a lonely planet, entirely reliant on and endlessly seeking out her light.

Sirius spoke the words James should have if his mind hadn’t gone fuzzy from hearing her voice.

“You know, the Potters have a raspberry patch in their gardens.”

“Oh, really?” She glanced from Sirius to James with a brilliant smile and excited eyes, so purposefully glued to his that he had to duck his head and rake a hand through his hair to hide his heating cheeks.

“That’s right,” he said more to his plate of sausages than to her. “They’re usually ripe to pick by early August.” When he peered back up, she was still looking his way.

“You should come over this summer and take some off our hands,” said Sirius casually, turning towards James as if it had been his idea.

“Yeah,” he jumped in a little too eagerly. “I mean- if you’d like, you’re more than welcome.”

Her smile widened, rounding the apples of her cheeks in a way that made his stomach flip pleasantly. “That sounds like fun.”

He assumed she’d forget the conversation, it had been just another morning, just another casual chat among housemates, but that didn’t keep him from daydreaming about the potential of a far-off day in August rather incessantly during the following months. But then as the school year ended and summer rolled on painfully slowly (and Lily-less), an owl arrived. And her handwriting crawled across the page like a message written in the clouds.

***

Lily swings the woven basket back and forth in her pursuit of the best raspberries. There’s already an impressive bounty growing in her basket, far more than he’s managed to collect- too busy watching her kneel down and pluck berries off their delicate branches to pick any of his own.

He turns to a leafy bush, green and lively and swaying slightly in the warm breeze, and quickly pinches off a handful of berries in an attempt to catch up with her. When she spins around, he’s thankful for the distraction. A minute earlier and she would have caught him staring. Again.

She smiles pleasantly and brushes her fringe off her sweaty forehead with the back of her wrist. James’ heart leaps into his throat.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, but not accusingly.

“No I haven’t,” he responds, voice gravelly from underuse. “Just been busy picking raspberries.”

She glances at his measly basket, then back to his face with arching brows and an amused smirk.

He can’t help his own guilty grin. “Alright, Evans, I’m sorry we can’t all be unreasonably talented at everything we do.”

“It’s berry picking, Potter,” she laughs, “not advanced Arithmancy.”

In retaliation, he plucks a raspberry off of the nearest branch and playfully throws it at her. She somehow has the gall to lean her head back and catch the goddamn berry between her teeth. His brain short circuits. He’s quite certain his jaw is on the ground. She acts as though this is no big deal, swallowing the fruit with a satisfied smile, her tongue brushing her lower lip before tossing another into her mouth.

“Oh, these are delicious!”

He can’t form a response even if he wants to. Even if it was a matter of life or death, which it sure as hell feels like. He can only stare at her mouth, at her lips stained raspberry-pink, and lose himself in the knowledge that he knows how they feel against his own- even just briefly.

***

The platform teemed with students stretching their legs after the long journey home from school, saying their goodbyes to friends as their families greeted them for the summer.

A pit sat in James’ stomach- heavy and demoralizing- the entire train ride back to London. He knew she’d be gone soon. Back with her parents in Cokeworth for two excruciating months before their seventh year began. He’d taken their close proximity for granted during the school year, and as he faced a summer without the promise of her warmth, he wondered if it was even possible living in the dark.

He laughed loudly at a joke Peter told, overcompensating for the fact he’d missed the punchline while his thoughts were spiraling over her. Sirius shot him a look that suggested he wasn’t doing a great job of masking his emotions. Had it been so obvious the entire way home? Could she have noticed the despondency in his eyes, heard the heavy thumping of his heart? He rolled his eyes at Sirius and mustered up the most unbothered smirk he could manage.

But then, without warning, she was in front of him.

“Alright, Potter, don’t let your head overinflate while I’m not around to keep you grounded.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Evans,” he laughed, thankful his voice sounded steadier than he felt. “Just so long as you promise to consider switching your loyalties to Puddlemere. There’s no way the Harpies even make it to the semi-finals this season, and I can’t bear seeing you heartbroken again.”

“Oh, piss off, Potter,” she replied, but the way she threw her arms around his neck seemed to argue she didn’t mean what she said. Instinctually, he hugged her back, and thank Merlin he had her to hold onto as the wind was knocked out of his lungs at her touch. An overwhelming warmth sparkled across every surface their bodies met, and it took every ounce of control he had to restrain the truly pathetic sigh that threatened to escape his throat.

“And I haven’t forgotten,” she spoke into his shoulder, breath hot thorough his t-shirt, “you promised me berry picking this August.”

It would be impossible to miss the rapid beating of his heart through his chest pressed up against hers. “I’m already counting down the days.”

When she pulled back, hands resting on his shoulders for a beat longer than expected, his body moved faster than his brain could keep up with. He leaned forward, aiming for her cheek, but miraculously landing against her mouth- connecting for the briefest of moments before parting again, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them. If it weren’t for the ghost of her lips still burning against his own, he might have thought he’d dreamt it.

“Lily, I’m not waiting any longer, we’re leaving, now,” came the unpleasant voice of her sister from across the platform.

Lily’s disoriented smile faltered slightly before she composed herself again, meeting his eye. “I’ll see you in August?”

“Yeah, August,” he somehow said with his mouth still tingling, forever changed by what they now knew.

***

The memory of her lips, how they feel pressed between his smile, is harder to ignore when they’re in front of him. He can remember the warmth where they touched him over a month ago and absentmindedly he brings a raspberry to his mouth so he can imagine how she must taste.

His emotions were hard enough to control before he knew what he was missing, but now they are impossible to reign in. He forgets how to breathe, and as a result, his head spins maddeningly. Unsure of how much longer he can stand up straight without making a fool out of himself, he walks forward and lays a hand on Lily’s back- partially to lead her forward, partially because the desire to be connected to her in any way is driving him mad.

She lets him guide her through the rows of bushes, under an ancient wooden archway, and across a courtyard of blossoming poppies and forget-me-nots enclosed by walls of hedges. Yellow and purple petals reflect brilliantly in her green eyes, creating their own fields of wildflowers within her irises. He walks her towards a wide, circular fountain in the middle of the grass where bubbling water spills over onto stone tiers and pours into the basin below, its floor littered with glinting coins, dancing under the water’s rippling surface.

He sits down and she follows suit on the stone ledge surrounding the water, partially shaded by an impressive plum tree. Cool droplets spray off the fountain, refreshing like summer rain singing I love you, I love you, I love you. Lily glances his way and he wonders if she can hear his thoughts.

“Are we finished picking berries?” she asks, eyes squinting and nose crinkling in the sun.

“I figured you had enough to feed a village.” He reaches over and grabs a raspberry from her basket and she gasps in faux outrage.

“Are you really stealing my raspberries, Potter?”

He adores his name on her tongue. “My apologies,” he says, pulling a silver Sickle out of his pocket and sliding it over to where she sits. She looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “For your troubles. Go on then, make a wish.”

“Oh!” Her eyes light up and she takes hold of the coin, lifting it to her heart as she closes her eyes in search of a wish.

He thinks he could look at her forever. Happy, sunkissed, an unconscious smile playing across her lips. With her eyes shut, he uses a minute to take a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heart and compose his dopey grin. They’re sitting close together, knees almost touching with the basket of berries between them. As she tosses the Sickle behind her shoulder, he smells the faint scent of her vanilla shampoo.

She noticeably tries to hide her smile when her eyelids flutter back open.

“What did you wish for?” he asks, unable to stop himself.

She freezes with her eyes locked on his. A pink blush spreads across her cheeks, growing darker the longer he stares back at her. “I can’t tell you,” she says, words sounding choked, “or else it won't come true.”

Her flushed face awakens something in his chest, a confidence that blooms magnificently, turns his nervous, pattering heartbeat into a steady, powerful drum.

His voice drops to a hoarse whisper when he asks, “Can I guess?”

Her breath hitches. “I think you might already know, James.” Her words, the sound of his name, melts him down to a puddle. By some miracle, she continues speaking. “Look, I know I’ve kissed you before-”

“But I didn’t do it right,” he says frantically, his hands finding her face and brushing through her hair. He starts to understand why people advise against looking directly at the sun because being this close to her fills him with such astounding emotion he thinks he might explode. She stares up at him, blush deepening, lips parting, and he takes a ragged breath. “Can I try again?”

This time, when she smiles, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He leans in slowly, letting their breath mix together, their noses bump lightly before he closes the space between their lips. She’s soft and warm and beautiful and radiant and he’s never felt a happiness quite like this one, never experienced a kiss this perfect. His fingers travel over her scorching skin and brush her neck as he deepens the kiss, tasting the raspberries on her tongue, his heart soaring as she responds blissfully until they’re both left breathless.

“And again?” she asks, pulling him back with a smile against his lips.

“And again,” he smiles back, marveling, once again, at the kindness of fate.

#summerofjily #look guys #i have never written present tense before so take that information as you will #and of course i switched to past tense for the flashbacks because I guess I want everyone to suffer #have some sickeningly sweet fluff to make up for it lol #i do not love writing kisses! #but I know you guys like when jily seals the deal so I do it for you #absolutely love this prompt and mitski is that glareingly obvious? #plus picking berries is all i've thought about for 24 hours #<3 #who is reading these tags #seriously lmao #jily fic #jily #lily evans #James potter

[walkerismychoice]

Queen of My Heart - Chapter 36

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake X MC, Liam X Olivia, Hana X OC Lydia

Rating: NSFW (I didn’t intend it but it just happened

Summary: Liam finally clears the air with Constantine, and we go to the Fire and Ice Ball at Lythikos, the final social season even before Liam chooses his future Queen.

A/N: Umm, I don’t even want to know how many years it’s been since I updated, but it is with the encouragement of you readers that I was compelled to finish.  My tag list is probably way outdated and I’m sure I’ve missed some poeple who’ve asked to be tagged along the way. Feel free to let me know either way if you want to be tagged or removed from the list.

Tag List: @khakie4 @dreadpirateemma @ritachacha @blackcoffee85 @choices-fanatic @boneandfur @butindeed @simplyaiden-blog @bobasheebaby @traeumerinsworld @theroyalweisme @umccall71 @lizeboredom @debramcg1106 @enmchoices @jadedpixiescribbles @withice @viktoriapetit @mfackenthal @drakesfiance @drakelover78 @speedyoperarascalparty @silviasutton1989 @krisnicjack @devineinterventions2 @choiceswreckedme @notoriouscs @blackcatkita @hamalu @akrenich @drakewalkerfantasy @jamielea81 @andy-loves-corgis @jlouise88 @jovialyouthmusic @sleepwalkingelite @i-miss-trr @dragonball-luver @gkittylove99 @lovingchoices14

Word Count: 2861

Queen of My Heart Chapter Index

“Hello, Father.” Liam greeted Constantine as he walked into the hospital room. He noted the King's color was back to normal and he seemed in good spirits.

"My son, I knew you'd come!" Constantine reached towards Liam with arms outstretched.

Liam just shook his head and held up a hand to stop him. "This is not that kind of visit. I'm here because I know... I know everything."

"What-" Constantine choked out before a coughing fit ensued.

Liam fought the instinctual urge to comfort his father. "Enough with the theatrics. I know about Madeleine...about you threatening the show if they didn't help her win...as if me choosing the woman I plan to spend my life with is some political game to be won."

 "How did you find out? I gave strict orders that my demands were confidential."

Liam scoffed. "Seriously? I just told you I found out you tried to have the producers manipulate me into marrying a woman I don't love, and that's all you had to say for yourself?"

"You have to understand," Constantine pleaded. "Madeleine is what's best for Cordonia, and what's best for Cordonia is what's best for you."

"Unbelievable!" Liam felt the anger rising in his chest like a simmering pot ready to boil over. "You may have told yourself that to feel better about choosing your commitments to Cordonia over happiness, love, family... Maybe you’ve lied to yourself for so long you’ve actually started to believe it, but it's one hundred percent bullshit. I know I'll be a more effective leader if I get to choose the woman I want by my side, and that woman is Olivia."

Constantine's jaw dropped and there was a long pause before he gained his composure to protest. "Absolutely not. You know her family's history. I'd rather have you on the same page as me, but I am still King-"

"Save your breath," Liam shut him down. "You should know that your perfect candidate Madeleine has displayed some behavior quite unbecoming of a future queen, and it is all on film. I know Cordonians are generally flexible with their views on monogamy, but I don't think Madeleine sleeping with the host of the show while she's trying to compete for my affection will look good in anyone's eyes. She has been eliminated from the show and is no longer in the running. That leaves only Riley aside from Olivia, and I know you know what's going on there."

Constantine's face fell momentarily in resignation, but then he perked back up again. "Well, then you can bring back someone else. Kiara is quite lovely and is fit to play the part."

"Enough!" Liam practically shouted much too loud for the thin hospital walls. "Not that I owe you an explanation, but Olivia is stronger, smarter, and more capable of ruling a country than anyone you could hope to pair with me. You seem to forget that I am the son who stuck by you and am now the rightful and only heir to the throne. Your reign is coming to an end, and you have no choice but to accept my decision."

Unexpectedly, Constantine's demeanor changed, a sly grin creeping across his face. "My boy, I've always been a bit worried you were too soft to be king. However, seeing you stand up for yourself today gives me hope. I still don't approve of your choice, but I will no longer stand in your way."

Liam shook his head and let out an incredulous laugh, reeling from Constantine’s sudden change of course. "Bastien will take you back to the palace. We can talk more when I know it's not just the medicine that's gotten to your head."

-----

“Well, this place certainly explains a lot about Olivia.” Riley mused aloud as she scanned the ballroom. Ornate floor to ceiling windows with deep alcoves were surrounded by walls with intricate, gilded accents leading up to a hand-painted ceiling measuring at least 3 stories high. The grandeur of the space was both intimidating and beautiful at the same time, much like its owner.

“Has she shown you all the toys in her armory yet? That too says a lot about Olivia," Drake chuckled at his own joke.

Riley laughed along. “No, but she does constantly remind me she keeps a dagger hidden under her skirt. Are you sure Liam knows what he’s in for?”

"Heh. Better him than me, that's for sure. Liam's warm and fuzzy exterior can make him seem like a pushover, but he can hold his own when it matters. Olivia needs someone who can roll with her mood swings but still call her on her bullshit when needed."

"You know, I admit I had a little trouble wrapping my brain around Liam choosing Olivia, but when you put it that way, it makes sense. Now I suppose I need to find Kat so I can figure out if I need to dance with Liam or something. Ugh, I cannot wait until all these balls are over.

Drake almost doubled over laughing. "Oh, Bennett, I hate to break it to you, but this shit never ends. Next will be the coronation, then some charity gala, Liam's wedding...the list goes on. Welcome to your life as a noble woman."

Riley stared ahead blankly as a giant wave of realization washed over her. It was all so much, so fast. She'd never had time to think past the next day to consider this was all ending soon, and then what? Did she stay with her new-found family and live this life that was still foreign to her in so many ways? What about her life in New York? Sure, she didn't have much going on at the moment, but she still had her aunt Susan and best friend Sarah along with some good friends at work like Daniel. Becoming a therapist was still one of her goals, at least it was until the day she left for Cordonia. Now everything was so unclear, and she could hardly breathe.

Drake must have noticed her face looking some kind of way because he placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her to an open doorway to a nearby balcony. "Why don't we get you some air before you go off and do your thing for the show?"

Once outside and around the corner of the wraparound balcony, Drake pulled Riley into his chest, holding her securely, and she was almost instantly calmed. All the what-ifs fell away, and it was just them. All she needed was the be with him, wherever that turned out to be, and everything else would fall into place.

But what if Drake didn't quite feel the same? They'd been talking as if they'd be together indefinitely, but in reality, they'd only known each other two months. The anxious fluttering in her chest started up again.

Drake pulled back to look her in the eyes. "Riley, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. You know, we're both still half American. We can move back to the states....or uh, I mean you can move back to the states if that's what you want." His eyes darted bashfully to the ground.

Riley's face lit up, the nervous thumping in her chest giving way to excited butterflies. "I like the sound of 'we' better if that's what you really meant. You'd really move back to the U.S. with me? I mean I've hardly had the chance to think about what I want, so that may be irrelevant, but you seriously see a future with me?"

"I do." Drake smiled earnestly. "I'm sure anyone who knows me will think I've gone mad, but whether it means being in New York City and putting up with cramped apartments and way too many people, living a quieter, simple life in Texas, or stealing moments away at dreadful Cordonian events such as this, I know we can make our own happiness...together."

"Wow, the Drake Walker I met two months ago would not believe what's coming out of your mouth right now." Riley touched the back of her hand to Drake's forehead in jest. "Are you sure you aren't running a fever?"

"Haha, very funny." Drake swiftly but gently pushed Riley back again the stone wall. "I'm not feeling ill, but I know how to make your temperature rise.

"You pushing me against duchy walls is becoming a thing, huh? Must have really enjoyed the almost public sex last time."

"Possibly," Drake teased as he slipped his hand through the side-slit in her icy-blue gown, gently gliding his fingers up her thigh. Riley braced herself as Drake neared the place she wanted him the most. Goosebumps gave way to a burning need before she remembered where they were.

"Wait." She pushed a hand against his chest. "We're not exactly alone here, and we've gone to such lengths to keep this under wraps. Someone could walk out here at any moment."

Drake shrugged. "I know it may be a bit reckless, but honestly at this point, I don't care. I just want you."

Riley opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out before Drake swooped in for a searing kiss. She instantly melted into him, Drake continuing his earlier action and deftly plunging two fingers inside her, his eyes widening slightly in surprise when he noticed there was no fabric barrier to work around. A strangled moan escaped Riley's throat as he stroked the exact spot he knew always left her at his mercy.

Drake pulled back with a satisfied grin. "Do you want me to stop? Just say the word and we'll go back in right now."

Instead of answering, Riley yanked him by the collar and crushed her lips to his. Drake responded by hoisting her up and over to the balcony. He perched her atop the railing, one hand grasped firmly around her waist and the other making quick work of undoing his pants.

Teetering on the narrow ledge two stories high, Riley clamped her hand tightly to the railing on either side of her and Drake noticed. "I've got you Bennett, no need to worry. I won't let anything happen to you. I'm just doing my job after all," he said with a smirk.

She smiled at his reference to what was now an inside joke between them. But all joking aside, he always made her feel safe. She released her grip, flinging her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

Drake eased his cock free and Riley could tell how hard he was just by sight, the skin stretched taught from his perfect proportion of thickness and length. He lifted her dress and she couldn't wait any longer. She pulled him in and he took the invitation to thrust inside her. Even as wet was she was, his size created just the right amount of fullness and friction to take her breath away.

Riley moaned and gasped with each thrust, which in turn seemed to turn Drake on even more. The thrill of being up so high with nothing but him to hold her only added to her excitement and when he began rubbing circles over her clit with his thumb that was all it took to push her figuratively over the edge. She tightened around him everywhere, her orgasm eliciting immense heat and pleasure with every pulse, resulting in Drake picking up his pace until his own release followed shortly thereafter.

Drake carefully set Riley down before putting himself back together. "I'm almost a little disappointed we didn't nearly get caught this time."

"If I don't get back in there immediately, that's still a possibility." Riley had no idea how much time had passed but it was probably more than she thought. "Fuck, Kat is going to be pissed." Riley straightened her skirt and started towards the ballroom door.

"Wait!" Drake puller her in for a quick kiss. "I love you. Just so you don't forget."

Riley rolled her eyes but smiled. "You know you have nothing to worry about. If Liam's charms haven't wooed me yet, I think you’re safe. But I love you too. Now go do your job." She smacked him on the ass before hustling back to the ballroom, Drake following shortly thereafter.

As expected, Kat was frantic when Riley found her. “Where the fuck were you? You were supposed to meet up with me twenty minutes ago?”

Overhearing Riley’s scolding, Olivia smugly sidled up next to them. “I mean, I didn’t mind getting extra time with Liam, but you know Jo and Kat and there ‘ratings’, Olivia said while gesturing with air quotes. She scanned Riley from head to toe and then glanced over to Drake on the perimeter. “Ugh, I can tell you exactly what, or rather who she was doing. Gross. I guess that just makes my position more secure, but really, couldn’t you have waited until after my ball to fuck him?”

Riley sheepishly smoothed her hair and adjusted her dress. “I just needed some air, that’s all. I was having a moment.”

Olivia scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want to call it. Although I still cannot fathom why you chose Drake, I suppose I should be a little easier on you for eliminating yourself from the competition and allowing Liam to break free of his distraction of the shiny new object.”

“Aww, Olivia, that’s so sweet. Next thing you know we’ll be best friends,” Riley replied sarcastically.

 “I don’t know about friends...but I do dislike you less than the rest of them.” Olivia tried and failed to hold back a smile.

“I’ll take it,” Riley said with a laugh before turning to Jo. “Okay, now tell me where I need to be.”

Jo set Riley up with Liam on the dance floor. It still wasn’t hard to pretend to be into Liam because it wasn’t all pretend, but there was no lingering pining between them.

“Well, I spoke to my father this morning.” Liam spun Riley around and brought her back to face him.

“Finally!” Riley exclaimed. “How did that go?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it to be completely honest, but it went surprisingly well. I told him I knew everything, and he no longer had a say in my decision. He tried to argue with me at first, but somehow something I said made him respect me. He still may not agree with my choice, but I think this is finally all over! I am free to choose who I want without any threat or blackmail hanging over my head.

Riley pulled Liam in and hugged him tightly. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you, and for all of us.” The weight on Riley’s shoulders was suddenly ten times lighter. She hadn’t let herself think too deeply about how much was at stake, but now that the air was clear, she realized how stressed she had been. “Now all that’s left is for you to tear my heart to pieces on national television, and you get your fairy tale ending.”

Liam chuckled. “I’ll try to let you down easy.”

-----

Drake stood in his usual position off the side of the dance floor. This may not be the last of these events he’d have to endure, but at least it should be the last time he’d have to stand on the sidelines watching Riley dance with someone else. He was secure in what they had, but it still didn’t stop that twinge of jealously seeing her and Liam together talking, touching, and having fun. But it wasn’t a bad thing that his best friend and girlfriend get along so well. Girlfriend...that’s the first time he’d used that term for anyone he’d “dated”, even if only in his head. It was hard to believe everything was falling into place.

Drake took his eyes off Riley to scan the perimeter. What he saw didn’t immediately register as out of the ordinary, but then he quickly recalled this person walking towards the dance floor wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Bastien, check out three o’clock.” Drake altered Bastien via his radio earpiece. “How did she get in here without security clearance?”

“I don’t know.” Bastien replied. “I’ll check with the other guys to see who let her in. Keep an eye on her.”

Drake watched in concern as Madeleine marched towards the dance floor. She’d been banned from the rest of filmed events after her stunt. Not wanting to let her cause a scene, Drake was about to stop her from getting any closer, when she pulled out an unmistakable object. She had a gun and it was pointed right at Riley and Liam.

Before Drake could alert the rest of the team, people started to scatter. He heard a familiar click and knew he had to disarm Madeleine immediately, but it was too late. A shot went off and he didn’t hesitate. Drake dove between the bullet and his two best friends on the dance floor, and that would be the last thing he remembered before he hit the floor.

#QOMH #TRR #drake x mc #ns*fw #playchoices fanfiction #the royal romance #my fic

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 10:

Gif credit: @dudeitiskarev

A/N: Shorter chapter, an almost outtake before things really kick off. Emily ships it.

———

“Though soulmates aren't looking for you, they will find you.” - Kevin Ansbro

———

Hotch balances his phone against his shoulder and hops around on a single leg trying to pull his sock over his other foot. His words are strained when he speaks, “You’re gonna have to give me an extra twenty minutes, Ben I’m running a little late.” 

“Yeah, that’s fine - wait what are you doing? Why do you sound like that?” McCall asks.

He’s dangerously close to losing his balance, and decides against breaking his tailbone just because he might be late to work. “Nothing. I’ll see you in 20,” He grunts into the phone. 

Downstairs, Haley buzzes around the kitchen, moving from countertop to countertop, disinfecting the worktops as breakfast sizzles in the pan. She’s working on aggressively scrubbing a particular spot of grout on the worktop when Hotch makes his way downstairs.

She’s been so high-strung the last few days. Maybe even more than normal and he can’t quite figure out why. She’s being attentive and showering him with affection and has a ton of energy - teetering dangerously close to smothering him, he thinks.

She surprisingly didn’t have a lot to say when he came home after spending the night at your apartment a few days ago. It’s refreshing, sure, but he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Notwithstanding her almost overnight transformation, she’s also tossing and turning through the night, enough for Hotch’s own sleep to become disturbed, her eyes are always wide, darting around, almost paranoid and her nails are bitten to the quick. 

She’s been waking up at dawn for the last two days to clean and scrub every inch of the house now and Hotch swears he could probably eat off the kitchen floor the way she’s disinfected every possible surface of the house. 

“Hey!” She whips around when he enters the kitchen. There it is again. The squeaky, high voice. The disconcerting smile. 

He frowns, watching her carefully as she throws her arms around him. He doesn’t have a chance to respond before she turns back around to fix him a plate. 

“You okay?” He mutters, eyes following her movements. 

“Yeah! I feel really good! You?” It’s like she’s forgotten how to blink. 

He nods slowly, offering a tight smile in response. He’s lost for words and actions right now, takes everything in him not to profile her. 

That’s got to be unethical, right?

But he can’t help but notice the way she diverts his questions, her paranoid body language, her overcompensating. 

She’s hiding something. 

Hotch follows behind her and motions for Haley to sit at the table, he’ll bring them both breakfast at the table, he tells her. She hesitates moving but he gently nudges her over with a hand on her back and she takes a seat, chewing her lip. Even at the table, she’s not really sitting properly, it’s like she’s almost squatting, bottom barely touching the seat, on her tiptoes, back straight. 

Hotch walks over with two plates of food and she offers him a tight smile as he does. He’s about to walk back towards the fridge for juice when the house phone rings, Haley immediately shooting up from her chair.

Hotch taps her on the shoulder. “It’s okay, I got it.” He assures her but she trails behind him, anyway. He picks up the receiver from the stand and offhandedly speaks into the phone, spotting Haley a few feet from him. 

“Hello?” 

Nothing. 

Haley’s arms are crossed, her right thumbnail between her teeth. 

“Hello?” He presses.

He says it one more time and hangs up when there’s no answer, shrugging. “Must’ve been a wrong number.” 

Haley’s shoulders relax momentarily but there’s another ringing noise, this time from her purse, not even seconds later. Both of their gazes fall to her purse, her eyes widening and mouth dropping slightly. 

The colour drains from her face. 

He looks back at Haley with wide eyes who’s all but speed-walking towards her phone, the ringing persistent. 

She flips it open, “Hello?”

He watches her carefully.

“Oh, hey Mom!” She squeaks, her voice breaking. “Can I call you later? Aaron and I are about to have breakfast.” She pauses. “Okay, bye Mom!” 

She chuckles and points to her phone. “It’s uh- my Mom. She says hi.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” He nods and glances at his watch, careful to keep his eyes on Haley. “Actually, y’know what I gotta go, I’m already late. I’ll grab something on the way.” He explains.

Her face drops but she nods, grabbing his keys and briefcase for him. He bids her an almost cold goodbye, jogging to his car. A thought occurs to him suddenly that steels him, he glances at his watch once more, frowning. 

“It’s 6am in Seattle.” 

———

“So do you guys have plans today?” McCall asks, taking a sip of his coffee. 

You take a bite of your toast, telling him that you’re going visit your father today. You still hadn’t told him about what happened at the restaurant a few days ago, and the more time that went on, the more you think you’d like to keep it that way. 

You weren’t sure how he would take it, he could fall sick again, like he had last year when the notes first started appearing and you didn’t want to risk that, not after you’d just got him back. Besides, he was the only person you had left besides Emily. 

And Hotch.

The butterflies start again. Try as you might, you couldn’t divert your attention away from Hotch and the time you’d spent together. Nothing happened, sure. You sat and talked all night, but something about that night, something about the way he’d made you feel so safe and secure, stuck with you. 

The air had shifted between you.  

But this was just a case, an assignment. After they caught this guy, he’d go back to his normal life, move on with his girlfriend and live his life. 

But you weren’t so sure what you’d do. 

Maybe it’d pass - but there’s a constant buzzing in the back of your head and in the pit of your stomach that maybe it won’t pass. 

Something about this, about him - feels different. Heavy. That occurrence settles dread in your stomach, you’d got attached before you’d even had a chance to talk yourself out of it, before you’d even realised what was happening. 

It’s just a crush, you tell yourself. 

The three of you turn your attention to the door when there’s a knock, Hotch’s voice calling out from the other side. 

“I’ll get it!” You throw your toast back onto your plate, shooting up from your chair. Emily scoffs watching you scramble from the table, her downturned head shaking. 

Hotch freezes when you open the door, expecting to see McCall, but he’s greeted by your bright eyes instead. He smiles and offers a quiet ‘Hi’, his face softening and you respond the same, both of you standing by the door, sharing a quiet moment with your friends just behind you. 

His eyes look glassy when they gaze back at you, his usual warmth is there but there’s something else, something different. You can find it in the way the tension in his shoulders dissipates , or the way his cheeks blush just slightly. 

Emily clears her throat pointedly, standing behind your couch, and it rips you both from your stupor. You chuckle and step aside to allow him to come in, his hand brushing yours as he enters. Your shiver doesn’t go unnoticed by Emily, who watches with narrow eyes from afar. 

“You want some breakfast? There’s more than enough,” you ask.

“Thank you, I’m fine.” He responds almost instinctually. McCall thanks you for breakfast and starts to make his way out but Hotch stops him, handing him the keys to the car and motions outside. 

“I’ll start the car.” McCall mutters.

Hotch turns back to you and straightens out his tie over his shirt. “Can we talk?” He asks, clearing his throat.

Emily slowly slinks away into your bedroom, and your eyes meet Hotch’s. The air changes suddenly so you turn your attention to the kitchen in an attempt to ease some of the tension, wrapping a doughnut in some parchment paper while he speaks. You figure he maybe sensed something the other night and this would be his attempt at letting you down easy. You swallow when there’s a long pause, the atmosphere thick. 

“I wanted you to hear it from me, but Emily told me about your ex. Jordan?” Your head whips back around to face him, trying your best to hide the surprise in your face. 

“Oh?” You swallow. 

This is worse. 

“Yeah. It’s none of my business and I probably should’ve told you the other night, but I just wanted you to know that we’re on our way to see him now. We need to question him. It’s a standard thing, just to see if he’s seen or heard anything.” He’s apparently hyper-focused on a spot on his shoe suddenly because he refuses to meet your eyeline. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “Oh. Okay. Well thanks for letting me know.” This is embarrassing. Jordan was a mistake you’d made, a sleazy, gross mistake. 

Shit.

You turn back around to pour some coffee into a mug, your cheeks burning. What would they even have to talk about? Jordan’s going to open his big mouth about how the two of you hooked up again, you think. It wouldn’t take long for Hotch to realise that it happened right after he’d begged you to let him in after you’d visited Quantico. 

But why do you care? 

It’s none of his business, he’s right. 

Still. 

The people you surround yourself with and all of that, you wouldn’t want him to think less of you. 

And you don’t want him to think you’re not available. 

He’s not available, you idiot. 

He waits for you to look back at him but when he sees you engrossed with whatever it is you’re doing, he takes that as his answer and decides to quietly exit. He’s almost out of the door when you turn back around, to see him dragging his feet. 

“Wait. Here.” You hand him the coffee and doughnut with a smile, your fingers brushing again. 

“Hey, for the record. Jordan can be,” you pause. You didn’t want to disparage anybody but you needed him to know. “Difficult? Intense? Look, all you need to know is that he was a mistake I made and - I just.” You sigh. “I don’t want you to think any less of me.” You shrug. 

He meets your eyeline this time. “What? Why would I think any less of you? I would never.” He says firmly. 

He’s right. He could never. 

“I know, still.” You can barely stop the words before they come up. “Your opinion means a lot to me.” 

He softens. No - melts, at this, a smile making its way onto his face. He wants to reach out and cup your face, wants to feel your embrace again. 

“Me too.” He whispers. 

McCall sounds the horn from below, both of you flinching at the noise and dissolving into awkward laughter. He holds up the doughnut and thanks you for breakfast.

Emily emerges smugly from your room almost as soon as Hotch leaves, her arms crossed. She wears another shit-eating grin on her face, half teasing and half questioning, finally concluding what she’d suspected from day one. She goes to open her mouth but you stop her, holding up your finger. 

“Not a word.” You warn her. 

———

< Prev | Next >

Tags:​ @oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 ​ @izzyl13​ @metaclawed @crying-river​ @purpledragonturtles​ @gabbysblogthingy​ @archiveofadragon​ @yoshigguk @acidicbloody @jeor​ @ivebeenthinkingboutu​ @bauslut @averyhotchner @vashanatasha​ @hotchwhore15

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch smut #hotch fluff #cm fanfic #cm fic #cm fic rec #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds

[agent-cupcake]

yuri with yandere prompt number eight? i feel like thats the most accurate for him

This ask is old but I’m never gonna quit these yandere prompts. Try and stop me. (aka, here’s 5k of unhealthy pining and Yuri “I want to confess my love but I don’t feel like I deserve you” Leclerc)

//

A sharp, frightened gasp was what pulled you awake. Terror gripped your thoughts as a memory overrode all rational thought —the scent of tread packed filth and chalky, tangy, sharp stone filling your nose with each shallow, bloody, gasping breath. Cold, cutting gravel scraping against your cheek, your scalp, the sharp pebbles embedded into your skin with the force with which you had hit the ground. You couldn’t move, couldn’t fight your collapsed chest into expanding for air to fill your lungs. Escape, you had to escape, that was the only real, solid understanding in your dazed brain as you struggled against the blankets.

But then you blinked a few times, your eyes rolling as you focused them, and realized that was nothing more than a dream. You were safe. Sore, uncomfortable, in an unfamiliar bed and wearing unfamiliar clothes, but safe. And confused, still entangled in the cotton fog of unconsciousness.

You had been… Where had you been? Your head was foggy, your thoughts blurry, almost enough to convince you that you were dreaming. If only you weren’t so uncomfortable. Something was wrong, more than just being sick. There had been… Blood? Pain?

Agony. A blunt, overwhelming ache that had slammed against the entire right side of your body when you hit the ground. A whine had escaped your mouth alongside a glob of bloody saliva. The pain was all-consuming. You could remember that in the same second the pain registered so did the panic of knowing that you were going to be sick right there on the street. Nausea had seized your stomach and you had been helpless to its violent, urgent, undulating undertow. Rocks cut into your palms as you wrenched yourself up to avoid choking as you sputtered and heaved and coughed out the acidic bile. When you blinked, your sight clearing from a dozen fragmented frames into a single dizzy, tear-blurred picture, all you saw was blood. Blood in the watery puddle on the ground, scarlet staining your side, oozing up between your fingers as you pressed a panicked hand against the slash across your ribs as if that would force the blood back where it belonged.  

But there was no blood now. No wounds to validate that terrible living nightmare.

Everything came flooding back into your mind as your thoughts cleared up. You remembered accepting Lev’s offer to ignore Yuri’s orders and perform a secretive strike on an opposing gang. You remembered going along with the plan and taking the dangerous role of getting everyone into the Vanargand base despite the risk. You remembered nearly died in the escape.

You remembered thinking that you were dead. In that moment of laying on the street in a puddle of your own blood, you had clung to the pathetic thought that you didn’t want to die. Even though you already had, you didn’t want to betray Yuri in this way, too. He didn’t want you involved in any of this, he did everything he could to keep you out of it. He promised your brother, he made a vow. But even that tragic, horrible thought had become cloudy as cold disseminated ice throughout your body, piercing all the way into the marrow of your bones and numbing your limbs, pulling you closer into the creeping void. That was the last of what you could remember.

Now, the only remaining evidence of your brush with death was the bruised shades of puce plum and rotten currant covering the entire right side of your body. Someone had used white magic to heal the direst of your wounds. Presumably, the same someone who had saved you. You were pretty sure you knew exactly who that someone was, too.

Your hero.

Yuri Leclerc with his violet eyes and smiling mouth and sweeping, dramatic cape who came to you after your brother’s death and told you of the promise he’d made as his boss and friend. Yuri Leclerc, the nearly mythical Underground Lord, the unaging Savage Mockingbird. Your hero, your knight in armor of shadow and subterfuge. He promised that he would protect you. And he had saved you. Again.

With a soft groan, you turned from laying on your back to your mostly uninjured left side. The bed was comfortable enough, better than your own. The room was smaller than yours, however, easily lit up by just a single lamp. By all standards, it was far from lavish, but you were covered in a thick comforter with two pillows plumped beneath your head. The four-poster frame was made of an attractively dark solid wood that matched the bedside table, writing desk, and chair. It looked an awful lot like the impersonal room of an inn, although there were clear signs that someone lived in here. Books and paper and feather pens were stacked on the desk, a glass rainbow of bottles lined up on the shelf above, a colorful swath of clothes on the rack.

Most telling was the way that the room, the bedding, and the clothes you wore all smelled like Yuri. An intoxicating embrace of spring rose and lilac, plush amber musk, and heady sweet vanilla. Achingly familiar, desirable, wonderful. Now it just made you sick. While the previous day’s actions could make a case for your intellectual deficiencies, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where you were. You groaned softly, closing your eyes.

Yuri was going to be mad. You had justified following Lev before by telling yourself that if the job went off without a hitch, Yuri would be so impressed with your skills that he would have no choice but to recognize you as a member of his gang and stop coddling you. Now you realized that it was and always had been an act of petty rebellion. Yuri would never respect your reckless disregard for his orders and your own life, not even if it had gone well.

Which it hadn’t. You had no idea what had gone wrong, you had performed your task without any problems, getting the small group of men into the compound without alerting any guards. Your brother had done well in teaching you to sneak around. But then there was complete and utter chaos and they all came running back as the compound was eaten up by flames, your so-called friends leaving you stranded on the top of the wall with a group of Vanargand men. So you jumped.

Even your vague recall of that particular agony made you wince, your stomach churning unhappily.

The sound of someone outside the door made your heart jump, your eyes instinctually closing to feign sleep. Maybe if you seemed like you were sleeping you could spare yourself a lecture. Or worse, his disappointment. The doorknob turned, the wood creaking, the metal hinges making the faintest squeak as they were pushed. You held your breath.

But nobody came in, stopping in response to the approaching sound of another, heavier set of footsteps. “Glad to see you back in one piece,” Yuri greeted whoever it was. With the door cracked the way it was, you could hear him quite clearly. His voice was friendly, matching the smile he must have been wearing, but it was sharp, too. You knew that tone, recognized the danger it hid. “I figured it would be you who led this little rebellion.”

“Rebellion?” Lev asked. “I acted for all of us. The Vanargand boys won’t be an issue anymore.”

Yuri laughed. Although the sound was oddly genuine, nobody could miss the fact that he was making fun of Lev. “You really believe that?” he asked, his voice lilting with disbelief.

Lev grunted, you could imagine his scowl. He scowled a lot. “If you knew what we did to them, you wouldn’t laugh.”

“All you did was kick the hornet’s nest,” Yuri said, unimpressed, “while ignoring my orders to standby.”

“I came here to tell you that I think things should change around here, I think-”

“I don’t actually care what you think,” Yuri said, cutting him off calmly. His tone was deadly smooth, dripping with the unique threat of his friendly malice. “I expect you to be out of here by the time the sun rises. That gives you, what, four hours? Plenty of time.”

“What?” Lev asked, his bravado faltering.

“Leave my city,” Yuri told him. “And pray that I never see you again.”

“You can’t kick me out,” Lev said. “Not after all I’ve done for you, for the gang.”

“No?” Yuri asked. “You directly disobeyed my orders and put my men at risk for the sake of your own ego. I’d say that’s a pretty good reason to lose any and all trust I ever had in you.”

“The Vanargand Street Gang have been a pain in the ass for too long,” Lev told him, his tone growing combative. “I decided to do something about it.”

“I had them under control,” Yuri said. “without stooping to such boorish and dangerous methods.”

Lev responded with a mocking bark of a laugh. “Nah, this is about the girl, isn’t it? You should know that she all but begged me to take her along. If you wanna talk about trust, maybe consider why your precious little pet would disobey you.”

You froze, a cold, nervous sweat beading up at the nape of your neck, anxious nausea once again closing in your throat. Either unfortunately or fortunately, Yuri breezed right past that comment as if it didn’t affect him in the slightest. “This has nothing to do with her,” Yuri said without missing a beat. “If you don’t think I’m a fit leader, challenge my authority directly. But I’m warning you. Think carefully about what you do next. Right now, I’m relieved enough that nobody was seriously hurt by your incompetence that I’m willing to let you go with nothing more than a warning.” His voice lowered dangerously, forcing you to strain slightly to make it out. There was no playful teasing injected into these words, no way to interpret them as anything other than naked intimidation. “Don’t mistake my benevolence for weakness, you won’t live to regret it.”

A long moment of tense silence passed between the two men. You could imagine Lev’s storming rage, Yuri’s cool demeanor. You didn’t dare move, afraid that either would hear and unsure which was worse. The moment was broken only by another set of thumping, rhythmic footsteps cresting up the stairs. There was only one man who could possibly make that much noise.

“I heard shouting. I’m not missing the party, am I?” Balthus asked. While there was nothing directly antagonistic about the man’s voice, there was no mistaking the threat he posed. There was a reason he was Yuri’s right-hand man.

“No,” Yuri said. “Lev and I are simply having a… Disagreement.”

“Oh yeah?” Balthus asked. “Anything I should weigh in on?”

“That depends,” Yuri said. “What do you say, Lev?”

“Damn you, Leclerc.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Yuri asked, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m already damned.”

There was another moment of silence, almost long enough to make you wonder if the trio had somehow disappeared, before Lev swore under his breath and retreated past Yuri and Balthus, his feet pounding a cadenced thump, thump, thump as he stalked down the stairs.

“Balthus,” Yuri said when Lev’s footsteps were completely lost. “Would you mind making sure our friend makes it out of the city without doing anything reckless?”

“Think he might?” Balthus asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Yuri responded, his voice was more honest than with Lev. He sounded tired. “I sure as hell didn’t think he would make a move like this just yet.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Balthus paused. “What, uh, should I do if he tries anything?”

“Take him to the Vanargand. I’m sure they’ll be hunting him down regardless.”

Balthus whistled. “That’s pretty cold, boss.”

“It’s far better than he deserves,” Yuri said, his voice dark. “If she died, I…”

“No need to explain. I get it, pal,” Balthus said, saving Yuri from having to continue. As badly as you didn’t want to know what Yuri was going to say, you very desperately did, too. “I’ll make sure he stays in line. You look like you could use some rest. Or a drink.”

Yuri laughed, the sound a bit lighter than before. “You might be right about that.”

“Of course I am,” Balthus said. “You don’t live as long as I have without catching wise to these things. I’ll be off, then.”

“Good luck,” Yuri said, “and don’t do anything stupid. There’s only so much I can handle in one night.”

“Hah!” Balthus called, trampling right back down the hallway. “That big brain of yours will burst into flames if you keep on worrying about everything, pal. Better call it quits before you ruin that cute face with wrinkles.” Yuri laughed.

Realizing that Balthus leaving would mean Yuri would finally enter the room, you threw the blankets off of yourself and sat up. It hurt like hell, it felt like every single inch of your body was bruised, right down to the bone, but it was doable after the sickening dizziness passed.

You didn’t particularly want to get up, but you didn’t want to stick around and have the conversion you knew Yuri would start, either.

The way Yuri worried made your chest clench. You didn’t dare name it discomfort, but the feeling was awfully close. It was Yuri’s growing intensity that you noticed first. The way he’d get when other men got too close to you, the pointed questions he’d ask about your interactions with other people. How he worried when you had to travel or interact with people he didn’t trust, insisting that you tell him every single detail about what you were doing. Worse, the times when he seemed to know things he shouldn’t, things you didn’t tell him.

It was because of the promise he had made to your brother, he said, to keep you safe. Yuri valued the men under his command, and your brother had been a close comrade of his. And you bought it at first because your brother had always been protective, but Yuri’s behavior was different. He wasn’t your brother, but neither did you get the impression you were friends. Friends weren’t suffocatingly overprotective. Not friends, but not anything more, either. He never flirted with you as he did with everybody else, as he had before. Not even in a playful, teasing way. The tighter hold he kept on you, the more and more he maintained a distance.

Lev called you Yuri’s precious pet, and that struck too close to home. You hated it. You weren’t a child —you weren’t even a teenager anymore— and yet Yuri acted like you were made of glass. Like you couldn’t be trusted to look after yourself, like you were… Like you were a pet.

That’s why you had agreed to Lev’s job in the first. You wanted to change the dynamic the two of you had. You figured that if he saw that you weren’t as weak as he feared, that you were just as capable as the men in his gang, that he’d stop being so intensely and oppressively protective. But if he was willing to give Lev up to the torture the Vanargand gang would inflict on him for the sin of endangering you, you didn’t think it had been at all effective. Actually, it made sense that your near-death and horrible failure would have the opposite effect.

Steading yourself, you searched the room for your shoes. Someone, and you didn’t dare to think of who, had changed you into what you were pretty sure were Yuri’s clothes. While it made sense considering your own were probably nothing more than blood soaked rags, you weren’t incredibly comfortable with wearing his things. The smell alone was nearly overwhelming, but the level of intimacy it implied was something you didn’t dare consider. Even worse that you should wake up in his bed. His bed that was obviously big enough for two people, a bed that he had probably had company in because he was attractive and desirable and… And you couldn’t find your shoes.

“What are you doing?” Yuri asked. The door shut behind him, the metal latch clicking.

It occurred to you that while you’d been having a micro-meltdown, Yuri had probably been standing there watching.

“Leaving,” you responded, trying to maintain a neutral expression despite the way your voice cracked. That brave attempt fell apart with the way you burst into a coughing fit a moment later, hacking up sharp bursts of air against your scratched up throat, each breath sending aching pulses of pain against your bruised side.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Yuri scolded, rushing to the bedside table to pour you some water. So considerate, always. Guilt rose up within you. After he saved you, how could you be so rude and ungrateful? You knew he cared. He was your hero.

You averted your streaming eyes and took a few slow, careful sips from the cup as Yuri took a seat on the desk chair, sitting the wrong way with his arms draped over the chair’s back.

“Drink this, too,” he said, handing you a vial. You uncapped it to take a sniff it, wincing at the astringent scent.

“What is it?” you asked.

“It’ll help with the pain,” he said. You nodded, grateful for the idea of that, and pinched your nose to down the vial. It was exactly as disgusting as it smelled. At the very least, it wiped the smell of Yuri from your head for a spell. “You should lay back down,” he recommended. “Magic can only do so much to heal your wounds. Not to mention that you’ve had a hell of a shock. Honestly, after what happened, I’m surprised you managed to get upright. You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

The implication, the reminder of what you’d done in such a banal tone, made you wince. Guilt or shame or embarrassment, you didn’t know. “I’m fine,” you said, staring at the floor rather than meet his eyes.

“It’s cute that you can say that with a straight face,” Yuri said. “Seriously, you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled sarcastically, an instinctually petulant reaction to the way he treated you, “But I really am capable of taking care of myself.”

He didn’t even grace that with a serious answer, rolling his eyes. “Obviously.”

“I can’t stay here,” you said.

“You can,” Yuri told you, “and you will. You’ve lost a lot of blood and I don’t need a dead body on my doorstep. It’s bad for business.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Yuri said. You met his eyes, frowning as you tried to figure out what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He sighed, likely reading the further arguments you were going to make in the way you looked at him. “I’ve had a long night dealing with your mess. Stop being a fool and do what I say.” “Or what?” you muttered, looking away again as you fought against the guilt. He didn’t own you, you weren’t even one of his men. He couldn’t order you around.

“Or I’ll make you,” Yuri said bluntly. “I doubt that’ll pleasant for either of us.”

That answer sent a shiver down your spine, whatever complaints you had been trying to maintain drying up on your tongue because you kind of believed him. His cold, cruel tone of voice when dealing with Lev was still all too clear in your mind. Besides, he was right. He was usually right. That didn’t help the terrible sensation of being treated like a child, like an invalid.

Avoiding his eyes, you set aside your cup and did what he said, tucking your feet back under the covers, leaning down against the pillows. It was a lot easier on your aching side, better for the splitting headache gathered up behind your right temple.

“Did you save me?” you asked after a moment, staring at the quilted pattern.

“Yeah,” Yuri responded, his voice unreadable.

“And you healed me?”

“What do you think?”

It had been a dumb question. You couldn’t imagine Yuri letting anyone else see that much of your bare skin to heal those wounds. All the same. “You don’t have to be rude, I was just clarifying,” you told him with a frown.

“Right, right, sorry. I just about forgot myself,” Yuri said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “What I meant was that I was the one who rushed to your rescue and healed your wounds, fair maiden. Is that better?”

You frowned, refusing to be amused by his antics. Despite the joking tone Yuri took, those words set you on edge. He hardly ever teased you like that anymore, now it just felt off. “Who changed my clothes?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Yuri asked. Was there amusement in his tone? At your embarrassment? You could feel that your cheeks were hot and hoped desperately that he couldn’t tell. “Well,” he shrugged apologetically, “it’s not like I had much of a choice and I couldn’t put you to bed in dirty clothes…” Yuri looked up to meet your horrified eyes, smiling. “Kidding. I do have some honor. I asked the landlady to help me out. Your virtue is intact.”

Virtue. You swallowed hard on that word, drinking the last of the water. Your thoughts were beginning to fuzz, becoming less clear. It made it harder to refocus after being caught off guard by his teasing. The pain wasn’t as crisp, more of a background ache rather than an insistent thud. That was distracting, too. You knew that, for some reason, he wanted to fluster you. But you couldn’t let him distract you, nor could you let your embarrassment deter you. So, clenching your fists, you looked up and met his eyes.

“Thank you for saving me,” you said carefully. “I’m… I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”

Yuri didn’t answer right away, staring you down in his unnervingly piercing way. The intensity of his eyes was uncomfortable, but it was undercut with the swirling storm of concern amidst the individual strands of purple pigment, the void-like pool of pupil. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he said carefully. And that was honest, genuine. He looked so tired. He sounded tired.

“I owe you. Twice, for saving me and healing me,” you said, forcing the words out in as business-like of a tone as you could manage. They were slurred, slightly. Had he given you a sedative? Or was this just normal exhaustion finally taking you out? “So tell me how you would like to be repaid, and I’ll see that it’s done.”

Yuri’s head fell to the side in confusion, like the question threw him off guard. Good. “Excuse me, what?”

“That’s how it is in your world,” you replied. “Our world. Right?”

“Our world?” Yuri asked, his expression retreating into a mask.

“The real world. Altruism doesn’t exist. When someone does something for you, there’s always a price. If I want to be taken seriously, I can’t keep being naïve about that.”

“That’s pretty cynical of you.” Was it just you or did he sound sad about that fact?

“You taught me well.”

“Not well enough,” he said, frowning as his eyes lingered on the bruises. He sighed. “So, I take it that that’s why you went? You want to be taken seriously?”

“Yes,” you said slowly, surprised that he’d be able to cut to the heart of it so quickly. Then again, it shouldn’t have been that surprising. Yuri was all too good at that.

“Word to the wise,” Yuri told you. “Never act unless success is guaranteed. If you want to be taken seriously, you have to have results to show for it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said.

“And another thing,” Yuri added. “Never give out open ended favors. Not even to people you trust. You might not like it when they call to collect.”

“But I know you wouldn’t want anything bad from me,” you said, frowning and unsure if he was implying what you thought he was. He couldn’t be, not Yuri. Not to you.

“Is that a fact?” he asked. “I could be helping you simply to get one of those incredibly enticing open favors. Now I’ve got two of them, I wonder what I could ask for…”

“I’m being serious,” you said.

“You think I’m not?” Yuri smiled at you like he knew all the secrets in the world, like you’d never catch him without the trickster’s mask or even guess at what he had hidden beneath. But then your reply was eaten by a mostly stifled yawn that tugged hard at your sore jaw and all pretense fell away to the concerned expression you knew so well from him. “Alright, enough of that. You look like you’re about to pass out. Get some sleep. I’ll watch over you, yeah?” he offered, flipping the chair around so he could sit directly at the bedside.

You couldn’t argue with that, yawning again. It hit you all at once, it seemed. You were passing out, the need for sleep becoming more and more pressing with each breath. “Next time,” you told him, your words slurring like a drunk as you settled further down into the bed. Your body felt so heavy, the colors of the room smoothing out like butter, the smell that clung to the bedding and the clothes filling you with warmth. “Next time for sure, I’ll show you. Then I won’t owe you-” you yawned, again. This time you just gave up. He definitely had given you a sedative. Unfortunately, you were too far gone to be mad. Sleeping would be nice anyway. You were so tired.

“There won’t be a next time,” Yuri told you. There was something absolute in his tone, a hard edge that wasn’t to be questioned.

“Why?” you asked, trying to clench your fists to remain lucid for a moment longer. This question was important, important enough for you to fight against your heavy and scattered thoughts. “Why do you care... so much?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri said, his voice threadbare and exposed. He really looked so tired, so beautiful. He had more masks than anyone, but right then you didn’t think that it was a mask.

He didn’t know either.

Where did that leave you?

Floating, it seemed. Lavender and milk and shadow blurred in your vision, the colors of Yuri. Your eyes fluttered shut, filled with a kaleidoscope of him. The pain was gone, you couldn’t even find the passion to argue or to be mad or afraid or upset. It was enough to be safe, to be with him, to be warm.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow you would get answers.

“You remind me of something I lost a long time ago,” Yuri said after a moment. It would have been too much to open your eyes or respond, so you just listened, marveling at the way his voice created the words, the way it caressed them. Had you really never noticed how delicious his voice was? You could lose yourself in it, you thought. “Something even I can’t steal for myself,” Yuri continued, “something more precious than a Heroes Relic. As long as I can preserve that, I can live with the consequences.”

You didn’t fight when he grabbed your hand from where it had fallen on the comforter, pulling it up into both of his. Yuri’s hands were rough, his fingers narrow and long and nice. They were scarred and bloodstained. They held yours gently, tenderly.

“Heh, maybe I’m a coward to tell you now. I doubt you’ll remember this by tomorrow.”

“I’ll remember,” you mumbled mindlessly, your eyes remaining closed. How could you forget this warmth? The beauty of the colors in your head, the feeling of his touch.

Yuri pressed his cheek against your hand. The skin was soft, warm. “Maybe you will. You certainly deserve my honesty. But after tonight... Maybe it’s too late to anyway. I tried so hard to protect you, even from myself.” He laughed, a humorless puff of air against your knuckles. “Especially from myself. Sometimes I can’t help but think that it’s inevitable that everything and everyone who becomes close to me will be stained by the association. I didn’t want to see that shine in your eyes become dull. This cruel, cynical world destroys everything of value, but not you.” He paused, thinking. You drifted, the words rolling over you without sticking, without meaning. His voice was so lovely. “But you’re wrong, you know,” Yuri continued after a while, pulling you back. “Things done out of love don’t have a price. You don’t owe me anything, you never have.”

Yuri’s lips brushed over your knuckles, a kiss over each ridge, before one of his hands untangled itself. You leaned into the feeling of his calloused fingertips on your warm cheek, pushing your hair out of the way as they caressed your face. Even in your vague stupor, the touch was enough to make your eyes open. Half-lidded, your sight hazy. Yuri glowed in the candlelight.

A smile tugged at the corner of his pink lips, a melancholic expression. So sad. Did he always look so sad? So beautiful? It made your heart ache, a hollow, faraway feeling.

“Hey,” he said, meeting your eyes. You attempted a smile in return, a dozing, drunken, delirious smile. “If I told you tomorrow that I loved you, would you take me as I am?” You hummed. A yes, maybe, no. He was still stroking your face, holding your hand. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d been touched like this. Not since you were a child, you didn’t think. So nice, so soft. “That’s the problem, I don’t know. And I… I don’t act unless victory is assured. If I make a move and lose you for good…” He squeezed your hand, his eyes closing. “I don’t want to lose you. Not to the whims of the cruel world and not by corrupting you with my black heart.” Your eyes closed again, his words becoming lost in your fascination with his voice. Yuri’s fingers left your cheek, returning to wrap around your hand. “Even if can never have you,” he said, a soft resolution in his voice, “it’ll be okay as long as you’re safe. And I know that you’ll be safe as long as you stay with me.”

#dimitrimidim #yuri leclerc #fe yuri #yuri leclerc x reader #fe yuri x reader #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #my writing #yandere // #yuri #yuri x reader #whoops hope y'all like this #as the kids say #yeet #uh if there's issues just pretend they're not answering the phone

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Remember

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 3238

Content warnings - lots of angst, MAJOR SPOILER WARNING, post Lesson 16, platonic relationships

Prompt/Inspiration - none 

Summary - After the situation with Belphegor is resolved, you struggle to come to terms with your changing relationships with the brothers.

AO3

Things rarely turn out as you plan them.

And this time was no exception. As soon as Belphegor offered you that hug, you knew something was wrong. That smile just didn’t look...right. Perhaps you should have tried to run, but judging by what happened with your body in the alternate reality, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

When you had finally left the attic, after being revived by the last of Lilith’s power, the sight that greeted you was like something out of a horror movie. So much blood everywhere. And in the middle of it all sat Mammon, clutching your body to himself, begging you not to leave. Even though you knew Barbatos had told you that you must not interfere, you couldn’t just stand by and watch Mammon fall to pieces when you were right there, just a few yards away.

So you took a step forward.

Levi was the first to notice you, and everyone else turned to face you soon after. There was so much confusion in their eyes, but also hope. Hope that maybe you were in fact alive. Just as you were about to run to Mammon, Belphegor moved to attack you again. But after a few moments of panic, you were finally able to explain what happened to their sister and why there appeared to be two of you.

You were so happy to be reunited with everyone, to be alive, you didn’t think much of your new relationship to them at first. It hadn’t entered your mind that anything would actually change. As you talked with Belphegor, you relaxed even more, learning that he did in fact value your companionship and what you had done for him. Which is also, as he explained, part of why he reacted as he had - he knew just how enamored everyone was with you, and blamed you for leading them down the same path as Lilith. But once he had learned that Lilith was still able to live a happy life, he was able to begin to deal with his grief, and could finally fully appreciate you.

As the evening wore on however, you started to become uncomfortable. Not with Belphie though, his behavior you at least understood, in a sense. But with the attention and doting that everyone else was lavishing on you. Everyone had always been nice to you before, but this was beyond that. And when Lord Diavolo made some comment in passing about how everyone must be happy about getting to do all the things with you that they had wanted to do with Lilith, a sick feeling crept into your stomach, making it churn. You tried to convince yourself you were overreacting. They loved you. You loved them. They were just glad you weren’t dead. But the feeling of unease wouldn’t go away.

————

The following morning, you woke up drenched in sweat. You had a nightmare. And not just any nightmare. A very vivid nightmare about how Belphegor had killed you. And not only did you remember the first time in the attic, but for reasons you did not understand, you also remembered the death you had suffered in the alternate reality. You could feel his claws around your throat. How your ribs stabbed further into your lungs every time you tried to take a breath. The blood pouring from the wound in your abdomen. Everything. Every little thing, in excruciating detail.

Your first thought was to run right to Mammon. He was your closest friend, after all. And you frequently helped him out when he had nightmares of his own. But something made you hesitate and you decided instead to just take a quick bath, and head down to breakfast. Maybe you could talk to him after school, you thought. That would also give you an opportunity to check on him too, since you hadn’t had a chance yet to speak to him about the events of the previous evening.

After classes ended, you quickly headed to your meeting spot to wait for Mammon. He was all smiles when he saw you, and you beamed at him in return. The walk back to the House of Lamentation was a peaceful one, as the two of you chatted about your day. You were surprised at just how normal it all felt. Like yesterday had never happened. But it did happen, and every time you closed your eyes all you could see was the blood coated hall, and you knew you needed to talk about it.

“So Mammon...how are you doing?”

“Good, why?”

“Oh, I was just...well...I was worried about you. After yesterday, I mean…”

“Oh. Well, I’m good. You’re here, so it doesn’t matter ya know? Everything worked out,” he answered, flashing you a brilliant smile.

“Umm, yeah, right. That makes sense.”

It didn’t really make sense to you though. Not after that nightmare you had. But it seemed Mammon wasn’t having any nightmares at least, so that was good wasn’t it?

However, you couldn’t help but feel a little...rejected? One of the reasons you had wanted to talk to him about how you were feeling, was because you had assumed he would be struggling in a similar way. He was the one you were closest with, and he was the one you had seen holding your body, after all. Was what happened just not that big of a deal to him? Or maybe things like this just weren’t something demons got upset over?

“Whattabout you?”

“Hmm? Oh. Good, no problems here,” you smiled back at him. It was all you could do really. It just didn’t feel right bringing up those things when he was doing well. Especially since you knew how happy he was to find out the truth about Lilith and your bloodline. You couldn’t bring yourself to taint that happiness. He had suffered for long enough already, he deserved a little peace.

————

And so your days continued to pass in a similar way - go to school, walk home, go to bed, have a nightmare - until it had been a week already.

And by the end of the week, you were exhausted.

As you had spent time with each of the brothers, helping them get over their awkwardness with Belphegor, one thing had become abundantly clear to you: none of them seemed at all upset by what he had done to you.

You couldn’t really say why that bothered you so much. You had already forgiven Belphie, and had spent most of the week in his company. So it shouldn’t be a big deal if his brothers also forgave him, right?

Still, you found yourself flinching every time someone hugged you, or tried to hold your hand. When they’d offer you a snack or invite you somewhere, you just instinctually wanted to run away. To yell at them for ever thinking that you would be interested. And every time you had to fight back those urges you felt more and more guilty. They just wanted to show you they cared, didn’t they? Why couldn’t you just be happy?

When you got home from school that day, you immediately collapsed on your bed. Ever since the first nightmare, you had been having trouble falling asleep. And even after you managed to go to sleep, once you woke up from your nightmares, regardless of the time it was, you couldn’t go back to sleep. Sometimes you would think of going to climb into Mammon’s bed or see what Levi was up to, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You didn’t want to have to explain why you were up at weird hours of the night.

But now that you were laying in bed once again, it didn’t take long before exhaustion claimed you and pulled you into a deep sleep.

————

You were at the dining room table, eating breakfast when Beel entered.

“Good morning, Lilith.”

“It’s me Beel. I’m not Lilith.”

He looked at you, slightly puzzled.

“Um, ok? If you say so.”

And then he continued to his seat, and began eating his breakfast.

Lucifer entered next. He walked right over to you, and kissed you on the top of your head.

“Good morning, Lilith.”

“I’m not Lilith.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

Lucifer smirked at you. It was like he thought you were playing a game.

Mammon was the next to join you.

“‘Morning Lilith!”

He walked right up to you and hugged you in your seat.

“I’m not Lilith!”

“Of course ya are. I know my sister.”

He then ruffled your hair and took a seat next to you.

“But I’m not Lilith. I’m MC.”

“Huh?”

“MC! Your best friend!”

“Oh is this a new game you and Belphie are playin’?”

“No!!”

Mammon laughed at your reaction.

No, not your reaction. The reaction of his cute little sister.

‘You’ weren’t there. ‘You’ didn’t exist. It was just Lilith. And no one missed you. No one remembered you. Only Lilith.

————

“AHHHHHH!”

You woke up in a cold sweat, screaming, though you couldn’t remember why. You had been having breakfast. And then…

And then…

Lilith.

Suddenly everything made sense to you. Why you flinched when someone touched you. Why you wanted to slap their hands away when they offered you food. Why you wanted to scream at them when they invited you somewhere.

They weren’t inviting you, they were inviting Lilith.  

Or Lilith’s descendant. Though you supposed it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that you were not part of the equation. You had died, and no one mourned your death. As soon as your identity had been revealed, it was like nothing else had ever happened. No one cared that Belphegor killed you. It was all okay...because they got Lilith back.

As the realization hit you, so did the flood of tears, and the uncontrollable sobs. Or maybe calling it wailing would be more accurate? Whatever it was, it brought Mammon to your room, in a panic.

“What the hell?! Are you okay?!”

Mammon was at your side in an instant, but seeing him there only made you cry harder. A reminder that you were gone. That he didn’t miss you. That your death was an acceptable thing, because he got Lilith back.

Not knowing what else to do, Mammon sat beside you in your bed, wrapping his arms around you as he cradled you to his chest. You wanted to resist. You wanted to push him away. But you were just too weak. Too exhausted to fight back. So you let him hold you, and comb his fingers through your hair, as he rocked you gently and tried to comfort you.

Eventually you were able to sit up on your own, even though your tears were still streaming down your face. Your chest was still unbearably tight, but at least you could breathe now. And even though your throat still ached, you could once again talk.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your eyes, trying to clean off whatever tears you could.

“It’s nothin’...but what happened?” Mammon loosened his grip on you a little, allowing you to sit up some more and put some space between you.

“Just a nightmare. No big deal,” you tried to laugh it off. But he wasn’t buying it.

“Ya know, you’ve been actin’ kinda weird all week. Are ya sure you’re ok?”

“Yep. Just fine. Probably could use some sleep, but that’s it,” you smiled at him.

“C’mon you can’t expect me to believe that. You can’t even get ya-self to stop cryin’!”

“Oh…”

He was right. The fact that even now your tears wouldn’t stop was a pretty clear indicator that something was wrong. But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t tell anyone.

“It’s fine. I’ll be ok. Just need a minute,” you said, trying to deflect.

“It ain’t fine. C’mon, talk to me, please. You’re…”

“...I’m not Lilith…”

“Huh?” Mammon looked at you, as you sat next to him, keeping your head down. His arm was still wrapped around you, so he squeezed your shoulder in what he hoped would be a gesture of reassurance.

“...I’m not...not her...I’m not Lilith…”

“Well yeah, I know that.”

“...but do you? Really?”

“Look you really ain’t makin’ a lot of sense right now. I want to help...but I don’t know what ya want me to do,” Mammon was grasping at straws here, desperate to figure out what had you so upset, and why you were saying these things.

“I remember….”

“Remember?”

“When I died. I remembered. Not just in the attic. But…”

“Wh…? How?”

“I dunno...I just do. I see it in my dreams. I can’t sleep.”

Mammon had started rubbing your arm now, gently, encouraging you to keep going.

“I remember. But no one else does. I died. But no one cared. They got Lilith back. And what about me? What about where I belong? It’s all gone. I’m still dead. And you have Lilith. And no one...no one cares…”

Your tears had started to fall heavily again, the pain in your chest worsening. You tried to rub it away with your hand, but it didn’t bring you any relief. Why couldn’t the pain just stop? It seemed like you had been in pain from the moment you finally opened the attic door. And it felt like nothing would ever make it end.

Suddenly you felt Mammon’s arms around you, and you were wrapped in a near bone crushing hug. You gasped in surprise, but he didn’t let go. He just buried his face further into the crook of your neck. As you sat there, stunned, you started to feel dampness on your shirt and skin.

Was he...crying? Why would he be crying? Did you do this? You had been so careful not to mention any of this, and then suddenly it had just come rushing out all at once and you couldn’t stop it. And now Mammon was hurt.

“... I remember...I remember…” he choked out in between sobs. He was trying hard to keep himself together, but it was a losing battle. Every time he tried to speak, another memory would replay in his mind. And every time he closed his eyes, he could see your lifeless body. All he could do now to stop from coming undone completely was to hold you close and feel your warmth against him.

“You...remember? But...I...you said…”

“No. Listen. Listen to me,” Mammon said, letting you go and sitting up, taking your face gently in his hands, “I remember. I could never forget. I didn’t want ya to worry. So I didn’t say. But I...I remember.”

“You..remember?”

“I remember.”

Without any further hesitation, you wrapped your arms around Mammon’s neck as he pulled you into his lap and hugged you tightly to himself. It was impossible to tell who was crying more at this point. In between sobs, the only other sound that could be heard was Mammon repeating “I remember” over and over again.

You had been feeling so incredibly lonely. And in one single moment, Mammon had managed to change all that. Even if no one else grieved for you. Even if no one else missed you. He did. You couldn’t put into words how much that meant to you, all you could do was hold him tighter and tighter. Trying with all your might to make sure he would never leave you again.

And Mammon? He had been feeling much the same as you. When he saw you trying so hard to act normal, he didn’t have the heart to burden you with his troubles. Why should he be the one to stir up bad memories for you? It was bad enough he had to deal with these things, that his sleep was a restless one, plagued with nightmares, you didn’t need to suffer too. If you were strong enough to get through this, then he should be able to manage it easily.

But now, he could see just how foolish that was. You hadn’t been alright at all. In fact, you were the furthest thing from alright. As far as you knew, no one missed you and only saw you as some sort of sister replacement. And if he had just told you, even a little, just said “I’m glad you’re ok,” all of this could have been avoided. You wouldn’t be crying so hard in his arms. You wouldn’t be struggling to breathe. No, you would be happy. You would be smiling. But because he didn’t want to appear weak , he had brought you so much unnecessary suffering.

————

Neither of you knew when you had fallen asleep exactly, but by the time you had woken up, it was late into the night. Not wanting to disturb Mammon, you opted to continue laying curled up next to his side, with your head resting on his chest. The sound of his breathing was so soothing to you. You had missed this.

It occurred to you as you snuggled closer to him, that you had woken up naturally. For the first time in a week, your dreams had been peaceful ones. And you attributed this change to the fact that Mammon was now by your side and you no longer felt alone and forgotten. You were safe here, with him.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Oh sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Nah, just checkin’ on ya.”

“I’m good actually. No nightmares,” you replied, looking up, smiling at him the first genuine smile you had had in days.

“Me too,” he pulled you closer with the arm that was around your shoulders so that he could kiss your forehead, making you smile even more.

“Guess we just aren’t any good on our own, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he laughed.

After a moment of silence, he continued, “Umm. There’s somethin’ I feel like I gotta say,” you tried to sit up so you could look at him, but he held you in place and pulled you closer instead, “Nah, just stay like that. I don’t wantcha lookin’ at me.

So...umm...I feel like you should know that you aren’t a replacement ta me. I mean, I loved my sister. And losin’ her was hard. But...when I thought I lost you? That was...that was the most painful experience of my life. Worse than the Fall. Worse than all of it,” Mammon’s grip tightened around you, pulling you even closer than before, “I can’t lose ya again.”

You listened carefully as Mammon opened up to you. With each word he whispered to you, another knot of anxiety untangled itself from within your chest. The two of you had misunderstood each other so badly. And in trying to protect the other, had only caused one another more pain.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you said, giving him a squeeze with the arm around his chest. Just spending a week without him was bad enough, you didn’t want to think about what things would be like if he was ever truly gone .

Mammon smiled as he felt you cling to him. He loved that feeling. Of being wanted, needed . He always felt that way around you, you made sure of it. And he didn’t think he could live without it at this point.

“Don’t worry. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

#gn!mc #platonic mammon #platonic relationships #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me fanfic #obey me angst #mammon angst #mammon fanfic

[rainygothherowolf]

Jasonette- Little Sister Pt.1

Here ~ Next ~ Last

Jason was annoyed, he didn't understand why he had to babysit a bunch of annoying teenagers. Bruce tried to make the excuse of keeping them safe while Joker was on the loose, but that didn't mean the head of security of an international company should be following some stupid tourists.

On top of that, his little sister's birthday was coming up. It was hardly a week away but Jason was already feeling the guilt, she would have turned fifteen this year. Jason remembered how a six-year-old Marinette would go on and on about when she became a teenager.

// Flashback, 12 years ago //

"Jay-Jay!" A small half-Asian girl with midnight hair exclaimed, her bright blue eyes shining with excitement as her hands shot up, asking to be held.

"Alright, alright, jeez I just got back, pixie! And you're getting to old for this!" A fourteen-year-old Jason picked up the far too light girl, balancing her on his hip as he fished the granola bar out of his back pocket. "Are you hungry?" Marinette shook her head 'no', pushing the food towards him.

"I ate yesterday, it's your turn." Marinette pouted but took the food anyways.

"Wanna share?" She offered, Jason shook his head. He insisted she eat, and eventually she did.

"Now, I have to go back." Marinette frowned, "I just came to bring your food. I'll be back soon, see you tomorrow." Jason gave his little honorary sister a hug before tucking her into bed, using both her blanket and his.

"When I'm big, like you, I'm gonna make you stay!" Jason chuckled softly before tucking her in again, on the inside he was proud. She was so smart, she'd grow-up to become an amazing person, Jason just had to make sure she lived long enough to do it.

// Flashback ends //

Jason never saw Marinette again, that was the night Batman found him and took him in. His life had changed so much since that night, if only he hadn't been so stupid and told Bruce about Marinette, Jason was convinced he would have taken her in too. But now it was too late, apparently she'd been adopted by some couple in Europe but the case was sealed and without telling Tim or Bruce he'd never get his hands on them.

The second robin was pulled out of his thoughts when Dick approached him, strangely not at work.

"What?" Dick seemed to get more and more excited as he walked with Jason.

"Where are you going, Jay?" Jason glared at his brother, shoving him off.

"I have to go babysit some french class that Bruce invited."

"Hey, you never know- it could be fun!" Jason just rolled his eyes at his older brother's golden retriever-like mentality. They turned a corner and boarded the elevator.

"What are you even doing here, aren't you supposed to be working?"

"I got the afternoon off."

"Great, wanna take my place?" Dick looked at his watch before responding.

"No, trust me, you're the better person for the job." Jason was confused by that, but the elevator doors opened and a quick glance at his own watch told Jason he was late.

"Whatever." Jason huffed as he walked to the lobby, but Dick just followed him as he messed with his phone. Odd.

Marinette was excited, her class had been selected by Wayne Enterprises for a class trip! She was so happy that she'd get to see Gotham again. No one knew that Marinette had grown up in the states and been adopted by the Dupain's, not that anyone cared. The class was quick to fall into Lila Rossi's trap, it hurt Marinette to see her friends leave her but she'd be okay. She had Tiki and her parents.

She might not have Jason, but she'd be okay. She had to be, Ladybug couldn't be emotional compromised.

Lila suddenly pulled Marinette from her revere when she gasped,

"Oh my goodness, you won't tell anyone right? Bruce always hates when people find out, our family is really serious about privacy... but you won't say anything right?" The class was quick to give their assurances before Lila continued to spin her web of lies. She was prattling about some rich boyfriend of hers and how she’s practically family.

Instead of listening to the mindless Italian, Marinette decided to take in the modern lobby. The walls were a sharp white that went well with the dark marble floors. There was a sleek receptionists desk with four busy-looking employee's. Everyone was dressed in business-wear so the french class stood out like a sore thumb. The room had tall ceilings with an understated, modern chandelier and rounded sofas. The seating was scattered throughout the large lobby.

Their tour guide was a nice blond man named Mark, he that said they were going to begin as soon as a security guard assigned to escort them arrived. Marinette was waiting near Mark and Mme. Bustier, keeping her distance from Lila's coffee and her class' harsh glares.

"Later, Dick." An almost familiar voice called, it was gruffer and deeper than it used to be but Marinette instantly recognized it.

"Jay-Jay?" Marinette called out, softly, disbelievingly, it wasn’t the first time she’d thought she heard the voice but the bluenette couldn’t help but hope. He caught it and their eyes met. Marinette could feel her eyes fill with unshed tears as she took Jason in, he was much taller with dark hair and an odd white tuft on the front. His face had matured since she'd last seen him, he now had sharp features and a strong jawline, his eyes were unmistakable. He was dressed in a suit but on top of his shirt was a bullet proof vest, sure she couldn't remember much but his voice had always calmed her and the thought of the skinny fourteen year old smirking would always make her smile, it was almost instinctual.

"Pixie pop?" He sounded like he couldn't believe his eyes, behind the shock was relief- and grief. Marinette slowly walked towards Jason, stopping right in front of him.

Jason couldn't believe it. After all these years they finally found each other again. Regret and disappointment washed over him in waves. Her eyes looked broken. He never should have left her, he should have found her sooner, he should have told Bruce, he should have done something- anything.

"Marine-?" Jason tried to speak but was cut off, Marinette had slapped him. Hard. The harsh noise of her hand hitting his skin got everyone to stop in their tracks, even the eternally busy receptionists. His cheek stung, she was stronger than she looked. He didn't stop her.

"Idiot." Before Jason even knew what was happening Marinette was hugging him, jumping to reach her arms around his neck.

He did his best to shove back his self loathing for another time, right now he had to focus on Marinette.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry." Jason just kept apologizing as he hugged her back, a stray tear seared his cheek. Marinette cut him off with a flick to his ear- he used to do that when she was bratty.

"Where did you go? Why did you leave me? I was alone. And you promised!" Marinette spoke, pushing through the tears, through the emotion- all Jason could do was dip his head in shame. He always promised they'd stay together, no matter what.

"A lot of stuff happened, Pixie. Let's get out of here- yeah?" Marinette nodded before hugging Jason again, this time around the waist.

"I missed you, you big idiot. You’re the worst brother ever, you owe me a lot of candy." Jason relaxed at the word brother, even if he had years to make up for it was better than losing his little sister for good.

"See! I told you he was looking into it for a reason, pay up!" Dick exclaimed, that got Jason's attention. Dick and the rest of his siblings saw his glare and quieted. Damian wasn't even paying attention, he was on his phone. Tim saw the glare but still payed Dick, grumbling as he did so.

"Go be idiots somewhere else."

"No way! She said brother! That makes us her brothers too!" Marinette jumped at the conclusion, Jason growled. He glared again, but the tiny person clinging to Jason took the edge off.

"Dick Grayson." The original Robin introduced himself politely, "Nice to meet you." She greeted the boy politely, wiping her tears away with her left while she shook his hand with her right.

"Tim Drake." The most exhausted of the group introduced, he was about to do something to the youngest- whose head was still buried in his phone- but was interrupted.

"Of course the slut has an american sugar daddy!" Lila loudly announced laughing, the rest of the class joined in- some more hesitantly than others. Jason noticed Marinette try to make herself smaller, hugging him tighter- this wasn't anything new to her.

Jason glared, the boys eyed him- worried about the genuinely deadly look in his eye.

"What did you call her?" Jason asked in perfect french, the children flinched. Mme Bustier stood between the students and Jason, looking nervous but determined.

"Please don't intimidate my students." The woman tried to sound firm but failed miserably.

"Then maybe you should stop your students from bullying their classmate, or did you not hear the brunette insult another student?!" Caline didn't know whether or not to answer but decided to stay quiet.

"Any of you brats insult my little sister again and you won't wanna know what happens." Jason quietly threatened, meaning every word.

"Little sister?" Alya exclaimed, "Please! Marinette is an only child, if you're going to lie at least be convincing! You don't know her at all, the lying bully is just trying to steal the spotlight again!" Jason was pissed and took a threatening step towards the girl, but deep down he knew she was right, he didn't know Marinette. But the one thing he did know was that he was her brother, and no one messed with his family.

For once, Jason's brothers were quiet. Dick and Tim were waiting to see how Jason would handle everything, waiting to see if they needed to intervene. Damian was on his laptop, not giving anyone a second glance. It seemed to Jason he had been paying attention because Damian assumed he'd be in the lobby long enough the take out his computer.

The entire exchange from the moment the insult was given to now had taken no longer than a minute but Marinette was still clinging to Jason until he tried to walk towards Alya again, she had whispered something to Lila that made her laugh and when Jason tried to move forward Marinette released him and grabbed his suit coat, trying to pull him back. Sure the pulls were weak but she meant it.

"You'll just make it worse, Jay." He huffed, there was no way in hell he was going to let Marinette anywhere near the moronic class ever again.

"Fine, let’s call security and get them out of here."

"Hey you can't do that, we were invited by Bruce Wayne himself." Jason continued as if the bespectacled brunette hadn't spoken.

"Oh wait! I am security! Get out."

"Jason-"

"B! Great, you can tell them to leave! I'm outta-here!"

"You're not going anywhere, Jason, and the class is scheduled for a tour. Tim, call Lucius. Ask him to cover for us and get someone who isn't the head of security to escort the tour. Never touch my email again." Tim sheepishly agreed, dialing Lucius' number.

Bruce then turned to the French class as they stared in awe, Caline blushed softly.

"You must be Mme Bustier?" She nodded, "I'm Bruce Wayne, my apologies for the delay, the tour will be starting shortly. If it's alright with you, may Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng be excused from the tour?" Bruce spoke in pristine French, the teacher could only nod in response to the older man's rehearsed smile.

"Mr. Wayne! Can I get a quote for an article?" Alya asked without thinking.

"What's your article about?" Bruce asked, curious.

"Uh-" Alya blushed before trying to disappear into the crowd, he politely ignored her outburst.

"It was a pleasure meeting all of you, but if you'd excuse me I have other things to attend to-"

"Wait! Aren't you going to greet Lila?" The billionaire looked confused for a moment before he noticed one girl looking particularly distressed.

"I'm sorry to say I don't know anyone by that name, now if you'll excuse me-"

"What do you mean? Lila Rossi, your honorary niece! She practically lived with you when her mother worked at the embassy here in Gotham! Your youngest son, Damian's childhood friend! Her boyfriend!" The boy on his laptop snorted at Rose's statement.

"I am not in a relationship with anyone, and I have no childhood friends." Damian shut his laptop as he ran a hand through his hair making a good portion of the class blush, Marinette couldn't help but think 'He's too good looking for his own good'. His dark hair and tan skin highlighted his jade eyes, a business suit adding to her professional demeanor. His shorter, swoopy hair was mesmerizing... and his arms were thick and seemed strong, the veins on his hand clearly visible as it moved through his silky locks. Jason seemed to catch onto her train of thought and hastily covered her eyes.

"No." Marinette giggled, coming back to reality when the boy was shielded from view. He was as protective as ever. She remembered how he'd get when the other kids used to get close to Marinette, being a little girl meant pity cash from adults and was a solid partner on the streets of Gotham. Marinette moved his hand to watch the long awaited fall of Liar Rossi.

"What do you mean?" Nino exclaimed.

"If that wasn't true, what else did you lie about?" Kim exclaimed, Alix seconded.

"Nothing, I swear." The brunette pleaded, desperately trying to convince the class.

"Does this mean you don't know those music producers you promised I'd get to meet?" Nino demanded, the class began to circle around Lila, all asking about promises she'd made

"And the acting internship?" Milene asked.

"Do you even know Ladybug?"

"Or Jagged Stone?"

"Was anything you said true?" The class continued to ask her questions, Lila looked shaken as her not-so-carefully crafted web of lies fell apart.

"Was what you said about Marinette true?"

"Did she even bully you?"

"I knew she wouldn't say such horrible things!"

"Yeah, Marinette never would have hurt anyone! I can't believe we fell for your lies!" Everyone began to yell at Lila, blaming her for all the awful things they did to her. Jason could hardly stand it, pulling Marinette into another hug- she had been dealing with morons.

"Class! Now is not the time, we have a tour. Unless you want the trip to end early I suggest you quiet down!" Mme Bustier was ignored. Mike whistled, loudly.

"Alright! It's time for the tour, so quiet down!" The tour guide quickly took a head count and led the class away, an artificial smile in place. Everyone was either glaring at the Lila girl or looking at Marinette as they walked away.

"Sorry about them, they can get pretty loud." Marinette tried to play the whole thing off, they let her.

"Bruce Wayne."

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, it's an honor to meet you sir. Thank you for the trip!" Bruce gave his three younger sons a look, Damian was back on his laptop but was quick to defend himself.

"I, for one, had no part in this, father. They bet on why Jason looked into some girl's adoption file."

"And you knew?" Damian stopped typing and looked up.

"Maybe... but you can't prove anything." Tim smirked before he remembered what he was going to do before any of the drama came up.

"Damian! Introduce yourself!" The boy who looked to be a little older than Marinette rolled his eyes with a sigh but approached the girl nonetheless, glaring at Tim before looking at Marinette for the first time. His scowl morphed into something else as he studied her.

Marinette noticed his examining her and blushed, but looked back at him just as interested.

"... Damian Wayne."

"Marinette." They shook hands, neither taking their eyes off each other. Jason looked between the two teenagers, first at Damian then to his little sister before going back to Damian and then back to Marinette before it stopped on Damian's- Jason.exe stopped working before it went into overdrive.

As if on instinct, Jason put a hand on each of their shoulders pushing them apart. Their longer-then-normal hand shake ended as they eyes snapped to Jason.

"Don't even think about it. No way in hell, brat, keep your slimy paws off my sister." Marinette blushed heavily, averting her eyes in embarrassment.

Dick and Tim howled in laughter when they heard Damian's response, Bruce smirked.

"She's your sister, not mine."

#Daminette #Maribat #Jasonette #DamianWayne #JasonTodd #MarinetteDupain-Cheng #AU #miraculous fandom #MiraculousLadybug #Ladybug #DC #Zagg #Crossover #Fanfic

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings: none really but the reader is a tsundere, and there’s some vague awful knowledge on how horse ranches operate. 

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

The next two weeks were about as awkward as one would expect them to be. Even without their already tense history with each other, it wouldn’t exactly be a situation that would be any easier to adjust to. For god's sake, he was hiding out in Texas and was wanted for treason against his former organisation. What about that was supposed to be easy for him?

The two of you had largely avoided each other during this time, sometimes even barely seeing each other during the day. For the first couple of days, Jack had spent most of his time upstairs at your insistence, in order to properly let his wounds heal. No matter how much he protested against you, you weren’t having a single second of his nonsense and told him rather firmly that it was for his own good to stay up there. Those were the days where he’d found himself utterly bored out of his brain - there were only so many books that were kept in that little guest bedroom, and even though the thought had crossed his mind a few times he’d already swore to you he wouldn’t go poking through the closets for anything.

When you’d finally deemed him in good enough shape to help around the ranch, then things had gotten better. Or at least, they’d gotten less boring. No matter what a part of his mind instinctually lingered on Statesman, whether that be on how so many years of loyalty to the organisation ended in a crashing blaze or how long he would have before they were able to track him down. He didn’t give himself much time on the run - a few months maximum if he was lucky before they inevitably caught onto him one way or another. Sometimes he wondered what the point of running even was if he believed so thoroughly that Statesman would catch up to him. The only answer he could ever give for himself to that was four simple words: I have to try. It may be a longshot, he may spend the rest of his life evading his former agency at every turn but goddamn he had to at least try to get away from it all. The things he’d done in Cambodia, the threat of death ever looming over him. He’d gotten lucky once escaping with his life, so who’s to say that couldn’t happen again? 

Stealing a brief glance over to where you were only metres away from him, cleaning out one of the older horses stalls, he couldn’t help but wonder about you. There was no doubt in his mind that you loathed him for what he did, and rightfully so he had to admit. The few words you had exchanged with each other during this time were terse and brief, and were mainly condensed to matters with looking after the animals or mundane things like asking where the keys were. Even from the start your demeanour hadn’t been remarkably bright, which in a way struck him as odd. You certainly weren’t the same girl he remembered dating years ago. Jack never expected you to be happy at his return into your life but there was something more too - even when you weren’t around him, when you were putting on a happy face for the different guests and customers something was missing still. When Jack had first met you, you were still only in college, and while on the surface you had that same snark that he found himself loving more and more about you with every time you’d spoken, there was also a sense of innocence there. He remembered how your moral code was always focused on doing the right thing, how you wanted to believe that deep down everyone had some good in them. It was something he’d admired about you - even back then he was jaded by the world, having witnessed so much wickedness firsthand both through his position at Statesman and from his own life before that. Some would call you naive for having that much faith in humanity, but he’d found it endlessly endearing. 

He wasn’t inclined to say that you no longer believed in doing what’s right - you had taken him in when there was nowhere else to turn. But that brightness in your eyes, the unwavering trust you’d always been willing to give. That was what was gone, extinguished like it was never even there to begin with. He had to wonder if he was largely responsible for this change, if the reason you’d become so passingly apathetic and distrustful was because of his actions. Most likely that was the case, and from what you’d said a couple of weeks back about your parents passing away it was no wonder you were no longer that spunky wide-eyed girl from Texas, that you had become so sullen and moody. A lot had clearly happened in those seven years of silence, and for that he felt truly remorseful for how he’d hurt you.

You hadn’t mentioned that night so far, so a part of Jack felt willing to leave things as is and only focus on being as little of a hassle to you as possible during this time. If you mention the breakup you run the risk of making things worse, he reasoned with himself. As much as he wanted to apologise, explain himself a little bit, he knew that you were never going to believe a word he said. You believed him to be nothing more than a lying son of a bitch who was only interested in the thrill of the chase and not ever after anything truly committed. He could still hear those cutting remarks slip from your lips as if it were only yesterday. “You know what you are? You’re a fucking liar, Jack Daniels. What happened to forever and always? Or did you forget that?”. 

“Hey, Jack, there should be a new delivery of fresh hay coming through for the horses in the next couple of minutes. Do me a favour and go greet them for me, will ya?” he heard your voice ring out, interrupting his train of thought and bringing him back to reality. “Sure thing, darlin’” he nodded, setting aside the bag of grain he’d been giving each of the horses and stepping aside over towards the stables entrances, only just missing the hasty look you shot him out the corner of his eye.

___

You didn’t know what had come over you. All morning you had been distracted by him, your eyes wandering over to where he was feeding the horses, running his hand across their manes and giving them a gentle pet. Jack had always been great with animals, something the both of you had in common. Rolling your eyes to yourself, you continued to direct your focus on raking out all manner of gunk and mess from the stalls, somewhat annoyed to even be reminiscing on such long forgotten things. Normally you were level headed and focused but ever since Jack had appeared back in your life out of the blue things had gotten a tad stranger for you. It didn’t surprise you in the least that his presence in your house ignited old memories, coaxing out both the bitter and bright from their place dormant at the back of your mind. The two of you had barely said a word to each other in those two weeks and yet here you were, being plagued by ghosts of the past. You wondered if Jack felt the same way, if he could also feel the awkward tension ripe between you. In your opinion, you’d have to be an idiot not to notice.

It didn’t make sense to you. You’d thought you’d long since moved on from the pain he’d caused you, focusing on maintaining a steady rhythm and pace in your own life and being far too busy with the ranch to even let your thoughts wander to your ex-boyfriend. With him around though, it was bringing everything back, almost as if none of it had ever left in the first place. Safe to say, all of it made you more than a bit agitated

But you couldn’t have just left him out there to fend for himself. No, you weren’t heartless, and taking him in was the right thing to do. You could handle the irritating flashbacks and echoes as long as it meant he was safe and alive. And besides, this was only temporary. He’d no doubt find somewhere else to jet off to in a matter of weeks and leave you to return back to your normal routine. It was odd having someone else in the house anyway, after spending so many years alone. Suddenly you had to be considerate for someone else, integrating them into your own routine, your way of life.

And, truth be told, a small part of you didn’t mind the company one bit. Not that you’d ever say that outloud of course. No, you’d rather kill yourself before admitting to anyone, lest Jack himself, that you actually liked having someone else around. Even if words exchanged were few and far between, there was an element of comfort to having someone stay with you. Though you largely chalked this small feeling up to spending too long in solitude. 

Another thing that had taken you by surprise was Jack’s behaviour. You’d fully expected to have to once again deal with his antics, the annoying and frustratingly devilish charm he exuded in every quick witted remark, that smirk of his you’d come to know so well that once upon a time was enough to make you bend to him, and you’d prepared yourself the best you could to combat him back. You were determined to not let him get under your skin and not be taken in by his charm: you knew better now. Strange as it was though, none of that ever ended up coming to pass. In the few interactions you did have with each other a day, Jack was being mostly polite and keeping to himself. Sure, there were a few banter-like comments sprinkled here and there, this was Jack Daniels after all, but they were few and far between. He still hadn’t told you the finer details of what had happened between him and those other agents but it must have been enough to knock him down a few pegs in the ego department judging by his demeanour. That, or he felt the stifling awkwardness between you two and felt it best to dial himself back a bit. Maybe it was a mix of both. You really couldn’t say for sure though. 

Shaking your head, you shifted focus back on to the list of tasks you needed to get through that day before the ranch opened for business. It was around seven in the morning, and opening hours were from eight-thirty to six, and it was a Wednesday so business was moderate. You had a couple of kids booked for riding lessons later on as well as some people coming to rent out specific horses for rides, plus a doctor coming to look at one of the pregnant mares for a checkup. Not exactly what you would call a hectic day but still not a walk in the park either. You also had a couple of deliveries coming in that day, speaking of which, you remembered, one was scheduled to arrive in only a few moments.

You shouted out for Jack to go meet with the delivery guy, and you watched him as he sauntered out of the stables in search of the van, your eyes catching a glimpse of that ridiculous oversized belt buckle of his as it glinted in the early morning light. There were some things about that man you just never understood, his affinity for that tacky buckle being one of them. 

You turned your attention back to your current task of cleaning out the horses stalls. Years ago when you were a young kid you’d turned up your nose at the idea of having to shove around manure and urine soaked hay twice a day, though years passed and you barely even noticed or cared about the grossness of the stench. Shoving the last bits of hay into a large plastic garbage bag, you turned back over to where the old mare was standing in the corner, looking disinterested as usual and blew on a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “Looks like I’m all done here, Jack should be back with the hay for you in a moment” you mused, to which the animal in question lightly grunted back at you, as if it could understand exactly what you’d just said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know old girl. Just sit tight, ok?” you replied, stepping out of the stall and dragging the gate behind you, clearing the latch click just as Jack walked back in with an armful of hay bales. “I got the guy unloading the rest from his van, this should last ya a little over two weeks” he informed you, eliciting a general nod in his direction as a reply. “Good, that’s what I was hoping for. Just put it over by the door and I’ll sort it out in a bit” you instructed, looking down at your wristwatch for the time. 7:40 am - perfectly on schedule. The rest of your employees would be arriving soon, so tasks would be able to be knocked out faster too. 

The low sound of a yawn pulled you from your thoughts as you looked up over to where Jack was stacking the bales of hay, lightly rubbing a hand over his face. “Tired are we, Jack?” you commented, raising your brow slightly at him. 

“A little” he admitted. “Forgot to make myself a coffee this mornin’, and truth be told I didn’t get the best sleep last night”. 

“Is everything alright up there? I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable” you said, a little bit of sarcasm working its way into your tone. You just couldn’t help it, and in your mind, he well deserved every little lick of ire you could throw his way. 

“Everythings perfect, darlin’, I’m just...my mind tends to wander late at night. Things to do with Statesman and such, nothin’ for you to really be concerned about” he dismissed, shifting on his heel towards where the delivery man was bringing in the last of the stock he’d brought over. You didn’t move a single step, instead watching him thank the man and take the supplies off him, a small feeling of sympathy sparking that you quickly shrugged off like it was nothing. People dealt with insomnia all the time, you reasoned. And he said himself that it was nothing to worry about so that was that.

Neither of you said a word for the next couple of minutes, yet some part of the conversation was still at the back of your mind. You didn’t understand why - it was a pretty mundane exchange of words overall however you couldn’t help but still feel you needed to say something more.

“Sometimes I find it hard to sleep too. Usually that’s when I get up and go get a book or something. Anything that works as a distraction to whatever's on my mind” you found yourself saying out of nowhere. You could feel Jack glance over at you but you didn’t meet his gaze, keeping your own eyes trained down on the floor that you were sweeping. “I’ll have to keep that in mind then” you heard him say in response, to which you acknowledged him with a small nod and a slight side glance. In an instant afterwards, you minorly chastised yourself for saying something so stupid and random to him. Great, now you’ve made it even more awkward. You should have just kept your mouth shut. Even still, it was hard to miss that sweet look in Jack’s eyes when he’d replied back, when your eyes had met briefly for that small moment.

___

The loud sound of incessant beeping awoke you from your deep slumber, the noise becoming more and more grating with each second that passed. Mumbling under your breath you reached your hand out from underneath the sheets to flick the alarm off, your eyes only just beginning to adjust to the room around you as the last remnants of your dream melted away into nothing, being replaced by the stark wooden panelling of the walls and the feeling of textured quilt on the edge of your feet. There was barely any light in the room as the sun hadn’t come up yet, and wouldn’t rise for another fifteen minutes or so, leaving your vision time to adjust to the world around you as you rose up in bed and sighed.

Every morning it seemed you told yourself that you needed a vacation, a couple of days off to get away from it all and kick back a little. Sometimes you’d indulge yourself in the thought - taking a plane off to somewhere and not coming back for a couple of weeks. You never actually did it though, not due to a lack of finances but moreso that you didn’t even know what you’d do with yourself with all that time. As much as ranch work dragged on some days, the methodical nature of it kept you grounded and focused. What the hell were you supposed to do without it?

Shuffling off to the edge of the bed, you fumbled around for a pair of socks in your bedside drawer and slipped them onto your feet, your mind starting to wander off to that ever present list of tasks and chores you kept for yourself. The harder you thought on it, the more muddled your brain seemed to get. Leave the to-do list for after you’ve had coffee.

Your body was practically on autopilot as you moved out into the hallway and down the stairs, wanting to hurry to get that invigorating rush that caffeine gave you. The actual taste of the drink you were never totally partial to, truth be told: drinking it had more to do with the fact it woke you up and made you feel less like wanting to die every early morning. No matter how many years passed or long you kept doing this for, you just never became a morning person.

You didn’t notice it at first when you’d reached for two mugs instead of one out of the cupboard, only really caring about attempting to make yourself a coffee as fast as possible that hopefully wasn’t totally shitty in quality. You didn’t notice when you loaded up the espresso machine that you put enough coffee in for two instead of one, or when you put in extra milk in the frother. Really, it only had come to your attention that you’d done any of those things when you suddenly stared back at the kitchen counter and noticed two full mugs of coffee instead of one.

Staring back and forth between the two, you felt your brow crease while you moved your hand up to your neck, lightly rubbing on the back. Huh. Guess I must be really spaced this morning if I made two. As if on cue, you started to hear the sounds of Jack stirring upstairs, and without a second thought you grabbed both mugs in your hand and glided over towards the kitchen table, setting them both down and taking a seat in one of the well worn chairs.

“Hey. I made two by accident. You can have the other one I guess” you announced while watching him transcend down the stairs, gesturing vaguely over towards the other mug. You saw Jack glance up at you, his mussed hair and semi-dazed expression showing that he was probably half asleep still. He hadn’t bothered to dress himself yet, wearing the tight fitting white t-shirt you’d managed to fish out from a back cupboard somewhere and a pair of equally plain pajama pants. He looked...good, somehow, though you weren’t about to say that outloud. You could only imagine the smug self-satisfied smirk that type of remark would garner. 

He slowly walked up towards the table and gently scooped up the mug in his hand, running his thumb over the edge lightly. “Accident, huh? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were starting to warm up to me a little” he teased. You rolled your eyes back at him and took another sip of coffee. “Oh, shut up”.

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #Kingsman #Kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #cross my heart

[heyitsani]

This Could Be the End of Everything Chapter 1

@jaydick-week Day 4: ABO Dynamics

Word Count: 7,249

Rating: Mature

Warnings: non-con (but not sexual), canonical character death

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson

Summary: Jason's presentation takes something precious from Dick and they have to face the consequences in more ways than one.

Notes: Okay just a bit of background/history. In this "world" pack dynamics are important, but have taken a backseat since society doesn't require them anymore. But back when they were lead by more primitive needs and desires, each pack was led by one omega and alpha who were more powerful than the others. True Alphas and True Omegas, as they came to be called, were respected due to their power. But as society shifted and packs began settling in single places, Trues became more and more rare because the need for the powerful protectors was not needed.

Now they're considered precious and while True Alphas are more common than True Omega's, both are considered rare. And it's especially rare to have one of each in a pack. And when a True Alpha gives a mating bite to a True Omega, the bond cannot be broken without one or both of them dying (whereas a normal pair could easily break a bond if need be). And should one of the pair die, the other would become a shade of themselves for the rest of their days.

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was rare that Dick found himself at the manor these days.  The argument with Bruce that ended up with Robin being stripped from Dick and the one that followed when Bruce gave it to Jason without telling him first were still two excessively big bridges that had been burned.  And had yet to be rebuilt.  Although, if you asked Dick, he would say they would never be rebuilt.  Too much pain in those wounds.

But there were moments, like currently, when Bruce called and Dick answered because he couldn’t not help. Not when Bruce was able to find it within himself to ask for it to begin with.  Even if Dick wasn’t fooled and was well aware of the fact that Alfred had cajoled him into calling his eldest ward.

A fact that Alfred was more than happy to confirm as Dick sat in the kitchen with the older man and sipped on a cup of his favorite Earl Gray tea.

“Master Richard, would you please take this cup up to Master Jason?  He has not come down for his usual after school cup and I fear he has gotten caught up in his reading again,” Alfred set a tray down on the counter near Dick, glancing at the other man.

“Sure, Alfie,” Dick smiled. He set his own cup down on the tray, ignored the smile that Alfred gave him at the motion, and picked the whole tray up before heading out of the kitchen.

The manor was quiet, as it usually was at this time of day.  When Dick had lived within its walls, there had been noise from wherever it was he had found himself.  The need for movement or noise was embedded deep within his skin from his years in the circus and no matter how old he got, he could never shake it.  Jason was much more like Bruce in his need for peace and solitude.  Dick liked to tease Jason that he was adopted simply for the fact that he was much more of a Wayne then the unadopted Dick ever was.

Jason only ever scowled at that, but it made Dick snigger all the same.

Rounding the corner and making his way to Jason’s room, Dick balanced the tray on one hand and knocked. “Hey Jay?”  He listened a moment, letting his omega scent the air a moment for anything out of the normal when no answer came.  When nothing but Jason’s natural scent hit him, perhaps a bit stronger than usual, Dick deemed it safe to open the door.  What greeted him was not something he had been equipped to deal with.

The growl surprised him, but not nearly as much as the scent of alpha that smacked him right in the senses.  And how the hell hadn’t he noticed that through the door?  It was so strong now that the door was open, and he had stepped into the room.

But he didn’t get the chance to process what it all meant before he was being pushed into the closest wall and the tray he had been holding was crashing down onto the floor. It made enough noise that he knew Alfred and Bruce, who was working in his study, would hear it and come running. They wouldn’t come quick enough to stop Jason from doing what Dick could see was burning in his eyes.

“True Alpha,” Dick whispered, eyes going wide.  There was no denying that scent pouring off the newly presented alpha pressing him into the wall.  Jason’s only response was the snarl in Dick’s face and though the omega knew it was probably the stupidest thing he would ever do, he shifted his scent so Jason could smell more than just plain omega.

A scent that Dick worked so hard to hide because he had always expected to be an alpha growing up. He hadn’t even considered omega as a possibility.  If he weren’t an alpha, he would definitely be a beta.  But when he had presented as not only an omega, but a True Omega, his entire world had shifted.  He still struggled with accepting his place in the hierarchy of the world, but he had quickly mastered the skill of turning off the True in his scent, so no one knew outside of the family and a few very select friends.

But the research he had done immediately after his presentation heat had passed had told him one thing over and over: A True Omega can calm a True Alpha when breaching feral while presenting.  And Jason was going down that road, especially since Dick had waltzed into his territory uninvited.

So, he let the True Omega scent come out to play and immediately Jason’s tense hold on Dick loosened and Dick felt his body relax slightly.  “Omega,” Jason whispered, eyes still blown wide with the change.

“Jay, you gotta relax. It’s going to be okay, but you have to relax through it.  Let me go get Bruce.”  At the mention of Bruce, Jason tensed back up and Dick was officially at a loss of what to do.  Did Jason instinctually know Bruce was an alpha?  Did he view Bruce as a threat now?  “Jay?”

“Mine,” the growl was back and something sharp rose in Jason’s scent a mere second before a bright pain hit Dick and he was screaming.

Dick would never know for sure what it was that caused Jason to pull away, but one second Dick was pressed against the wall with Jason’s teeth in the place where his shoulder met his neck and the next he was on the floor, bloody and pressing a hand to the mating bite.

“Oh god, Dick!”  He could hear Jason freaking out, having been pulled out of his haze most likely due to the pain taking over Dick’s scent, but he couldn’t focus on that.  The only thing he could focus on was the burning in the bite and the spark in his chest.

“Jason?!  Dick?!”  Bruce’s voice thundered down the hall along with the sound of his feet rushing their direction, Alfred’s sounding just behind his.  Neither of them answered and only Jason looked over when the two men appeared in the doorway, but he didn’t move from his position just a foot away from Dick, kneeling with his hands hoovering like he wanted to hold onto the omega but knew he shouldn’t.

“I didn’t mean to!  I didn’t-I’m sorry!”  Jason’s voice sounded, accompanied by Alfred’s familiar baritone probably offering words of comfort.  But Bruce kneeling in front of Dick took his focus.  

“Dick?  Dick, I need you to breathe.”  Oh.  Was that why he couldn’t focus?  Yeah, that made sense.  He was disassociating.  “Dick, you need to breathe or you’re going to pass out.  And your state is not helping Jason’s at all.”  Closing his eyes, Dick tried to take a deep breath but found he couldn’t.  “Focus, Dick. Five things you can smell.”

Right, he could do this.

“Your cologne,” he rasped, keeping his eyes closed.  He could feel his hands shaking but tried to focus on scents.  “Shortbread…” A stunted breath.  “Wood polish…my tea…”  Another breath.  “And…and Alfred’s fabric softener.”  He wished he could ask Bruce to touch him, to ground him like a pack alpha should.  But there was a logical voice in his brain telling him he couldn’t.  No one could touch Dick until Jason got himself under control.  The newly presented alpha wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“That’s good Chum. Now four things you can hear.”

Still he kept his eyes closed, pushing his senses out further than this room.  “The kitchen timer, the…the blue jays in the tree out back, the grandfather clock,” he said, struggling to keep his senses out of the room. “Jason’s heartbeat.”

“No, focus on what isn’t caused by the situation or related to it.”

“Your heartbeat.”

“That’s fine. Good.  Three things you can see.”  Carefully Dick opened his eyes and blinked, doing everything he could not to seek out Jason’s eyes.

He glanced everywhere but the spot where Alfred was standing with his hands-on Jason’s shoulders, holding the worried alpha back.  “The tree outside the window.”  He flicked his eyes to the ground.  “The grain in the wood, and the tea on the floor.”  He took a deep breath and glanced at Bruce who was nodding. “Sorry, Alfie,” he muttered, referring to the mess he had made when the tray had dropped.

“It’s quite all right, Master Richard.”

“Two things you can feel. You’re almost there,” Bruce said gently, nodding again.

“The wall behind me.” Dick took another deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling his chest loosen the last bit and his air coming more naturally.  “Pain.” He flinched at the whine that sounded from Jason and cowered under the glare from Bruce.

“Dick.”

“I…the rug…” He tried and Bruce gave him a small smile.

“Last one,” Bruce told him. “One thing you can taste.”

Again, he wanted to say blood, but he didn’t want to make things worse.  Again.  “Lemon cake, from earlier.”

“Good.  Can you stand?  Alfred will take you to get cleaned up.”  Dick thought about whether or not he could stand and figured he probably wouldn’t know for certain unless he tried.  But his brain didn’t seem to want to send the signals to legs to push off the floor and he didn’t want to pull his hand away from the bite mark. He didn’t know if seeing it would set Jason off at all and he didn’t want to risk it.

“I need help,” he whispered, dejected, eyes falling shut again.  There was silence and Dick could smell the hesitation in Bruce’s scent. The conflict.

“Can Jason help you?” Dick knew Bruce was struggling not being able to jump into the comforting father, pack alpha role but he also knew he had to be careful about Jason’s end of things too.  Considering the idea, Dick gave a small nod and seconds later there were hands touching him gently, helping him to his feet.

“I’m so sorry, Dick.  Please, I’m so sorry,” Jason whispered, and Dick opened his eyes to look at the young alpha.  There were tears in Jason’s eyes and he knew Jason felt terrible.  He knew because it pulsed loudly in their bond and scented the air like fog.  But Dick didn’t know how to respond without breaking down again.  So, he just leaned against the wall and let Jason mutter out his stream of apologies.

“Master Jason, I need to take care of Master Richard.  Will you be all right for me to help him to his room?”  Jason’s eyes widened in panic at the suggestion and Dick felt a little bad. The new instincts were hard to handle on a normal basis, but throw in mate instincts on top of that?  Dick couldn’t imagine.

Reaching forward with the hand not holding the mark, Dick gripped the front of Jason’s shirt.  “You can help me to my room, but I need to process, and I need to breathe so you’ll have to leave me there.  With Alfred.”  He was trusting his omega to comfort Jason’s alpha right then because there was no way Dick could do it.  Not when he was desperately in need of comfort himself.  He needed to not have to be the strong one and that wasn’t going to happen while Jason was in the room.

Because the last thing he wanted was to make Jason feel even worse for something that Dick was upset about but not mad at Jason for.

Dick watched Jason take a deep breath before nodding.  “Okay, I can do that.”  And Dick knew he was trying to steel himself for the moment he had to walk out of Dick’s room and leave him with the beta.  But if there was one thing Jason had perfected, it was doing something he didn’t want to do simply because it needed to be done.

Glancing at Bruce, Dick found the older man watching the pair with his well-practiced Batman face. It was one he had never been able to read, no matter how many times he had tried over the last eleven years. But he did know that it was strictly reserved for situations he wasn’t too sure how to handle.  Or situations that compromised who he was as an alpha. This was probably both of those times. His youngest, newly adopted son had presented as an alpha when no one was prepared and managed to claim his eldest, unadopted ward before anyone could stop him.  And now he had to manage the new alpha when his instincts were telling him to care for his pack omega.  And not just any omega, but a True Omega who pulled out the protective instincts more due to the precious nature of having one in your pack.

But Dick couldn’t help Bruce right then.  He couldn’t be who he always was, the one who helped others back onto their feet when they fell, because it had been him who had fallen this time.  And for once in his life he just needed to allow himself to take care of himself.  

“You can take your leave now, Master Jason.  I do believe you and Master Bruce have much to discuss,” Alfred spoke gently but with an undercurrent of authority that most betas were never able to accomplish. Alfred though, he was the true patriarch of this family and anyone who knew them knew it.  

Dick didn’t look at Jason as he stepped away from where he had helped Dick sit on the edge of the elder’s bed.  He didn’t look up from the spot on the floor he had kept his gaze until the door shut firmly behind Jason, shutting his scent out along with it.  It was then when Dick allowed himself to crumple a little. Under the watchful eye of Alfred, it felt safe to do so.  He could hide his face in his hands, ignoring the blood on his one hand, as he silently cried.

Thanks to the scent blockers on his room, specifically installed for his heats, Jason wouldn’t be able to smell his new mate’s distress.  He would, however, be able to feel it through the bond but there was nothing Dick could do about that now.

A hand fell to the back of his neck and squeezed gently.  “Indeed, Master Richard.  Indeed, this is quite the situation.”  And that just made Dick sob harder into his hands, falling sideways into Alfred as the older man gathered the nineteen-year-old in his arms.  It wasn’t the comfort he had been seeking since Jason had sunk his teeth into him, but it would do for now.  It would have to do for now because Bruce had to take care of the new alpha.  

He couldn’t be certain how much time had passed before his tears dried up and Alfred got to work on cleaning and bandaging the new bite.  It wasn’t common practice for the bite to be covered, usually healing quickly on their own, the fact that it was given against Dick’s will made the healing process a bit different.  Slower. Mostly because Dick’s omega was bucking against the idea of this alpha taking something from him without asking, without proving that he could be a good alpha for the omega.  While the laws of old had long ago been changed and Dick was just as worthy of a pack and society member as any alpha or beta, the instinct to be provided for would always be there.

Dick hated it.

He was an adult and he could take care of himself.  He didn’t need to be wooed and courted.  He didn’t need someone to provide for him.  His omega disagreed, sadly.  The True Omega knew that he needed an alpha who was strong, who could protect and love and worship Dick the way he deserved.  That was the part that was howling right now, wanting to rage against the bite and break it.  But that wasn’t an option.

“Alf, what are we going to do?  I can’t break this.  I know you and Bruce could smell it.  He’s a True Alpha,” Dick whispered, looking at the man currently turning down his bed so Dick could crawl into the comfort there.  

Alfred sighed and straightened, frowning.  “We will have to figure this out.  Get some rest, Master Richard.  I will go speak to Master Bruce and send him in here as soon as possible.”  Dick could see the question in Alfred’s eyes and nodded his head, silently admitting that he wanted Bruce there.  “In you go,” he was waved into the bed and remained motionless as the covers were pulled up to his shoulders.  It reminded him of when he had been a boy in a stranger’s home.  

“Can you…”  Dick stopped Alfred from leaving for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what it was he wanted to say.  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.  “Can you tell Jay I’m not mad.  I don’t want him to think I’m mad.”

“I will pass the message along.  Get some rest.”

The sound of the door opening and closing was all he heard before the silence of the room fell over him. And though he thought there was no way he would fall asleep right then; he was out before he could really process anything that had happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason shot to his feet from the chair in the kitchen when Alfred entered.  The elder looked tired but gave Jason a gentle smile and a pat to his shoulder before guiding him back into the chair across from Bruce.

“He is asleep,” Alfred relayed, and Jason felt a surge of relief.  He didn’t know if it was because of how stressed Dick had seemed at the entire altercation or because of the bond itself, but he was glad to hear the omega was able to fall asleep.  Jason wasn’t sure he’d be sleeping for the next week.  “He also asked me to pass along that he was not mad at you Master Jason. He was very adamant about that fact.”

The whine that came from his throat surprised everyone in the room, Jason most of all.  And in his embarrassment and guilt, he buried his face in his hands.

“Jason.”  Bruce’s voice sounded far off, and the usual need to obey didn’t come to him, but Jason took a deep breath and raised his head to look at his adoptive father all the same.  “None of us are angry with you.  The presentation is a lot.  The instincts are hard to deny.  Throw in the rank of True Alpha and you’ll find them even harder to deny.”

“You must allow yourself some grace, Master Jason,” Alfred spoke up.  Jason turned to look at the elder beta and frowned.  How could he allow himself grace when he had taken something from Dick against the older man’s will?  Something that he hadn’t earned.  Something the Dick hadn’t seemed keen on giving anyone, from what Jason had seen when he watched the omega interact with other people.  He held himself away from others, he had learned how to pull in his scent to smell just like a regular omega, and he had learned how to ignore the instincts.  Jason had seen them warring in the man’s sapphire eyes so many times and wondered why he would put himself through that just to make the world believe he wasn’t as special as he was.

But Jason had always seen how special Dick was.  How spectacular he was.  Even before he had known Dick was a True Omega.  And now he was left wondering if he had been able to see it because he would eventually present as a True Alpha.  If his inner alpha was just preparing to be worthy of a compatible omega.

“Fuck,” he muttered, looking away from Alfred.  He didn’t comment on the older man’s lack of chastisement on his swearing, but he knew it was probably just because it was a difficult situation.  “He’s not angry but that doesn’t mean he won’t hate me when he wakes up.”

“That may be,” Alfred said from his place.  “But there is nothing to be done to change the situation.  We can only allow Master Dick to decide what it is he wants to do since the choice was taken out of his hands.”  Jason cringed at the words, even if they were said kindly and without the accusation he deserved.  He deserved the anger and the hate.  He had stolen something that was only Dick’s to give, no one’s to take.  He was no better than the alphas in the Alley.  

Bruce cleared his throat and Jason raised his eyes to look at the man, waiting.  “And no matter what Dick decides, you still have a place in this family.  In this pack.”  And those words made Jason sag in relief.  He hadn’t realized he was worried he would be kicked to the curb for what he had done.  He understood that logically he hadn’t been in control, but the guilt swirled relentlessly around his chest and made him feel as though he was moments away from being kicked to the curb.  “Do you understand, Jaybird?”

Jason nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was just blinking himself awake when there was a soft knock on his bedroom door.  Shifting in bed so he was at least facing the door, he called out a ‘come in’ before snuggling further into the warmth of his bed. The previous days events were enough of a reason for him to not get up and greet the day as he usually did.  He felt he deserved the right to be a little lazy today.  Plus, there was a lot he needed to think about now.

“Dick,” Bruce’s low voice rumbled as the door opened and his alpha stuck his head in the room.  Or his former alpha?  Dick wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen now.  The circumstances weren’t exactly standard.  “How are you feeling today?”

Taking a moment to consider the question, Dick went through how he felt physically.  His neck was still sore but not throbbing like it had the night before, his body ached but not in an overwhelming way, and he was tired but he usually felt that way when he first woke up.  Mentally he was probably worse off.  He could feel Jason’s emotions burning strong in his chest, but he ignored them just as he had done last night.  He himself felt like a wreck.  He felt a lot like he had in the weeks and months following his parents deaths.  He was hurting and he was angry, but mostly he felt lost.  And he wondered how Jason was handling the feedback that he was getting from Dick.

“Better than yesterday,” he finally settled on as an answer.  “How is Jason?”

Bruce sighed and moved further into the room after closing the door behind himself.  He hesitated a moment before sitting on the edge of Dick’s bed, just out of the omega’s reach.  “He is feeling guilty and is rightfully upset about what happened.”  

Dick didn’t say anything, but gave a sad smile in response.  He didn’t blame Jason, even if he was upset the choice had been taken from him against his will.  He understood the overwhelming feeling of a presentation.  And he understood even more that being a True Alpha, or Omega in his own case, amped those instincts up a few more levels.  Dick could be angry to the high heavens, but he couldn’t blame Jason for not being able to immediately control the instincts.

“He was okay with you coming in here?”

Bruce hummed.  “He managed to show some amazing control once the situation had settled a bit after you fell asleep.”  It must have been easier for him once Dick’s emotions had faded in sleep.  “But now we need to discuss what you want to happen.”

Dick frowned and pushed himself upright, cringing at the pull on the bite.  But he had more important things to focus on right then. Because he didn’t want to believe Bruce was suggesting what he thought the man might be suggesting.

“You aren’t kicking him out.”  It wasn’t a question or even a request.  Dick knew his place as pack omega lent a lot of authority, even if Bruce seemed immune to it most day, and he would use every ounce of it to keep Jason from being homeless again.

“I am not kicking him out.” Shoulders sagging in relief, Dick leaned back against the headboard.  “I would never do that to him.  He is pack for as long as he wants to be.”

Dick nodded.  “Good.  That’s…that’s good.”

But that just meant that what needed to be decided was what they were going to do about the mating bite. Dick knew it couldn’t be broken and he knew Bruce knew that too.  He knew that they had no choice in this being final.  But did that mean they had to accept it?  Could they just ignore it for the rest of their lives?  

Could he doom Jason to a life of no mate?  No pups?

“I don’t know what to do, B,” Dick admitted, looking from the comforter to his father figure.  “He’s too young even if I was okay with this. Legally he’s allowed to make the choice, sure.  But I’m nineteen and he’s fifteen.  And that is just…no.”  Dick shook his head firmly and Bruce’s face told Dick that the older man completely agreed. Which didn’t surprise him in the least because Bruce was progressive, but he wasn’t to the point where he felt a fifteen-year-old was mature enough to pick a mate after presenting.  “How much does he understand about the situation?”

“Enough to know there’s no fix,” Bruce admitted.  “I told him some of the things we found when you had presented as a True Omega and what the purpose of the role was in our more primitive states.  But how they had become rarer due to the dynamics of packs changing and evolving with civilization.”  It was more than school taught these days because the rank was so rare for both omegas and alphas, though more so for omegas.  Dick remembered the researching Bruce had done when Dick had presented and felt that gnawing need to know everything there was to know in order to get some control over the situation.

“I should talk to him.”

Bruce’s silence told Dick he agreed but had some reservations about it.  It was a difficult situation and Dick knew Bruce was struggling still.  The night would not have changed that.  And it hadn’t gone past Dick’s notice that the alpha had kept himself physically distanced from Dick.  Which meant Jason might have more clarity, but the instincts were still battling his logic and that meant caution had to be taken.

“Do you want to do that in neutral territory or here in your room?”

Being in his territory would definitely give him the upper ground, but he also knew the smell might be too much for Jason to handle.  It would probably make focusing hard for the new alpha.  But being in neutral territory meant the possibility of being overpowered again.  And that thought scared him more than he wanted to admit.

But maybe there was a compromise.

Glancing over to the French door that opened to his balcony, Dick considered them.  “Have him come here.  We’ll sit on the balcony.”  The scent wouldn’t be as bad once Jason was on the balcony and Dick wouldn’t feel like he was unsafe.  Bruce gave a nod and stood from the edge of the bed, looking down at Dick with that all too familiar unreadable expression.  “What?”

For a quick moment, Dick thought Bruce might actually open up and be honest with his emotions, but then the man gave a grunt and headed out of the room.  Predictable, Dick thought as he carefully got out of the bed and made his way stiffly to his bathroom.  He knew he would have time for a quick shower and that since the scent of last night’s emotions were still clinging to him, he definitely needed it. So he quickly washed himself off with the scentless soap the entire manor was filled with, silently missing the soft lavender soap he used back at his apartment, and got dried off.  

He was just pulling on a pair of worn sweats and a t-shirt when a familiar knock sounded on the door and Alfred entered.

“Ah, Master Dick, please hold off on the shirt for a moment.  I would like to have a look at your neck.”  Dick nodded and pulled the shirt off his arms as he sat down on the edge of the bed so Alfred could take a look under the bandage that he had replaced after his shower.  “How do you feel this morning?”

Dick thought about what he said to Bruce earlier about being better today and whether or not he could get away with that with the same.  Not likely. “Sore and stiff.  The shower helped some, but I’m still aching,” he admitted.  The older man remained silent as he looked over the bite before applying a salve and putting another fresh bandage on it.

“You may put your shirt on now.  Master Jason will be here shortly, I’m sure.”  Dick sighed and tugged the shirt on over his head, remaining on the bed.  “Not that I believe I need to give this warning, but do be gentle with the young master.  He has been distraught all night.”

Dick looked up at Alfred with a frown.  If the circumstances were different, he probably would have cracked a joke about Alfred’s sleepytime tea that Bruce was forced to drink from time to time.  But this wasn’t a joke and it didn’t feel like one. Not even for him, the king of puns. Instead he just nodded and looked down at the hardwood floors as Alfred gave the back of his neck a squeeze and then left.

He stayed there, lost in his thoughts and emotions until a soft, hesitant knock sounded on his door. With a deep breath, Dick stood and went over to his balcony doors and opened them wide.  He reveled in the gentle morning breeze that came through for just a moment before turning and telling Jason to come in.

Dick watched the door open slowly before a head of dark hair poked through and looked inside.  “Dick?”  The sound of Jason’s voice made his heart lurch.  He had never heard the teen sound so uncertain before.  Since the first moment they had met, the kid had been all stubborn pride and defiance.  Dick had actually liked that about him, hoping Jason would give Bruce a taste of his own medicine.  But it was nerve wracking to hear this side of him.  Unsettling.  

“Hey Jay,” Dick responded, drawing the teen’s eyes to him.  Jason stopped midway into the room and the door fell closed behind him, causing him to jump slightly.  “Let’s go out on the balcony.”  He got a quick nod in return and Jason quickly walked around the bed and toward where Dick was waiting.  Dick didn’t need the new bond to tell that Jason was nervous about what Dick was about to say to him, that he was trying to be as small as possible.  And Dick also knew that given a few years time, Jason wouldn’t be very successful that that act.

Grabbing a blanket off the foot of his bed, Dick headed moved out onto the balcony after Jason and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders before sitting down on one of the chairs. The air was just chilly enough, but his goal was more to cover the bandages peeking out from the collar of his shirt after seeing Jason’s eyes flicker to them when he passed Dick.  The sharp pain of guilt had slammed through the bond and Dick figured it was probably best to hide the evidence.

“I’m not mad,” Dick told Jason, looking over at the teen who was slumped in one of the lounge chairs refusing to meet Dick’s eyes.  Dick watched him shift in the chair and waited to see if he would say anything.  “Jay?”

The teen looked up at him for a moment before his gaze skittered away again.  “I know you aren’t,” he muttered, tapping the center of his chest. And yeah, Dick guessed that was fair. But he was definitely going to have to find a way to shut the connection down for privacy.  It would be different if this had been something they had both chosen.  But not even Jason had wanted this to happen.  “I know I said it last night, but I really am sorry, Dick.”

Dick nodded and leaned back in his chair.  “Yeah, but you aren’t solely to blame.  I walked into your territory without warning,” Dick admitted, turning his eyes out to the horizon of trees.  “I triggered it when I tried to use my omega to calm you down.”

“This is not your fault,” Jason growled and when Dick looked over, he found the teen gripping the arm rests of the chair tightly enough that his knuckles were white.  If Dick couldn’t feel the fierce protectiveness Jason was feeling then he might actually worry about a lack of control.  But he knew Jason wasn’t going to turn this emotion on him.

“It’s not yours either.”

But Jason went from the rage to incredulity quickly and looked at Dick like he had just said the stupidest thing he had ever heard.  “Of course it is!  I bit you! I stole that choice from you,” Jason rasped.  But Dick sighed and shook his head.  “I’m no better than the bastard alphas in Crime Alley.”

“No,” Dick growled in return, leaning over his arm rest to look at Jason.  “Do not compare yourself to a full grown alpha who has control over their instincts.  Never do that.  You are nothing like them.”

“But…”

Dick growled and Jason froze.  “No.”

Jason gave him a nod, but Dick knew he didn’t actually believe it.  But Dick wouldn’t allow him to think so lowly of himself.  To compare him to some of the worst people out there. No, that was no something Dick was going to allow.

Silence hung between them for a few moments before Jason shifted and drew Dick’s attention back.  “So what do you want to do?”  The question was asked in a sure voice, but the uncertainty swirling in the bond made it clear that Jason was worried.  But what was he worried about?  Bruce had told the teen he had a home here no matter what.

“I don’t know,” Dick said honestly.  “I’m going to go back to Bludhaven and maybe some space will give us some clarity.  I’m also going to work on shutting this emotional bond between us off.  I think until decisions are made, it would be better for both of us.”  Jason watched him carefully and nodded slowly.  Dick could feel the understanding, but also shame and rejection.  But Dick didn’t comment on them because he doubted Jason actually wanted him to know he felt those things.  “You’re too young for any decisions to be made.”  When Jason opened his mouth to protest, Dick raised a hand to stop him. “I don’t care what the law says.  You’re fifteen.  And even if you had come to me in a year and offered me your bite, I would still say you were too young.”

The indignation that came through from Jason made Dick smile.  He knew this would be the reaction.  No one liked being told they’re too young.  But the fact remained.  Fifteen was too young and the pair of them didn’t really know each other all that well.

“I’m not rejecting you,” Dick offered softly.  Jason frowned, eyebrows merging.  “I can’t, even if I wanted to.  But I’m not accepting either.”

“That’s fair.”

AFTER

“Yeah, Walls,” Dick laughed into his cell as he walked up the stairs of the front of the Manor.  He listened to his best friend question his decision again, wanting to be sure that Dick wasn’t doing this for anyone other than himself and it made Dick’s heart ache.  “I want to do this, Wally.  I want to do it because he’s a good guy and when he’s old enough, he will be a good alpha.  But I also want to do this because fighting it the past year has been exhausting.  I could do it forever, but I don’t want to.”

“If you’re sure, man. I trust you know what you’re doing. Just want to be sure that B-man isn’t pressuring you.”

Sighing, Dick pushed the front door open and headed inside.  “He’s got nothing to do with it, I promise.”

“All right, all right. Look, I gotta buzz but call me after you tell him, yeah?  Maybe take a video?  Love to hold his reaction over that punk for a bit.”  Dick just laughed and agreed before hanging up and heading toward the kitchen, where he was sure Alfred would be.  He was only slightly surprised to find it empty.

That surprise turned into concern when he walked through the remainder of the house and failed to find anyone inside.  And though it was early, Dick figured checking the Cave wouldn’t hurt before he started making phone calls.

With practiced hands, he hit the familiar keys on the piano and made his way through the entrance of the Cave and down the stairs.  Most of the lights were off and only triggered as he made his way further inside, but the glow of the computer gave him enough light to see Alfred watching the monitors.

“Alf?”  He called out, causing the older beta to jump and look over at him in surprise.  That made Dick frown.  Alfred always heard them coming.  Always. “Everything okay?”

His eyes moved from the man’s face to the screens and widened at the sight of the inside of the Batmobile speeding toward an unknown destination.  He hadn’t know Bruce was on a mission, not that Bruce shared that kind of information with him anymore.  Not since Dick had stopped being Robin and had become his own hero. But Jason usually let him know if they were going to be out of town on a mission, even if he didn’t say specifics.

“Master Dick, perhaps you should head back up and I’ll be there in a moment.”

But Dick shook his head and came closer, stopping just to the side and behind the chair Alfred occupied. “Where are they?  What’s going on?”  It was strange for Alfred to try and keep him away from a mission. Strange enough that Dick thought about doing something he hadn’t done in some time.  He thought about opening the bond between him and Jason to try and see what the other was feeling.  They had worked long and hard on closing off that end of themselves so they were not influenced by the other’s emotions and Dick couldn’t remember the last time he had tried to open it up.  “Alfred, what is happening here?”

“Agent A what are the stats?”  Bruce’s Batman tone broke through the speakers and Alfred sighed, turning on the mic that he had apparently turned off at some point.

“He’s still alive.”

He’s still alive.  

“Who is still alive?” Dick whispered, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

“Nightwing what are you doing there?  Agent A get him out of there.”  And that cemented it even further.  And it solidified his decision to open the bond.  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and sought out that spot in his chest that he had tended to so carefully.  One small tug on the thread was enough to pull it wide open, leaving him gasping and gripping the back of the chair to remain upright.

Pain.  So much pain it was staggering.

“What is happening to him?!” He gasped out, letting Alfred lead him to sit in the chair he had just been in himself.  He tried to straighten himself out, but he couldn’t pull himself out of the bent over position he fell in the instant he was seated.  “B…”

He could hear Bruce swear over the comms and Alfred’s hushed reassurances, but the only thing he could really focus on was the pain.  And the fear. So much fear and so much pain. There was something else buried under that, but the two overwhelmed anything else that might possibly be trying the come through.  And even if Dick wanted to, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to close the bond back up.

And since his was open, Jason’s was now open as well.

“Please, B,” Dick begged, lifting his head to look at the screen.  “What’s happening?”

“Joker has him.  I’ll get him back,” Bruce told him and Dick felt his eyes well.  He knew Bruce meant what he said, but he also knew that whatever was happening to Jason was going to kill him if Bruce didn’t reach him soon.  “Agent A, how far?”

“Looks as though two miles, sir,” Alfred’s warm voice sounded as a hand landed in the middle of Dick’s back.  “No change to the vitals.”  Dick’s eyes went to the screen that held Jason’s vitals and he focused on that. He focused on the, although erratic, heartbeat of the man and tried to take a few deep breaths.  “Master Richard, it might be difficult but perhaps you could reassure the young master through the bond?  He won’t be aware that Batman is on his way to help, but perhaps you can help convey it.”

Could he do that?

He had heard of other doing it before, but he had no idea how to send an emotion.  Only how to feel one.  But he could try, right?  Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself further.  He released the grip on the seat of the chair and focused on calming his body.  Once his body was no longer on the ledge of panic, he tried to remember the feeling he had when he had decided he was going to tell Jason that when his 18th birthday arrived that he would be happy to allow the alpha to court him. The warmth it brought him at the thought of Jason trying to prove he was worthy.  The happiness that he felt in the moments he got to spend with Jason over the years, despite the issues he had with Bruce.

And then suddenly he felt something back.  Something more than fear and pain from Jason.  Gratefulness.  An emotion so warm that Dick was sure if he touched his chest, he could feel it burning through him.

But then the fear spiked, and Dick sat straight up, looking at the screen to see Bruce pulling up to a warehouse of some kind.  “Something’s wrong.  Something’s happening.  Bruce!” Dick shouted as Batman’s cowl showed the man getting out of the vehicle and running toward the building just in time for it to explode in flame and debris.  “NO! Jason!”  

#jaydickweek2021 #jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #abo dynamics #omega dick grayson #alpha jason todd

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

Driving Me Mad [G.W] - Part 5

Series Description: You and George come up with a plan to pretend to date each other. But what happens when you actually start to catch feelings...

Pairing: George Weasley x Gryffindor fem!reader 

Word Count: 2.2k

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @fadesbrina, @sweetlyblushedbouquet

Description: You and George head to the party and things between you heat up quicker than expected

                                                            X

You arrived back at the castle just as the party was about to begin. You made your way to the Room of Requirement where people were excitedly awaiting your arrival, mainly for the goods you were bringing. As you walked into the room, you were greeted by the sound of applause and cheering. George made his rounds and you followed him, as he handed out the occasional butterbeer before placing the crate on a nearby ledge. A mob began surrounding you both and George grabbed two brews and pulled you away from the crate before the crowd could attack. 

You spotted Cho and Marietta across the way and walked over to them, mentally prepared to be bombarded with questions.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s decided to grace us with her presence,” Marietta spoke. 

“It’s about time! We’ve been dying to know about your new beau,” Cho added.

“Not much to tell. We’re just friends, at least for now.”

“No need to be coy, it’s just us. You can give us the details,” Cho persuaded. 

“Honestly Y/N, people are already speculating.”

“Let them speculate, it’s none of their business anyway,” you smirked, knowing the plan was going perfectly.

“Just promise you’ll tell us when things become official. I’d hate to hear about it from someone else,” Cho added. 

“Of course I will tell the both of you if something happens. For now though, I’m just happy to have an old friend back.”  

As the conversation continued, you stepped away momentarily to grab another drink. You approached the crate and grabbed a brew  when another hand reached for the same bottle. 

“Oh, sorry!” you said, pulling your hand back. You turned to see who you were apologizing to, when you spotted a familiar face. “Roger…”

“Hi Y/N. How’ve you been?” he asked. 

“I, uh, I’m-“ before you could fully answer, Ms. Fleur Delacour was by Roger’s side, practically hanging off his shoulder. She spoke something French to him and it was only then that she noticed you standing there. She gave you a confused look and Roger interjected.

“Fleur, this is my friend Y/N,” he introduced. You gave her an awkward smile and a small wave as she responded with, “Bonjour.” Seconds later she was whispering with Roger again and you ran through options of how to get out of this situation.

“Y/N, there you are!” you heard George say a few paces behind you. You turned to locate him and were blindsided when you found he was suddenly inches away from you. He gently wrapped an arm around your waist to draw you close to him and he cupped your face with his free hand as he lifted your jaw up to meet his face. He kissed you with such passion and you tried to hide the surprise that had come over you. George slowly released your lips and moved his arm to rest around your shoulder. 

“Oh, sorry mate. Didn’t see you there,” George commented with a smirk. You looked toward Roger and Fleur to see them both surprised as well. Roger made some small comment to excuse them from the scene and you turned to George, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry if I took you by surprise. I just saw you were ambushed and I did the first thing I could think of to help.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“You…you’re not mad?”

“Mad? No, of course not. I mean, you took me by surprise but I’m not upset about it.”

“Good thing, because I think just about everyone knows about us now so we’re gonna have to keep this up.” You turned to face your peers and found everyone gossiping in their respective cliques, trying to hide their looks in your direction. 

“Well George, I’d say we are officially a couple.” You squeezed his hand and returned to your group of friends. You needed a moment to catch your breath. The kiss was so unexpected and you didn’t want to admit it, but it swept you off your feet. Were you in too deep with this plan of yours? At this point, did you even want Roger back? Your mind was spinning and you didn’t really want to field all the questions from Cho and Marietta. You impulsively made the decision to just leave and return to the common room, where the only people there would be some young Gryffindors who wouldn’t bother you. You grabbed a book from your bedroom and curled up by the fire, trying to distract yourself from the current situation at hand. 

 “Had enough of the party?” A voice called to you. You looked up, half expecting to see George but it was his twin brother standing in the doorway. 

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know I just had a lot on my mind and I wanted to sit and think away from everyone.”

“Mmm,” he responded, merely nodding his head. “I thought you’d be with George.”

“I could say the same for you. But evidently he’s escaped both of us.” You thought that would be the end of your conversation since Fred had been so short with you lately, but he surprised you by sitting next to you on the couch.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he asked you..

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. What’s your angle here?”

“My angle? Look Fred, I don’t know why you’ve been so cold to me recently. We’ve known each other forever and I don’t get this.”

“We’ve been friends for ages, but the minute you hurt George we won’t be. He’s not like Roger, he won’t move on so easily. He’s better than a rebound.”

“I know that. He’s probably my oldest friend and I’m not willing to lose him over something stupid.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re taking advantage of him just because he’s giving you attention. He deserves better than that.” And with that, he stood up and walked away. You were a little taken aback. Fred had been icy toward you, but you never imagined he would confront you with such spite. You knew he was just being protective but it still hurt. You thought you were friends and the fact that he didn’t trust you with George hurt a little. It was hard knowing you couldn’t please Fred, and you doubted George would ever date someone who Fred didn’t approve of. At that moment, you considered letting Fred in on the plan, but you weren’t sure that would do any good.

You felt utterly confused. Your heart was telling you one thing while your head was in complete disagreement.  

                                                             X

George saw you make a quick exit and he knew he had messed up. He acted on impulse instead of thinking through the situation and now things were different. You may have said things were okay, but actions speak louder than words. The worst part was he didn’t even know what he should say to you. Instinctually, he wanted to follow you back to the common room where you were likely lounging. But he hadn’t the faintest idea of what he could say to remedy the situation. The worst part was everyone was now gossiping about you and approaching him for details. After one too many brush offs, he decided to leave and go for a walk to the astronomy tower. This was his spot to think and get away from everything and he knew he would be alone there.

He was confused on multiple levels. After kissing you, he was rendered speechless. The spark was everything he imagined it would be, but he wasn’t sure that feeling went both ways. You seemed so calm after everything, almost like it didn’t phase you at all. He felt stupid for thinking you might actually have feelings for him. 

But what to do next? Should he cut things off now before things changed too much? At this point, your friendship would be changing in one way or another. He could use the easy out clause to end things before the effects set in. The only downside was it seemed a little too late to pull this move. You had kissed and everyone had seen it. They assumed you were together now and it would be tough to explain a sudden separation. 

He went back and forth with both ideas and eventually decided he wouldn’t make any decisions before talking with you. You were definitely thinking a lot of things too and he didn’t want to assume he saw your side of things. 

George felt nervous walking back to the common room, as he figured you would be there, waiting for him so you could talk. You stepped into the common room and found his theory was partially correct. You were curled up by the fireplace with a book resting on your chest, sound asleep. He didn’t feel the need to wake you and normally he would’ve carried you to bed, but something about that didn’t feel right considering how you had left things. Instead, he gathered a blanket from his bed and laid it on top of you. Then he extinguished the fire that was burning and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead. 

                                                           X

 You woke up and found that you had fallen asleep on the sofa in the common room. You wish you could say this was a rare occurrence but it happened a little too often. You loved spending time in the common room by the fire where there were always a few people moving through. You spent a few nights up late reading on the couch or pulling all nighters doing homework and many times you fell asleep. The surprising thing was that there was a quilt draped over you on this particular morning. A quilt you recognized to be homemade and “Stitched with Love” by Molly Weasley. You had a similar one when you were a child and you knew this particular quilt belonged to George. you folded the quilt as you gathered the courage to approach George. You weren’t sure how he felt after last night but it seemed that you weren’t so emotional since you had the night to sleep on it. Before approaching his room, you thought about where you stood regarding this situation. You admitted to yourself that you wanted to pursue a relationship with George. But you weren’t going to. And you didn’t need Roger back, but this deal wasn’t solely for you. George was doing this for Angelina, and you didn’t want to break things off and ruin his chances with her. 

You carried the blanket in your arms and softly knocked on the door of his dormitory. The door opened shortly after and you found a bed-headed Weasley in the doorframe a moment later. A shirtless bed-headed Weasley at that. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to return this,” you said to George. A blush crept up your face as you tried to avoid looking at his bare torso.

“Oh no, it’s fine. Do you want to come in?”

“Eh, is Fred asleep?”

“No, he left for breakfast already. Please, come in. I actually wanted to talk with you after last night.”

“Oh. Okay,” you followed his recommendation and made your way into the room that was a slight mess. “Sorry to barge in on you like this,” you said as you took in his current appearance. Seeing George shirtless was making things more difficult. 

“No, you’re fine,” he said as he pulled on a sweater.  “So, about what happened last night…”

“George, you don’t have to explain it to me. I know it was just part of the role you were playing and that it didn’t mean anything. Don’t sweat it.” You were trying to convince yourself this was the truth, but you didn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth.

His face looked a little…disappointed. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was gonna say. It meant nothing,” he trailed off.

“We do need to prepare for the aftermath of it all. Rumors and gossip as well as acting coupley. I hope you’re okay with public displays of affection because I really think we need to sell this”

“Just the usual then? Hand holding, arm around the shoulders, hugging…?”

“That and more. Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine. Now I’m going to get changed and we can head down to breakfast as a couple.”

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. You scurried out of his room and walked back into your dormitory for a change in attire. The interaction went better than expected. You were worried things were going to be awkward but things seemed to return to normal pretty quickly. Now you just had to keep your feelings under control as you pretended to be a couple. No big deal.

You prepared for breakfast as quickly as you could and found George waiting for you in the common room. “Ready boyfriend?” you winked at him. He smirked back and put his arm around your shoulder. “About as ready as I’ll ever be.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley fanfic #weasley twins fanfic #hp fanfic

[psalloacappella]

tenerezza

Day 6 Prompt: Cuddling // “Come closer.”

@sasusakublankperiodweek

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

He keeps his comments to himself: That she has staff for a reason, that their ex-sensei-turned-Kage works her too hard and he’d made a curt mention of it when reporting back, that perhaps someone could take the task of laundering bloody work clothes off her hands. Their responsibilities even in this delicate period they call peacetime still weigh heavy, principle baked into their bones.

In the future, their children won’t know the world quite like this.

A routine peacekeeping mission turns, twists, becomes mayhem.

Surgery is an intensive thing, the delicate dance of suspending chakra and soul in the void to negotiate with Death. And though it is a grim and arduous opponent with which to skirmish, Sakura more often than not emerges victorious.

Drained, though. Frayed at the edges.

It startles her to know that she sometimes has an audience.

Bringing the back of hand across her forehead, she dabs at the shimmering sweat. An assistant hands her a small towel, bows, and retreats. Hitching a tired grin onto her face, she inclines her head. “Hokage-sama.”

Familiar, how he can show up jauntily in a chaotic atmosphere, a mess, and still manage to seem bemused. The political consequences of this recent skirmish unspoken between them. Hands in his pockets, he brings two fingers to his temples and flicks them toward her in an affectionate motion, channeling yesteryear. “Don’t bother with that, Miss Haruno.”

Sakura wrinkles her nose at his sarcastic drawl. “That does sound weird coming from you.”

“Ah, you see? So stick with ‘sensei.’”

Despite her exhaustion, she musters up the energy to stick out her tongue.

“Mature of you,” he sighs. “But of course, well done. Exceptional, in fact.”

“You didn’t watch my whole surgery just to praise me at the end?”

Kakashi smiles, the fabric forming folds that reflect expressions innate, the way she’s interpreted them for years and knows as well as the comforting wrinkles in a beloved shirt.

There’s something knowing in the set of his chin, the easy, languid way his weight settles onto one hip, almost irreverent. 

“I’m here to tell you to go home,” he says gently. “It’s been hours. Days, really. Your capable staff will wrap up the rest.”

Perspiration, fluids; she wipes clammy hands on her coat. “Am I needed somewhere else?”

“No, I am simply invoking the powers of my grand office to send you home.”

Sakura narrows her eyes at him, swaying a bit on her feet. He’s not wrong about the rest, but she does resent his smugness in a situation where she’s unable to see the reason.

“Tell me why.” Raising her chin, she folds her arms, a stubborn root settling in for long, protracted and perhaps heated discourse.

Chuckling, his eyes twinkle in a manner just borderline risque enough to make her frown. 

“He’s home.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Simmering rouge moving swift and fast through her cheeks, flooding out the pink from her exertion and becoming full-blown embarrassment. “Just say that first. Actually, no! No, don’t — how do you—?”

“He’s already checked in, report done. Doesn’t waste time chatting with me much anymore, I’m just his old, grey sensei.” Kakashi’s sigh is wistful, aiming at charming. 

But his eyes are sharp, always watchful of everything and in particular, his loved ones. Can he see her shakes, or does he just see

tears gathering on her lashes, the nightmares ripping her from sleep the night before, and the night before that, and — 

She’s sure she catches his self-satisfied wink as she hurries out on unsteady legs.

Weak knees, breathless, for all sorts of complicated reasons.

.

.

Plants watered. House slippers and shoes chivvied back into line, a neat row. 

The scent of him:  Of earth and salt, traces of forests and faraway lands and a bite — oh, that crisp bite of smoke and fire, heady and hot, from his essence rather than his clothes. 

She finds it difficult to hold herself up, clinging to the threshold frame. Laid out across her couch he’s something of an enigma, an infamous man whose existence sparks ignorant prattle, the truth and falsehoods hoarded and passed as collective talismans. Half-informed tales of the team she adores and the man she loves. 

Handsome, of course. That aspect has never changed, never will. Vulnerable, arm resting behind his head, the placid rise and sink of his chest. Managing to come back without summons but always, forever, at the precise and needed time. 

Socked feet padding against the cold wood floor, (there was a rug, she needs a new one — knucklehead Hokage-in-the-wings spilled red wine all over it), she kneels next to the couch. Eyes following the cut edge of his jawline, the sovereign slope of his nose. And most of all, the unexpected serenity his face reflects, no furrows or creases in his expressions even in sleep.

There’s an object out of place, and its energy distracts her, draws her gaze. A basket of laundry that she assumes was gathered but unfinished, a medley of clothes he undoubtedly stripped off upon arriving tossed in with the several layers she’s been through in the last week, the sanguine fabric narrative of her journey to the void and back. 

And yet. 

On hands and knees she drags it across the floor until it's in front of her, snatches a shirt right off the top. 

Bringing it to her face, she inhales the scent of devotion so potent that the tears come swift and sudden.

“Sakura?”

Sleepy, a little hoarse, but even on awakening the concern threads his voice through. Her, crying into a shirt he’s just washed for her; she sulks inwardly, feeling stupid.

When she tries to respond, struggling to force out some chirpy greeting and loving quip, it slips into impossibility. He reaches out to her, hand starting at the top of head to run through her clammy pink locks, then down to take her face in his fingers, a thumb gently swiping hot tears away. 

“Sakura.”

A hitch in her breath; she struggles to swallow down the sobs clawing and turbid at the back of the throat. Pressing her face into his chest, she mumbles, “Welcome home, Sasuke-kun.”

Still with his hand on her head, fingers exploring her scalp in idle and soothing trails as tracing familiar ancient etchings, as memorizing braille.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, shifting onto his side. Taps his fingers against her head, gentle, a quiet ask. 

Sakura’s face emerges pink, tearstained, with a wobbly smile that feels like a throwaway lie for a fool.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me. I’m so glad you’re—”

“Apologizing,” he interrupts. Like a quiet rumble, the purr of a prowling cat. “Ah, what did I say about that?”

“To stop it?”

Sasuke makes some noise of assent, from the throat rather than his lips. 

And he looks at her and knows. He’s learned, but has always intuited this habit of hers since Genin days, the way she plasters on a smile and flashes those bright teeth to disarm fools. How deeply mortifying crying feels to her in certain moments, the way it becomes an acute weakness and liability, especially regarding work. Families don’t want to see your tears, only your triumph — the way you’ve bowed to Death and danced, and depart at the end of the number with their loved one’s soul as crown and winnings. 

The problem being there’s rarely an expectation of anything less. 

Now he’s sitting up, still cradling her face in his hand. Mismatched eyes searing, searching, flickering rapidly across her face. 

“You’d better be off-duty now,” he says. “You look exhausted.”

“Oh, you sure know how to charm a girl,” Sakura sniffs. Leans into his hand and touch, raising no protests at the way his thumb continues to sweep away an endless estuary borne of things she can’t articulate. A gravity in her demeanor, at once present but faded into an unreachable inner sanctum and self. 

Instinctual, the way his fingers remain in constant contact with her skin, cheek to hair to shoulder, trailing warm down her arm and finally to her cold, shaky hand. 

Tugs her gently, indicating the space he’s made for her to sit. 

“I have to—”

“There is nothing; I’ve done it all.”

There’s nothing for her to protest, no way for her to pretend she’s fine. 

“Come closer.”

This act for her seems onerous, pulling her tired body into his lap appearing utterly spent, bereft. He keeps his comments to himself:  That she has staff for a reason, that their ex-sensei-turned-Kage works her too hard and he’d made a curt mention of it when reporting back, that perhaps someone could take the task of laundering bloody work clothes off her hands. Their responsibilities even in this delicate period they call peacetime still weigh heavy, principle baked into their bones. 

In the future, their children won’t know the world quite like this. 

She melts into him with her heavy head against his heart, his fingers continuing their simple repetitions in the tangle of her hair. 

Sasuke thinks of her shirt still soaking in the sink, one he labored on for a while before her return, desperately trying to lift the rubicund crimson from the white fabric.

Wondering if that one pulled through, for her sake. 

Her grip catches his attention, as if her head is spinning and she needs rooting to the earth — fingers in his shirt, head tucked under his chin. 

Sickle-cresents of leftover copper in the beds of her nails, the trials and triumph of a woman fighting back. 

She says something he doesn’t catch, a flutter, possibly I love you. 

What she does holds such importance, but he cannot imagine the cost. Pressing his mouth to her forehead, he speaks in a quiet chant in tender cadence with his fingers moving through her hair:

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

I’ve got you. 

#SSBlankPeriod2021 #SSBPDay6 #sasusaku #psalloacappella:SSBP

[fluffypeachwriting]

huuhuuu~~ fathers day passed already but....how bout the reader (who sees hitoya as their father figure) spending fathers day together with him? but!!! they suddenly both get isekaid/transported into some unknown world/place..!!? (feel free to choose where they landed at :D)

Anon this was SO MUCH FUN to write, so I really hope you enjoy it!  (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟIf you’d like a sequel then I’d be more than happy to do it!

Hitoya seemed so hard to please, even after all the time you’d spent together. The trouble of picking out a gift for him was an internal battle you struggled with for weeks leading up to father’s day. He had become such a dad-like figure that it only seemed natural. Giving him a gift was not natural. Whiskey was a painfully obvious choice, so it was already out of the question. He wasn’t really a fashion person, even though he rocked the greaser/biker vibe. You’d already gone to countless restaurants together – where Hitoya would insist on paying for the both of you – so it wouldn’t be anything new. What an ordeal.

The morning of the big day, you woke up especially early – too worried to sleep long. In the bright hours of the morning you went out to look for some last minute inspiration. When you were almost at your wits’ end, a delicious smell wafted through the street, and you instantly knew what to do.

Hitoya wasn’t surprised to see you walk into his office (even his employees were used to it), but he was curious about what you were holding behind your back. Some of the tiredness dissolved from his face as you greeted him, and he was happy to take an unofficial break. Not like you would let him work while you were there anyway.

With a beaming smile, you presented the cake to him: “Happy father’s day!”

“It’s not like it’s my birthday, what is this?” Hitoya said with a tired tone, though there was a fond smile on his face. “Hey, don’t pout at me! I – fine.” He set aside the papers he was holding; the clients could wait.

“Wait wait wait wait!” From your pocket you took out a candle and delicately placed it in the centre, then realised you had no matches or lighter on you. “Ah…” Your put your bag on his desk and rummaged through it to no avail.

Wordlessly, Hitoya handed you a lighter. His smirk, however, said a million words. He opened his mouth, likely to do his “There’s only two things I don’t like: blah blah blah and blah blah blah,” spiel, but then changed his mind.

You lit the candle with care, and with a flourish, you held the cake out to him again. “Happy father’s day, Hitoya!”

“You really do act like my kid, hm? I can’t say no to you.” He chuckled and stood up.

As soon as he blew out the candle the room went dark. Pitch-black. The candle had definitely not been the only light source in the room. This was not right and you couldn’t help but let out a little squeak at the sudden darkness. In surprise, your hands fell loose, but there was no sound of cake falling to the floor. The cake just wasn’t in your hands anymore. The weirdness of it all made you whine in discomfort.

“Hey, it’s alright.” His calm tone soothed you more than you thought you needed. “Shit. I don’t need a power outage right now.” He muttered to himself.

“I’m not scared, it just surprised me.” You lied.

“Sure.” There was an audible smile in Hitoya’s voice. “I’ve got my phone here, right on my desk. I – we are at my desk, right?”

“Yep…?” You were positive that that was the case, since you hadn’t dared to move since the lights went out. “Why?”

“Uh.”

You held still for a moment, listening to the room, which was completely silent, save for the whoosh of Hitoya frantically trying to find his desk. It almost made you laugh, how panicked he was getting over a power outage. That laugh came out as another squeak when you felt a hand pat you.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No,” It was only a small prod, however the size of his desk and the fact that you had been standing at opposite sides of it made it impossible for him to have done that. As you thought about this, you also noticed how you started to feel more tiny whooshes of air as Hitoya moved. He must be right next to you. “Did you walk around your desk?”

“No, I just stood up. Hey, come over here.”

Something was really not right. That really not right feeling sat with you, starting with a small headache that travelled down and settled as a pit in your stomach. You shuffled into Hitoya’s arms, and he held you close. That eased your nerves a little. His warm embrace was a sure-fire way to comfort you, no matter what. Your eyes soon adjusted to the dark but there wasn’t much to see. Oh, apart from the room that was most certainly not Hitoya’s office.

The room was just wood panels from floor to ceiling. A long table was various chairs was laid out on one side. It had some papers on it that you weren’t concerned about. On the other side were two beds and a few boxes and crates.

Your stomach turned again and you began to feel faint – this must be bad dream. Surely you just went back to bed after waking up so early, and this was a dream. Hitoya held you closer and knocked your hat off your hat onto the floor.

Since when were you wearing a hat?

You didn’t remember, but you knelt down to pick it up anyway. Your eyes couldn’t see the detail of it well enough but the shape of it felt funny, not like a hat you’d normally find.

You took a few breaths, feeling the pit in your stomach sway from side to side. Hitoya found you again and put one hand on your shoulder, checking how you were doing. You told him about the swaying feeling, and he told you he felt it too. In that moment you figured out that it wasn’t your stomach at all. The room itself was swaying from side to side and back and forth and in direction that a room shouldn’t be swaying. A room shouldn’t be swaying at all. A room on solid ground, at least.

You inhaled deeply a few times, concentrating on the flow of your breath – something Hitoya had told you to do when you were feeling nervous.

He noticed this: “Are you okay? Do you have your phone on you?”

Back in his office, your phone was in your bag. On his desk.

“Nope.” You took some more breaths. The air was salty. A loud creak from close by interrupted your thoughts. “Nope nope nope!”

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m here. I think there’s a door over there. Let’s try moving somewhere, okay? Can you do that?” Hitoya was just as nervous as you were, judging from the shaking of his voice. But, like always, he pushed it aside.

“Yeah, okay.”

You held his hand and followed behind him as Hitoya went to the doorway he saw. Turns out, it lead to a short staircase with a hatch above it. Sunlight was peeking through gaps in the wood panels. You squinted, preparing your eyes for a burst of light. With nowhere to go but up, Hitoya opened it and stepped out onto… wherever you were. You heard him gasp and call you up quickly. As you suspected, it was bright.

What you didn’t expect, was the intense wind. The salt of the air was more intense up here. On any other day it would be refreshing but now it was like a slap to the face. Tiny specks of icy rain poked your face. As your eyes had to adjust again, you took a second to conclude that you were outside.

The floor was wood panelling again, with railings around it, after that was just water. The vast expanse was not a deep blue, but something like a deep wine colour. The sky above it was orange, with flecks of pink and red reflecting off rolling clouds; the sun was peeking over the horizon, though you didn’t know if it was rising or setting. Light from the sun bounced off each wave and roll of the water, making it look like an upside down night sky. You could see a large wheel at one side and oh my god this is a boat. You’re on a boat.

“This is a fucking boat?!” Hitoya exclaimed exactly what you were thinking.

“Why?” You asked rhetorically. The splash of waves against the boat drowned out any explanations you could try thinking of. “I don’t understand. I just wanted to give you a cake.” An especially harsh gust of wind knocked you off your feet. Hitoya instinctually caught you before you could hit the ground, and set you back on your feet, with a few pats on the head for good measure.

It was all too much. You sniffled as a few fear tears threatened to spill over.

“Hey, it’s alright, this is a bad dream, its fine,” Hitoya repeated over and over until you weren’t sure if he was actually saying it or if it was echoing in your head.

The cake was a nice idea, but you would give anything to wake up again in your bed, early on that father’s day morning.

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hitoya amaguni #reader insert #mystery prompts #bad ass temple

[baepsaesbae]

I Choose You

Pairing— Kim Taehyung x reader

Genre— SMUT,  slight angst, fluff, Idol!Taehyung x reader 

Warnings— fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex always use protection!!, slight choking and slight nipple play

Word Count— ~3.3k

Summary— Being one the secret girlfriend of one of the most famous kpop stars in the world can have its challenges. How much longer can you keep the charade up?

A/N —The fic banner was made by the lovely @ddaengyoonmin.​ I really hope you enjoy it!

“God, this is so nice. I’ve really missed you. You haven’t had a day off in how long?”

“Too long. At least I finally have a day that’s devoted completely to you,” Taehyung boops your nose.

Your (secret) boyfriend, Kim Taehyung, is a world famous idol with one of the busiest schedules in the universe. Despite rarely seeing each other, Taehyung never ceases to show you his love and affection. You get daily texts and videos of him being a goof with the other bandmates. Although the other members were apprehensive about Tae having a secret girlfriend, they soon became supportive after they finally met you.

“It’s silly that you still insist on going on dates in a different city. You didn’t just debut; people will still recognize you outside of Seoul,” you say.

“That’s why we come to little mom and pop restaurants like this! Fewer people come here, plus the food is always delicious,” Taehyung excitedly licks his lips as the food is being served.

“Good point. It doesn’t matter where we are as long as I’m with you,” you smile.

Taehyung returns your smile with a boxy one of his own before he digs into the food.

The rest of the day was spent walking through parks and going into various dessert shops. Taehyung doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but you do. He’ll take every chance he can get to spoil you, especially on the days that he gets you all to himself.

He drove you back to your apartment at the end of the day. Saying goodbye is always bittersweet.

“I love you, angel,” Taehyung kisses your cheek as you both stand in front of your apartment.

“I love you too, Tae,” you pull him in for a hug, “Stay the night with me,” you whisper to him.

“I’d have to leave early in the morning for practice,” he whispered back.

“I know that, dummy. I don’t care. I just want you to hold me for a little while longer,” you plead.

“Okay, let’s go snuggle then,” he kisses the top of your forehead.

You change into your pjs, preparing to turn in for the night. You jokingly offer Taehyung one of your t-shirts to wear to sleep. He scoffed at your offer and instead just stripped down to his underwear.

“You know I’d prefer to sleep like this,” he giggled as he tackled you onto the bed, “It sucks that I rarely get to, you know, since we’re being filmed so often.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not being filmed here,” you stroke through his soft hair.

As you began drifting off to sleep, Taehyung murmured in your ear, “What if I want to do more than just hold you?”

“What would that entail?” you sleepily replied, your eyes still closed.

“Maybe you could help me with this,” he suggested, slowly grinding his crotch into your backside.

You turn around to face him, your hand trailing down to cup his bulge. You begin palming him through his underwear while kissing along his jawline.

“Is this helping?” you tease.

“Starting to,” he seductively replies.

In one swift motion, he’s on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head. He smoothly grinds his crotch into yours, turning you on even more. He bends over to kiss you. At first, it was a soft gentle kiss as his lips lightly pecked yours. It quickly turned into a deeply passionate kiss, tongues and saliva swapping mouths.

Taehyung releases his grip on your wrists, sensually kissing a line from your neck to your stomach. He tugs off your shorts and underwear before spreading your legs wide open. Without hesitation, he licks a long wide stripe between your folds. He chuckled when you gasped. His continued licking you this way while adding an extra little flick on your clit each time. It felt amazing but his pace was slow, and you started to whine.

“What’s wrong baby? It doesn’t feel good?” he asks.

“It feels amazing. You’re just teasing me a lot,” you slowly reply between breaths.

“Oh, is this what you’re missing?” he asks as he slips a finger into you, causing your breath to hitch.

You moaned out in response, indicating that it was indeed what you were missing. Taehyung returned to working on your clit, his tongue rotating between flicking it and going in circular motions around it. He simultaneously slipped another finger into you and was rhythmically pumping into you, bringing you closer to the edge.

Your legs began to move uncontrollably, forcing Taehyung to pin one of them down as he ate you out faster and more intensely. It wasn’t long after that when you unraveled into his mouth.

He looks up at you with a smirk on his face. He licks off your juices from his lips and just the sight of that was enough to make you horny again.

“God, I missed the way you taste,” he said while taking off his underwear.

He ran his length along your soaked folds, teasing you.

“You think you’re wet enough for me, baby?” he asks.

“Why don’t you find out?” you bat your eyes innocently.

Taehyung responded by slowly filling you up until he bottomed out. He didn’t have the patience to tease you anymore, as he began to roughly slam into you. Your moans drowned out the wet sounds of slapping skin.

Taehyung pushes your knees close to your face to further expose your pussy as the lower half of your body lifts off the bed. His pace begins to slow down as he teases himself by just bringing the tip of his dick in and out of you. Doing this always brought him closer to the edge, but it made you needier.

“Tae s-stop teasing me,” you whine.

“I’m so close, love,” he pants as he moves your legs to rest atop his shoulders.

One of Taehyung’s hands wraps itself your neck while the other fondles your breast. His hold on your neck gets firmer as he pinches your nipple. Every sensation overwhelms you, leading you to an intense orgasm.

Seeing you squirm with pure bliss underneath him is what forced Taehyung to follow suit. His hot juices mixed with yours as he released a guttural moan of pleasure.

You pull him into a warm embrace, not caring that you’re both sweaty messes. He gingerly kisses your forehead, and you nuzzle into his neck in response.

“I love you so much,” you whisper.

“Not as much as I love you, angel,” Taehyung whispers back as he strokes your cheek.

You both fall sound asleep not long after. Taehyung eased you back to sleep when his alarm went off at dawn. He gave you a final loving peck on the forehead before silently departing.

A cold empty bed greeted you as you reached out for Taehyung in vain. You knew he wouldn’t be there, but it was instinctual to cuddle up to him. You sighed and rolled back over to your side. Grabbing your phone, you looked for something to distract your feelings of loneliness.

Checking your phone as soon as you wake up is probably a bad habit. To be fair, who doesn’t do that these days? Your eyes are barely open as you scroll through your social media. Giggling at random animal videos is how you’d ideally want to start your day. Instead, a celebrity gossip article was plastered all over your feed.

“BTS IDOL SPOTTED WITH POSSIBLE GIRLFRIEND?!?!” was sprawled across the top of the article.

Your eyes widened with fear. Did the paparazzi finally expose the secret Taehyung had tried so desperately to keep? Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly clicked on the story.

The photo accompanied with the piece was blurry and hard to make out. The venue seemed to be in some sort of club or bar. The lights were dim but sure enough, you were able to make out Taehyung’s angelic face.

However, you’ve never been to this place before. The girl in the photo was all over him, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her hair color was different than yours, solidifying your aching heart.

Scandals and gossip were common, but you’ve never actually seen footage like this before. Until now, the speculating tabloid articles never had any pictures.

Taehyung would never cheat on you, you knew that. You were sure there was a logical explanation to the picture, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Sometimes you wish the public actually knew about your relationship, that way you wouldn’t have to deal with trivial things like this.

You decided to call Taehyung after reading the article.

“Hey, ___! What’s up?” he happily picked up after one ring.

“Have you seen the latest gossip about you?” you directly ask.

“Uh, there’s a lot of that everywhere babe,” Taehyung replies.

“I’ll send it to you,” you curtly say.

Silence settled as Taehyung opened the article on his end.

“Oh,” you hear him say quietly.

“Oh?” you repeated.

“___, the paparazzi blew this way out of proportion,” Taehyung stated.

“I know. That’s why I called you, so you could tell me yourself what is happening here,” you felt your patience wearing thin.

“That’s an ARMY,” Taehyung simply asserted.

“There are millions of ARMY all over the globe, but none of them party with you like that,” you retort.

“She came up to me telling me how much she loves our music,” he began to explain, “She’s an up and coming idol that just debuted from a small company.”

“Yeah, I read that. Did it ever occur to you that she could have staged that? What better way to become famous than to be associated with a member of BTS?” you admonish him.

“No, that thought didn’t cross my mind. Don’t worry, ___. She was super sweet. She left me alone after she hugged me, I promise. You can ask Jimin if you don’t believe me,” Taehyung attempted to comfort you.

The fact that he brought up asking Jimin reassured you. Jimin can’t lie for shit, especially not to you.

“Okay, I believe you. I’m sorry for nagging you,” you say after a brief pause

“You could never nag me. I think I have some free time next week. What do you say to a street food date?”

“In Myeongdong?” you ask excitedly.

“Where else?” he laughed.

“Absolutely. 100% yes,” you cheer.

“Perfect, I’ll see you then, angel,” he bids you goodbye before hanging up.

A few uneventful days pass. You miss Taehyung (as always do), but seeing that picture of him with another idol really didn’t sit well with you. Taehyung always had the tendency to see the best in people. That’s not a bad thing, but sometimes it ends up hurting him. You can’t stand the thought of someone using him to their advantage.

You were in the middle of a work assignment when your back started to hurt. Working from home is a blessing, but sometimes you get so roped into it that you don’t take a break for hours on end.

You get up to stretch and drink some water. Whipping out your phone, your fingers automatically open up your social media app. What you saw nearly made you spit out your water.

“BTS IDOL SPOTTED WITH SAME GIRL, CONFIRMING GIRLFRIEND SPECULATION!”

This time you don’t hesitate to open the page. Your eyes scanned over the multiple pictures of Taehyung and the girl laughing at a restaurant, sitting at the same table. Anyone would assume that they were on a date. The girl was feeling up on his arms and chest again, and the sight of it made you sick to your stomach.

[5:20pm] I don’t think I can make it to the street food date

[5:30pm from Tae] What? Why? Is everything okay?????????

[5:31pm from Tae] ???????

[5:32pm from Tae] ??????????

[5:35pm] Idk, why don’t you ask your new girlfriend? *link sent*

[5:37pm from Tae] ___, this is just another misunderstanding. You know the tabloids have nothing better to do than to gossip.

[5:38pm] I really don’t like this girl.

[5:38pm from Tae] Why? You’ve never met her lol

[5:40] I just have a bad feeling. When have I ever been wrong about something like this?

[5:41pm from Tae] You’re just being paranoid, love. She’s just a huge fan. She wanted me to give her tips on being a successful idol.

[5:42pm] and you had to do it over a meal? You couldn’t have just texted her?

[5:43pm from Tae] What has gotten into you??

You were crying at this point. You felt that you were being reasonable. Your gut instinct was telling you that something was off about that girl. Taehyung just made you feel like a fool for questioning it.

[5:50pm] Please don’t see her anymore. For me.

[5:52pm from Tae] She’s my fan first and foremost. I wouldn’t be where I am without people like her. Her manager asked PD if we can have a joint company lunch, and he agreed. I’ll be seeing her tomorrow, and that is out of my control.

You didn’t reply for the rest of the night. You curled up into a ball and cried yourself to sleep. You hated this. You hated being in a secret relationship. You just wanted to love Taehyung proudly and openly. It wasn’t fair that some random girl was able to do what you should have been doing all along.

You were extremely unproductive the next day. All you could think about was Taehyung. You wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his arms and forget everything that has happened.

Your mind wandered to the joint company luncheon. That girl was probably all over him again, but he would just view it as her being a friendly fan. The thought hurt your heart. There had been no conversation between the two of you the entire day.

An episode of My Hero Academia played on your laptop as you huddle around it eating a bag of popcorn that was supposed to serve as your dinner. You didn’t have the energy to cook or go out to eat, but at least you were eating something (that was your flawless reasoning to yourself).

Your phone buzzes beside you. You see Taehyung’s call but ignore it. You were sad earlier, but further reflection turned your mood into one of pure annoyance. The whole situation was ridiculous and just wanted to be left alone for now.

Your phone buzzed continuously as Taehyung repeatedly called. You turned your phone off and turned your attention back to the show.

An hour later there was a knock on the front door. You opted to ignore it and pretend you weren’t home. The knocking persisted. The knocking persisted for a whole 15 minutes.

Fed up, you go to answer it.

“What do you want--”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung said, hiding his face behind a beautiful bouquet of carnations.

You were shocked. Here you were, not showered and still in your pjs with your mouth agape as Taehyung was dressed up in a Gucci suit looking as if he were about to walk the red carpet. He shyly thrust the bouquet towards you while looking down bashfully.

“Sorry for what?” you cross your arms.

“You were right. About the girl. She tipped off the paparazzi about the company lunch today. She tried planting a kiss on me as soon as she saw me. She made a scene about me “leading her on” in front of everyone. It was a huge mess and PD was furious. There will be a small press conference tomorrow to disperse any rumors,” he explains.

You finally took the flowers from him and wordlessly retreated back into your apartment. He followed you inside.

“I told you so,” you huff, not looking at him.

“I know, angel, I know,” he hugs you from behind, “I want you to come to the conference tomorrow.”

“Me? Why?” you question.

“Moral support,” he replied succinctly before kissing the back of your head.

“Fine,” you agreed.

“You wanna eat in tonight?” he asks.

“You have the time to eat dinner with me?” you slightly cheer up.

“I can even stay the night. If you’d let me, of course,” he spins you around to look you in the eyes.

“I suppose I can let you stay,” you fail at suppressing a smile.

Taehyung orders your favorite takeout food and you eat together on the couch while watching a random movie. You lent Taehyung one of your bigger shirts so that he wouldn’t get his expensive suit dirty.

“Why’d you even show up here in that?” you giggled as he stepped out wearing your shirt with just his underwear.

“I wanted you to know that I was being serious. Also, I’m wearing this at the press conference tomorrow.”

“Ah, there it is,” you laugh.

You drive Taehyung to the press conference the following morning. You enter the building separately, which was a normal occurrence. Taehyung disappears to join the rest of the boys as you sat in the back of the conference room, trying to appear like an intern. Not drawing any attention to yourself became an essential skill. It allowed you to unofficially accompany Taehyung to various events.

Lights flashed and voices raised as the boys entered the room. They all looked nervous, but Taehyung looked the most anxious. He kept glancing around the room until he finally saw you. He shot you a faint smile before taking stepping to the podium as the rest of the boys sat behind him.

“Taehyung! Is it true that you led the young idol on when you had no real intentions of dating her?” a reporter shouted.

“No, that’s not true at all. I was under the impression that she was an ARMY who just wanted tips on how to be a successful idol. No romance was ever involved,” Taehyung professionally answered.

“So you were never dating her to begin with?” another reporter questioned.

“No, I never dated that girl…” he began to trail off as his eyes meet yours, “But I am dating the most wonderful girl in the universe.”

The crowd exploded. Indistinct questions were hurled at Taehyung, but he didn’t care. He smugly smiled at your shocked face, your jaw was practically on the floor. You couldn’t believe what he just said. The boys behind him tried to hide their smiles, indicating to you that they knew what he was about to do all along.

“In time we will reveal our relationship to the public, but for now we ask for everyone to please respect our privacy. That is all,” he concluded.

He didn’t answer any further questions; instead, he promptly left the room with the rest of the band trailing behind him. You quickly exited the room and snuck your way into their practice room, where you found all of the boys.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” you scold Taehyung as soon as you saw him.

“I know you’re tired of hiding, angel. I am too. It’s time for us to be able to go on real dates without worrying who will see us,” he calmly answers.

“PD gave him the okay to reveal that he’s in a relationship. Don’t worry, neither of you will be in any trouble,” Namjoon pats your back.

“Can’t say the same for ARMY,” Yoongi adds.

“Real ARMY would understand. I love you, ___. Nothing will ever change that,” Taehyung said fondly before kissing your cheek.

“Ew hyung! Go get a room,” Jungkook teases.

You smirk at Jungkook before pulling Taehyung into a deep kiss. You didn’t care if the other boys were watching, you couldn’t contain how happy you were.

“EW ____ THAT’S WORSE!” Jungkook bellows, causing the room to erupt with laughter.

This is the start of a new chapter in your relationship, and you couldn’t wait for it to begin.

Published July 31st, 2020. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2020 Baepsaesbae.

#bts smut #taehyung smut #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #bts fanfic #taehyung angst #bts angst #taehyung fluff #bts fluff #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #bayanihanboost #ksmutclub

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: Jon and Basira make their way to Ny-Ålesund; Daisy and Martin have a long-overdue conversation.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 26: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief descriptions of Flesh-domain-typical imagery; discussion of police violence, intimidation tactics, & abuse of authority (re: Daisy’s past actions); mentions of canonical character deaths & murder; reference to a canonical instance of a character being outed (re: Jon’s coworkers gossiping about him being ace); allusions to childhood emotional neglect; a bit of internalized ableism re: ADHD symptoms; discussions of strict religious indoctrination; a physical altercation, including being restrained with a hold; swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 26: Remains To Be Seen

The journey to Tromsø is… uneventful, comparatively speaking.

Almost worryingly so, Jon observes at one point.

You’re fretting because something hasn’t gone horribly wrong? Basira asks.

Aren’t you?

The tension in Basira’s shoulders is answer enough. They’re both on tenterhooks, all too aware of the dreadful species of things that lurk in the margins of the world, any number of which could be waiting in the wings for them.

That’s not to say there are no complications at all. There’s a learning curve to navigating the world blindfolded, but the two of them settle into something of a routine: Basira guiding Jon with a hand on his arm, talking him around obstacles, across gaps, and up and down stairs. An improvised system of nudges and taps develops organically over the course of their travels, starting when Basira realizes that Jon has trouble parsing her words over the noise of a crowd. It becomes their go-to mode of communication with surprising ease.

It’s an exercise in trust oddly refreshing in its mundanity.

Jon finds the blindfold comforting, in its own way: surreal, but somehow not as surreal as the evidence of normalcy all around him. Consistent, straightforward geography is disorientating enough after so long traversing a world knitted together by nightmare logic and allegory. Even more bewildering are the people. Throngs of them go about their day-to-day routines, each preoccupied with their own affairs, taking for granted their relative anonymity against the vast backdrop of the bustling world around them, secure in the privacy of their own thoughts – and blissfully unaware of the alternative.

This is how it should be, he admonishes himself in a weary refrain. People deserve ownership over their own minds, their stories, their secrets. The Archivist in him vehemently disagrees, of course. It’s exhausting, how relentlessly Jon has to challenge that instinctual voyeurism.

Prone to sensory overload, he’s always hated crowds: the noise, the flurry of movement, the press of bodies, the constant threat of unwanted touches, the lack of freedom to move at his own pace. Becoming the Archivist made the experience infinitely worse. The combination of the blindfold and Daisy’s noise-cancelling headphones does little to stem the tide of intrusive knowledge: random scraps of disconcerting trivia, a steady stream of morbid statistics, insights into the deep-seated anxieties of passersby – and, on a few occasions, the whisper of a story to be chronicled. At least the blindfold prevents him from inadvertently locking eyes with anyone.

They try to avoid traveling during peak commuting hours, but not every crowd can be evaded. The first time he wanders into the path of a potential statement giver, Jon nearly causes a pile-up in a congested station, stopping so abruptly in his tracks that the person in the queue behind him crashes headlong into him. Basira manages to catch him before he’s knocked off his feet, keeping a firm grasp on his arm when the panicked urge to flee overtakes him and nearly sends him careening blindly in the opposite direction. When a nearby stranger snipes at him for the nuisance, Jon is surprised at how immediately Basira leaps to his defense.

Back off, she says, the hint of a threat in her tone, before steering Jon out of the crowd and off to the side, where he can lean against the wall and catch his breath. She stands firm between him and the masses, diverting traffic and warding off anyone else who might seek a confrontation, giving him the sorely-needed time to compose himself. He’s certain that she’ll be cross with him after, but… she isn’t.

Tense, certainly. Concerned even. But criticism is bafflingly, mercifully absent.

There are a few more incidents after that, but none quite so dramatic. The instant he senses the Archivist in him stirring, he chokes out a warning to Basira, who turns out to be preternaturally adept at finding (or creating) spaces for him to recoup. With both of them on guard and communicating freely, they manage to avoid being in close quarters with anyone who might have a story to tell.

Tromsø offers a temporary reprieve from all of that. There are people, of course – it’s the busiest fishing port in Norway, the Eye interposes for the fourth time this hour. Jon takes an aggravated swipe at the empty air beside him, once again momentarily forgetting that there’s no pesky swarm of Watchers tagging along for this particular journey. Not visibly, at least.

Still, the open-air piers of a busy fishing port are a far cry from a densely-packed train. There’s a cargo ship scheduled to leave for Ny-Ålesund within the next hour, and Basira is further down the docks meeting with its captain to (hopefully) arrange for passage. Apparently Jon has earned some trust over the course of their travels, because she didn’t object when he requested to stay back and take a breather.

Although the docks of Tromsø bear little resemblance to the beaches of Bournemouth, the calls of seabirds are familiar enough to be meditative. Nostalgic, albeit in an uneasy, bittersweet way. His childhood was riddled enough with nightmares and alienation that thoughts of the place where he grew up are always laced with remembered horror and punctuated by a nebulous sense of grief for what could have been. If he never caught the Spider’s eye; if he never opened the book; if he wasn’t quite so demanding and easily bored and difficult to manage; if his eccentric reading habits were just a bit less finicky, even…

Left to his own devices, Jon could drown himself in what ifs.

A frigid gust of wind whips his hair about. When he reaches up to smooth it down, he finds it coarse from the brine-saturated breeze. Rubbing his fingertips together and grimacing at the faint gritty residue, Jon pulls Georgie’s scarf up over his nose to fend against the nip in the air and he turns his sight to the sky. It’s a stark, pallid grey, the kind of overcast that manages to be blinding-bright despite the sun’s concealment. The sight stings his eyes, but still he does not blink.

It should be exhilarating to look up and see nothing staring back. Instead, the sight fills him with… well, it’s difficult for him to define succinctly. Some peculiar species of dread, mingled with a disquieting, ill-defined sense of longing. Perhaps he’s simply becoming adrift in time again: remembering how it felt to look up at a Watching sky and hopelessly wish for a return to the world as it was, to clouds and stars and void. But he can’t shake the suspicion that it’s at least partly a monstrous yearning for the ruined future from which he came.

He doesn’t know what that says about him. Nothing good, probably.

You miss it, a gloating, sinister little voice concurs from one of the murky, thorny corners of Jon’s mind. You don’t belong here. You Know where you–

Jon’s phone dings several times, yanking him away from that ill-fated train of thought. Grateful for the interruption, he digs it out of his pocket, instantly brightening when Naomi’s name greets him and eagerly opening their text thread.

Jon is too busy smiling to himself to notice Basira’s approach.

“What’s – oh, sorry,” she says when he starts. “Keep expecting you to just sort of… Know I’m here.”

“The Eye doesn’t seem inclined to help me out on that front, unfortunately,” Jon says with an embarrassed chuckle. “If anything, my being jumpy probably feeds it.”

Basira glances down at his phone, then back up at him. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Naomi.” Jon’s grin returns. “All her texts from the last couple days just came through at once. She wants to know whether Krampus is real.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Haven’t replied just yet.”

“Oh.” Basira opens her mouth to say more, then promptly closes it.

A delighted smirk twitches into being at the corner of Jon’s mouth. “Now you want to know as well, don’t you?”

Basira rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “Later. We have a boat to catch.”

When Jon reaches into his pocket to retrieve his blindfold, Basira shakes her head.

“Best not,” she says. “The captain agreed to take us, but she was leery about the whole thing. I don’t want to give her a reason to reconsider. The less suspicious we seem, the better.”

“Still getting odd stares, then?”

“Getting used to people looking at me like I’m transporting a hostage,” she replies with a tired, beleaguered smile. It fades into a frown as she looks him up and down, taking stock of his shaking hands and the way he leans heavily on his cane. “Alright?”

“A bit sore,” Jon admits, glancing down at his leg. “Probably just been putting weight on it for too long a stretch.”

“We should be able to sit soon. Until then, try not to fall.”

“Or freeze,” Jon says distractedly, glancing warily upwards again.

“Daisy says the cold always gets to her,” Basira says, quietly enough that Jon suspects it wasn’t meant for him. “Seriously, though – you alright? You keep staring at the sky like it’s going to crack open.”

“I’m fine.” Jon shuts his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. “Just… apprehensive.”

“Sense anything?” Despite her carefully bland tone, the crux of the question is clear.

“Nothing concrete.” No statement givers, he does not say – but Basira nods, understanding his meaning. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Come on, then.” She starts off down the dock – at a brisk pace at first, but slowing when she looks back to ensure that Jon is following and observes his stiffer, more deliberate gait.

He grimaces apologetically. Up until Jane Prentiss and her worms, he was inclined towards speed walking as much as Basira is. Always in a hurry to get nowhere at all, Georgie used to say, simultaneously lamenting and teasing. Not everyone is a power walker, Jon, Martin would gripe from time to time during the apocalypse.

Maybe some of us want to slow down and take in the scenery, he grumbled on one occasion, as they traipsed through a predictably grisly Flesh domain.

The forest of pulsating meat sculptures, you mean? Jon replied primly.

Oh, you’re telling me you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to stop and take notes on the ecology of flesh spiders?

Not as much as I want to get to a place where the ground isn’t a spongy skin trampoline.

Flesh domains always had a tendency to bring out the worst (best?) of their morbid humor, Jon notes upon reflection.

In any case, Jon has always had a tendency to hurry, too impatient to reach his destination to appreciate the journey. Internally, that impulse is still there. On good days, he can almost satisfy that restlessness. Today is not a good day.

Basira stops and waits. It’s a practice that has become second nature to her ever since Daisy emerged from the Buried: learning all the unspoken signals and warning signs of a bad pain day, from barely-suppressed winces and cold sweat to waspishness and stifled, winded breaths; gauging all the fickle fluctuations in mobility in real time through careful, constant observation; and discreetly adjusting her own walking pace to accommodate without question or complaint.

“You know, I haven’t spent much time on boats,” Basira says, apropos of nothing – probably to break the silence as she waits for Jon to catch up. “I’m hoping motion sickness during long car rides isn’t correlated with seasickness. Does the Eye have any statistics handy? Seems like it would qualify as terrible knowledge.”

“Let’s just say you should keep the Dramamine at the ready,” Jon says wryly as he reaches her position.

“Wonderful,” Basira sighs, and she resumes walking, this time matching Jon’s stride.

Martin will be the first to admit that, between the two of them, Jon doesn’t have a monopoly on obsessiveness.

Case in point: Jon and Basira have been gone for five days now, and – in between bouts of worrying over their safety and mounting apprehension about Peter’s inexplicable, persistent hiatus – Martin is still replaying everything he said and did in the moments leading up to Jon’s departure.

Or, more precisely, what he didn’t say.

Nearly two months have passed since Jon returned from the Buried. It’s been nice, it really has, spending time with him. He’s changed – How could he not have? – but he’s still Jon. Even more wounded and jaded than he was before – How much abuse can one person take? – but it hasn’t made him cruel or cold. Harder in some respects, to be sure – namely on himself.

Which is saying something, Martin thinks with a pang. In all the time that Martin has known him, Jon has never been kind to himself. It’s always been a struggle to convince him to take care of himself in the most basic of ways, let alone spare a thought for comfort.

But in other respects, Jon has grown softer. More open, more communicative – more trusting, somehow, despite this world and the next piling on reason after reason for him to detach and withdraw. Martin thinks about that every time the Lonely starts to whisper in his ear. The fog is still there, firmly planted in his mind, choking out his thoughts from time to time like an invasive weed. It won’t be easily uprooted. Seeing Jon alive and trying, reaching out, grasping at warmth, clinging to humanity with all his trademark stubbornness… it makes Martin want to try, too. It makes him want to hope, to look forward and see – to fight for – a future where things are better.

So, yes, Jon has changed. They both have.

I’m not the person you remember, Martin said the first time they spoke after Jon came back. I’m not the person you fell in love with.

Jon had locked eyes with him then, and Martin found that he could not look away.

Martin has spent the majority of his life walking a tightrope, striking an uneasy balance between competing instincts. The part of him that excels in flying under the radar takes comfort in being inconspicuous. There are people out there who see kindness as naivety and trust as a weakness to be exploited. The best way to avoid their notice is to avoid being seen at all, and Martin learned early on that to be unremarkable has its own advantages. All too often, to go unnoticed is to survive.

It isn’t enough to just survive, though, is it? Barely hidden underneath all the abysmal self-esteem and the carefully constructed mask of agreeability, there is a spark of indignation and outrage and want. To be seen is fundamentally terrifying; to demand acknowledgment is to welcome exposure. But Martin has always had a rebellious streak, carving out a space for itself amongst all the loneliness and fear and self-deprecation.

Look at me, it seethes. See me.

And when Jon did look at him – Saw him – an unmistakably pleased little voice jostled its way to the forefront to triumphantly declare, Finally.

Martin, I fell in love with this version of you, Jon said. With every version of you.

It was difficult to believe. Martin didn’t want to believe it. He was afraid to believe it. But he did, and he does, and he feels the same way, and he has for so, so long, and that defiant chip on his shoulder never truly let him forget it, even when isolation had him by the throat–

So why can’t you say it?

Since that day, it hasn’t come up again. Jon is affectionate, far more than Martin would have expected. Sure, Jon has always seemed more natural at expressing his feelings through actions rather than words, but Martin never imagined he would be so… well, cuddly. Jon always struck Martin as averse to touch, keeping people at arm’s length both figuratively and literally. He still is, sometimes. But more often than not, Martin gets the impression that Jon would cling like a limpet if given explicit permission. Martin doesn’t know whether that’s a new development, or whether it’s just that he now numbers among Jon’s rare exceptions.

Maybe I should ask Georgie, Martin thinks, only partly in jest.

There’s still a lingering hesitancy there, though. Yes, when Martin invites contact, Jon jumps at the opportunity to be close. Initiating, though… Jon doesn’t quite walk on eggshells per se, but he moves with a gentleness perhaps too gentle at times. Excessively tentative – but not subtle.

Martin long ago perfected the art of stealing furtive glances at Jon. It’s not difficult. Jon is prone to tunnel vision, predisposed to lose himself in his work or a book or his own mind until the rest of the world outside his narrow focus dissolves around him. If he ever noticed Martin’s eyes on him, Jon never called attention to it.

Jon’s staring doesn’t have the same finesse. His gaze is heavy. Concentrated, unwavering, penetrating – and Jon is painfully self-conscious about that. Prompt to stammer apologies whenever he’s caught watching, quick to avert his eyes. According to him, most people find the Archivist’s attention unnerving. Martin supposes it can be at times, but he’s long since become acclimated to it. Endeared to it, even. It’s grounding, despite how ruthlessly being Seen clashes with the Lonely aspects of Martin’s existence.

Maybe that disharmony is precisely why it’s grounding.

So Jon’s eyes flit to Martin whenever he thinks Martin isn’t looking, and cautious glimpses stretch into riveted, unconscious watching, and Martin graciously pretends not to notice. This has been the status quo for weeks now: faltering not-quite-touches and longing, not-so-surreptitious gazes, interspersed with understated handholding and a few sporadic sessions of what Martin can only call cuddling. All of it has been underscored by three simple words dangling in the scant expanse of empty space between them, waiting for acknowledgment.

Jon is waiting – waiting for Martin – and Jon… Jon has never been good at waiting, has he? Not like Martin. Jon’s directionless fidgeting and bitten-short declarations and absentminded stares betray his buzzing impatience despite his best efforts, but still he’s waiting, with as much valiant restraint as he can muster.

I love you. It’s a truth so obvious that speaking it aloud would hardly qualify as a confession. I love you, Martin thinks, and he feels it down to his bones, woven into the very atoms of him.

It’s difficult to pinpoint when it began. Early on, Martin only wanted to appear qualified to his new supervisor, then to impress him, then to prove him wrong – and then, eventually, to genuinely take care of him. Jon was in need of care, and resistant to receiving it, and that was familiar, wasn’t it? Maybe some desperate, stubborn part of Martin just wanted to be useful for once. To be seen. To succeed with Jon where he had failed with his mother.

Then Prentiss happened. Martin had been certain that Jon would dismiss Martin’s story, reprimand him for his prolonged absence, and snap at him to get back to work. And then… he didn’t.

Your safety is my responsibility, Jon said curtly, showing Martin to his new, hopefully temporary lodgings. I failed you, Jon’s contrite grimace read. I won’t fail you again. Then he immediately strode off to meet with Elias, leaving Martin loitering idly in Document Storage, speechless and bemused.

Maybe that’s where it started: Jon barging unannounced and uninvited into Elias’ office with brazen, unapologetic demands for safe haven and fire extinguishers and heightened security. He even went so far as to persistently badger Elias for customizations to the building’s sprinkler system. That tenacity may have been partly driven by guilt and obligation, but Martin swore he caught glimpses of something more from time to time. Something deeper and more personal, sympathetic and kind.

It started, as so many significant shifts do, with the small things.

Martin retired to Document Storage one night that first week to find extra blankets folded neatly at the end of his cot. I thought you might be cold, Jon admitted upon questioning. It can get chilly in here at night. The pressing question of exactly how many times Jon must have slept here overnight in order to know that was promptly crowded out by a vivid mental image of Jon wrestling a heavy quilt onto the Tube during the morning commuter rush. The thought brought a smile to Martin’s face. He said as much, and Jon immediately fabricated a clumsy excuse to exit the conversation.

On another occasion, Martin opened the break room cabinet to find his favorite tea restocked. He’d been putting off shopping, too anxious to leave the relative safety of the Institute’s walls. I noticed you were running low, Jon mumbled. And I was already at the store anyway, he added almost defensively, eyes narrowing in a stern glare to discourage comment – as if drawing attention to Jon’s random acts of kindness would destroy his curmudgeonly reputation.

Those circumspect displays of consideration were touching in their awkwardness. Jon was gruff and reticent, to be sure, but he cared, in his own unpracticed, idiosyncratic way. And one day, when Martin looked at him, he thought, I’d like to kiss him, and then: Oh no. Oh, fuck.

Jon never seemed to pick up on Martin’s feelings back then. But he knows now – not Knows, just knows – and, impossible as still seems, he returns those feelings. Jon said the words in no uncertain terms, left them in Martin’s care – and now he’s waiting for Martin to make the next move.

So why haven’t you? What are you waiting for?

“Want some tea?”

Martin jumps at the sound of Daisy’s voice.

“Sorry,” she snorts. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I –” Martin clears his throat, recovering. “Tea. Right. Uh, I can get it–”

“Let me. I need to stretch my legs anyway. And I wouldn’t want to interrupt your pining.”

“Wh-what?” Martin sputters.

“You haven’t turned the page in at least twenty minutes,” Daisy informs him, nodding at the statement resting on the table in front of him. “Liable to burn yourself on the kettle while you’re spacing out, fantasizing about snogging Jon or whatever.”

“Wh– I – you – I’m – why would–”

“Don’t know why you’re being so coy about it.” Her blasé shrug is offset by the devious grin on her face. “Not like it’s a secret you’re on kissing terms.”

“We… we haven’t,” Martin blurts out, heat rising in his cheeks. Immediately, he kicks himself. Given what he knows of Daisy, there’s no avoiding an interrogation now.

“You – wait, really?” Daisy raises her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“It just hasn’t – I – it’s really none of your–” Martin huffs, flustered. “I don’t even know if he does that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“B-because, he…”

Because Martin has a tendency to fade into the background, and people will say a lot of things when they assume no one else is in earshot.

Do you know if he and Jon ever…

No clue, and not interested! Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Like, at all?

Yeah.

Martin cringes at the memory. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He still wishes he hadn’t overheard. Jon was always so tight-lipped about his personal life back then. It felt like a violation of his privacy, knowing something that he would in all likelihood have preferred to keep to himself and share only at his own discretion. Martin tried to put it out of his head, to avoid thinking too hard on the specifics of what Jon “doesn’t” – and, conversely, what he maybe, possibly does – but, well…

Martin shakes his head to clear his thoughts before they can meander any further into the realm of imagination. In any case, he certainly isn’t about to repeat that piece of gossip to Daisy now.

“I – I just don’t want to assume,” he says instead.

Daisy tilts her head, considering. “Well, have you asked him?”

“W-well, no.”

“Why not? Sure, some people aren’t into kissing, I guess, but I doubt he’d mind you asking. Even if the answer is ‘no,’ I guarantee he wants to be close in other ways.” At Martin’s lack of response, Daisy heaves an exaggerated sigh. “He reaches for you every time you’re not looking, you know. Always fidgeting with his hands, like he wants to touch but he doesn’t know how to ask. He’s as bad as you are, pining face and all.”

“I do not have a ‘pining face,’” Martin says. “If you must know, I was worrying just now.”

“You definitely have a pining face, and it’s different from your worried face. When you’re worried, you get all scowly and you chew your lip bloody. You’re focused, intense. When you’re pining, you get this faraway look to you, like you’re not taking anything in. And you touch your fingers to your lips a lot – yeah, like that.”

Martin yanks his fingers away from his mouth as if scalded, glowering indignantly at an increasingly smug Daisy. “What are you, a mentalist?”

“I’ve gotten used to reading people – picking up on openings, weak spots, stress signals, you know. Don’t know whether that’s a Hunt thing or a me thing. Both, maybe.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, you went from worried to pining about ten minutes ago now. And Jon, he’s even easier to read than you are. He’s so far gone for you, I can tease him mercilessly about it and never get a rise out of him. Even when I can get him to bat an eye, he never does that… that flustered denial thing he usually does when you hit a nerve. He just goes all… soft and wistful. Retreats into his own head, gets that smitten little smile – you know the one?”

“Yes.” Martin is blushing furiously now, he’s certain. Daisy flashes him another knowing, unabashedly victorious smirk.

“Point is, our lives are messed up, water is wet, and Jon Sims loves cats and Martin Blackwood, but he’s terrified of crossing some invisible line, so instead he’s just openly pining and it isn’t even fun to tease him about it because he’s too lovestruck to be properly embarrassed about it.” Daisy pauses for a breath. “So, if you want to kiss Jon, you should ask him, because I doubt he’s going to make the first move anytime soon, and it’s getting ridiculous watching the two of you tiptoe around the elephant in the room. So what are you waiting for?”

“How is any of this your business, anyway?” Martin snaps.

“Well, seeing as Jon’s my friend–”

That strikes a nerve, and Martin is reacting before he can properly evaluate the feeling.

“Okay, yeah, about that,” he says sharply. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Well, all you wanted to do before was hunt him down and hurt him.” Instantaneously, Daisy’s playful demeanor evaporates. “Even after Elias blackmailed you into working for him, you still looked at Jon like he wasn’t human. Not even a monster, either, just – just something you wanted to tear apart, just because you wanted to see him afraid. And now all of a sudden you’re friends? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Jon’s willing to overlook a murder attempt. He… he has so little respect for himself, his standards are so…” Martin captures his lower lip between his teeth and bites down until it aches. “He’s so used to being treated badly, the bar is six feet below ground.”

“Yeah,” Daisy whispers.

“But – but what I can’t figure out is what your angle is. You wanted to hurt him, you did hurt him – he still has a scar from where you held a knife to his throat. You would’ve killed him if Basira didn’t stop you.”

“I–”

“He was so afraid of disappearing without a trace, did you know that?” Martin interjects, his face growing hotter as over a year’s worth of pent-up fury boils to the surface.

Martin has read enough statements to know that even one of the encounters representative of the Institute’s collection is one traumatic experience too many. Even so, it’s only a small fraction of the horror stories that have plagued humanity throughout history – that continue to unfold in the present day. How many people suffer something horrible and don’t live long enough to tell the story? The Archive, chock-full of terror though it may be, is an ongoing study in survivorship bias.

“When Prentiss attacked the Institute,” Martin fumes, “Jon was more afraid of that – of leaving nothing behind – than he was of dying. You were going to bury him where no one would ever find him, and no one would ever know what happened to him, and now… now you say you want to be his friend, like nothing ever happened? And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

For a long minute, the only sound is Martin’s rapid, heavy breathing. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Combativeness, maybe. For Daisy to get her hackles up, to defend herself against Martin’s implications, to take offense to his accusatory tone. Instead, her entire posture wilts and her shoulders curl inward. It’s as if an invisible weight is pressing against her on all sides, crushing her into something small and taut.

“I guess we’re doing this now, then,” she mumbles.

“Guess we are,” Martin says stiffly, one foot tapping frenetically against the floor as his agitation continues creeping ever upward.

Daisy nods and releases a heavy exhale. “This isn’t just about Jon, is it?”

“I…” Martin trails off as he considers the question. “No. I guess it’s not.”

“Well.” Daisy rubs at her upper arms, eyes fixed on the floor. “Go on.”

“When you questioned all of us – when you interrogated me, you didn’t – you didn’t actually want to find out the truth. You just wanted to get to Jon, because you assumed he was guilty, and…” Martin huffs. “No, it wasn’t even about guilt, was it? You didn’t care about solving Leitner’s murder, you didn’t care about finding Sasha – she could’ve still been alive for all we knew at the time, but you didn’t care whether she was in danger, whether she could be saved. And – and even if we did have proof that she was dead, we deserved to know what happened to her. She deserved better than to be a mystery.”

“You’re right.” Daisy’s soft agreement does nothing to temper Martin’s burgeoning wrath.

“She was my friend, you know that? She was my friend, and you just – dismissed her, like she wasn’t worth remembering, like her life was some – some trivial detail. I didn’t know whether to be afraid for her or – or – or to mourn for her, and all you had to offer was, ‘Jon probably killed her, tell me where he is or else.’ You were a detective, you were supposed to help, but all you cared about was getting to Jon, and you – you – you threatened me because you thought I could tell you where to find him. That you could use me to hurt him.” Martin breathes a bitter chuckle. “I guess Jon was right not to trust the police to figure out what happened to Gertrude.”

Daisy doesn’t deny it.

“So… yeah.” Martin shrugs as his rant tapers off. “That’s where I am, I guess. I know you’ve changed – haven’t we all – but… every time I see you near Jon, there’s a part of me that panics. Maybe I’m not being fair, but I – I can’t forget. I don’t know how to feel.”

Daisy is quiet for a long minute, fingers digging into her arms now, a pained expression lingering on her face.

“I’ve done… a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she says slowly. “Hurt a lot of people. Most more than they deserved. Many who didn’t deserve it at all. Can’t even make apologies to most of them, let alone make amends. I don’t even know if I could make amends. Some things are unforgivable.”

It doesn’t undo what I did, Jon’s voice plays in Martin’s mind. I can’t erase it.

“You should know,” Daisy says, “complete lack of self-respect aside, Jon doesn’t… he doesn’t overlook what I did.”

“What?”

“He knows what I am. What I’ve done. He doesn’t pretend I’m something I’m not, he doesn’t lie to me about what I could become, he doesn’t offer me forgiveness that I don’t deserve, but he still… he still doesn’t expect the worst from me, either. He expects me to make the right choice, even though I gave him every reason not to trust me.”

“He’s still too forgiving,” Martin mutters.

“That’s another thing. I… I don’t think he does. Forgive me, that is.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Because you’re afraid to know the answer?” Maybe that’s uncharitable, but Martin never claimed to be an easily forgiving soul. Most people wouldn’t assume it at first glance, but he’s always had a tendency to nurse a grudge.

Daisy hunches even further, her shoulders drawing in tighter.

“Because if he did forgive me, he would tell me,” she says, her throat bobbing as she struggles to swallow. “But he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t, and he shouldn’t, and I’m not going to put him in a position where he has to justify himself, or sugarcoat it, or comfort me for what I did to him.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say to that.

“And the same goes for you.” Daisy steals a quick glimpse at Martin before lowering her head again. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. Ever. But I am sorry – for how I treated you, for what I did to Jon. I’ll never stop being sorry. That doesn’t make it better, I know. But I want to do better. I’m trying to be better. Too little too late, maybe, but I won’t go back to how I was before. I can’t take it all back, but I can at least make sure I don’t hurt anyone else.”

“You sound like Jon.”

“First and second place for guiltiest conscience, us,” Daisy says with a tired chuckle. “And I don’t know which of us is in first.” She sighs. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I do see Jon as a friend. Not just because I’m sorry, or because he saved me, or because I owe him, but because he… well, he sees me as I am, and he sees me for who I want to be, and he doesn’t see those as mutually exclusive, but he also doesn’t deny the contradiction.”

“Wish he could apply the same logic to himself.”

“Yeah. He’s an absolute mess of double standards. Best we can do is call him on it at every opportunity. Maybe eventually he’ll get it through his head.”

“Yeah,” Martin scoffs. “Maybe.”

“Anyway,” she says, “I care about him, and he cares about you, so…”

“So you thought you’d appoint yourself his wingman?”

“Maybe a little.” Daisy gives him a hesitant, sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Martin sighs. The resentment is still there, but he does feel a bit lighter after getting it all out in the open. Besides, he's so emotionally drained from his outburst, he can’t quite work up the energy for mild annoyance right this moment.

“Well, in that case – if you want to kiss him, you should ask. That’s all I’m saying,” Daisy says hurriedly, holding up her palms in a placating gesture when Martin gives her a tired glare. “I’ll drop it now. I meant it when I said I wanted tea.”

Daisy winces as she rises to her feet.

“And I meant it when I said I can get it,” Martin says.

“I’ve got it.”

“Then at least let me come along and–”

“Uh, no.” Daisy gives him a quelling look. “Jon warned me about how you are with tea.”

“What?”

“Says you’re a micromanager.”

“He what?” Martin demands.

“Okay, he didn’t say it like that. Actually, I think the word he used was persnickety.”

“Oh, as if he has room to talk,” Martin mutters. “He’s just miffed that I caught him microwaving tea once and I refuse to let him live it down.”

“What’s wrong with microwaving tea?” Martin recoils, affronted – and then Daisy snorts. “Settle down. I’m just messing with you.” She starts to leave, pausing only briefly to glance over her shoulder. “I won’t be long. Yell if Peter decides to finally show his face.”

“Will do,” Martin groans, reluctantly returning to the statement in front of him. Yet another alleged Extinction sighting, courtesy of Peter, for Martin to dutifully pretend to research.

Stringing Peter along is the best way Martin knows to keep in check. In that sense, it’s an important job – one only Martin can do. Nonetheless, it’s reminiscent of how it felt to be left behind when the others went to stop the Unknowing. Distracting Elias was important, sure, and dangerous in its own way, but it wasn’t exactly on the same level as storming the Circus to stop the apocalypse. Comparatively, Martin felt useless.

Now, with Basira and Jon off on their mission, Martin is beset by a similar sense of futility. There’s certainly enough work to keep him busy, given that Peter delegates most of his job responsibilities to Martin. (Martin is fairly certain that, fraudulent CV or not, he’s more qualified to run the Institute at this point than Peter is.) Performing routine administrative duties can be a boring and demoralizing enough endeavor in the context of a mundane underpaid office job; doing so in service to an unfathomable cosmic evil is, to put it mildly, soul-destroying. Perhaps in a literal sense, as far as Martin knows.

That’s not to mention the customary gloom that comes with reading account after dreadful account of senseless, indiscriminate suffering.

Martin wishes there was something practical he could do, is his point. Patient though he may be, indefinite waiting is less tolerable when what he’s waiting for is the other shoe to drop, so to speak. He has no desire to interact with Peter in any capacity, but the longer he remains scarce, the more Martin’s trepidation soars.

There’s no way Peter has conceded his bet with Jonah, but there’s no telling whether he’s simply biding his time and observing how events unfold, actively plotting his next moves, or already enacting an revised scheme from the shadows. Regardless, he’s a clear and present danger for as long as he’s around. He may not be hasty, but he’s still a wildcard. Jon told Martin about the last time: how Peter released the NotThem to rampage through the Institute, solely for the sake of causing a distraction. As long as he has The Seven Lamps of Architecture in his possession, he–

Oh.

Martin smiles to himself. Maybe there is something more he can do.

The warehouse is, unsurprisingly, dark. Even with the door propped open, the daylight filtering through illuminates a radius of only a few yards before it’s swallowed by unnatural gloom. As Jon and Basira move further into the cavernous space, the beams of their torches barely penetrate the velvety murk.

“Any idea where she is?” Basira whispers from Jon’s left.

“Waiting in ambush, I assume. I can’t See much of anything.”

“See or See?”

“Either. Both.”

“And you’re certain that applies to Elias as well? He won’t be able to See us here?”

“Positive,” Jon says. “The Dark has–”

An enraged bellow sounds out from behind them. Basira’s torch clatters to the concrete floor, its light promptly extinguished as the casing cracks and the batteries come loose. In a flash, Basira is on the ground, locked in a furious scuffle with–

“Manuela Dominguez!” Jon says. Manuela looks up reflexively, surprised to hear her name. It’s all the opening Basira needs to gain the upper hand, grappling Manuela into a prone position on the floor and pinning her in place with a wristlock. Manuela cries out in pain, but her wild thrashing continues unabated.

“Jon,” Basira grunts, increasingly winded as Manuela attempts to break the hold. “A little help?”

“Manuela, listen, we – we’re just here to talk–”

Manuela briefly pauses in her struggling to spit at Jon’s feet. Funny, how some details remain the same. A second later, she’s resisting again, now attempting to twist around and bite at whatever exposed skin she can find.

“Stop.”

The command crackles up Jon’s throat and sparks off the tip of his tongue like a static shock, hundreds of iterations of the word coinciding. The air itself seems to quake with the force of it, and Jon is left shivering in its wake.

So, it seems, is Manuela: her voice shudders out of her when she speaks.

“Who are you?” she hisses. “What do you want?”

“To make a deal,” Jon says, the words slightly slurred.

“Why would I deal with you?” In the flickering glow of his torchlight, Jon can see the baleful glint in Manuela’s eyes. “You’re of the Eye, aren’t you? What could you even possibly want? You’ve already taken everything – you lot and your Archivist. Where is she, anyway?” Manuela makes a show of scanning the room as best she can, pinioned as she is. “Too much of a coward to witness the wreckage she’s wrought?”

“Gertrude is dead,” Basira says.

“Stopping us took everything she had, then.” Manuela smirks. “Serves her right.”

“You wish,” Basira scoffs. “She was murdered. Completely unrelated.”

“That’s –” Manuela’s smug expression vanishes. “Who–?”

“Elias,” Jon says. “She was too much of a thorn in his side. Too much of a force to be reckoned with.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you,” Jon says. “We want to make a deal. A temporary alliance.”

“An alliance?” Manuela repeats. What starts as a weak, dismissive laugh dissolves into a wheeze.

“We have a mutual enemy.” Manuela’s eyes narrow in something more like curiosity now. “I take it I’ve piqued your interest. Will you hear us out?”

Manuela deliberates for a protracted moment, torn between rebellion and intrigue. “Let me up.”

“What, so you can throw more punches?” Basira says.

“It’s fine, Basira,” Jon says. Manuela is still seething with defiance. The more powerless she feels, the less open she’ll be to negotiation. Better to make a few concessions and let her feel some control over the situation.

Judging from her furrowed brow, Basira is running through the same calculations. She hesitates a moment longer before sighing, releasing her hold, and standing. Manuela staggers to her feet and backs away several steps, brushing herself off and panting shallowly as she catches her breath.

“Did you come here alone?” she asks, massaging her abused wrist as her suspicious gaze flits back and forth between Basira and Jon. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Jon answers. Basira shakes her head with an impatient tsk – which Jon interprets as something like stop volunteering free information to every Avatar you parley with, Jon. “Like I said, we’re just here to talk. And to offer you the opportunity for revenge.”

“What revenge? Gertrude is dead,” Manuela spits out. “Who else is there? Her replacement?”

“I’m her replacement.”

With that, Manuela lunges in Jon’s direction. Basira swiftly moves to intercept her, but Manuela stops in her tracks before Basira can grab her. A tension-filled standoff ensues, the two of them eyeing each other warily. After nearly a full minute, Basira seems satisfied enough that the situation has been defused to take her eyes off Manuela and treat Jon to an exasperated glare.

“Do you have to antagonize every single person who wants to kill you?” she scolds.

Jon ignores her grievance in favor of addressing Manuela directly: “You wouldn’t have any luck killing me.”

Basira dips her head down and plants the heel of her hand on her forehead, grumbling under her breath. It’s mostly unintelligible, but Jon thinks he can make out the words fuck’s sake somewhere in there.

“I could try,” Manuela snarls. Her hands ball into tighter fists, trembling with rage at her sides, but she continues to stand her ground.

“You could,” Jon says mildly. “And you would fail.”

“You’ll just compel me, you mean.”

“I could.” He would rather avoid it if possible, but Manuela doesn’t need to know that. He can only hope she can’t tell just how much he’s only pretending at nerve. “Or, you can listen to what we have to say. Gertrude is dead, and lashing out at me isn’t going to satisfy your thirst for revenge. We can offer up a more satisfying target.”

“Unless you have a way for me to unmake the Power your Archivist served.” When Jon doesn’t deny it, Manuela lets out another harsh, scornful laugh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Well – arguably, Gertrude didn’t serve the Eye. She followed her own path.” Manuela breathes a derisive huff. “Like her or not, she did. Formidable as she was, none of that was due to the Beholding’s favor. That was all her. She never embraced the power it promised – not like most Archivists do. Striking a blow against the Eye wouldn’t be an insult to Gertrude’s memory. If anything, it would do her proud.”

“Killing it with the sales pitch,” Basira carps.

“But the head of the Institute does serve the Eye,” Jon presses on, “and he’s the one responsible for appointing Gertrude the Archivist in the first place. Hurt the Eye, and you hurt him.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Manuela says, bristling. “Your patron may pale in comparison to my god, but I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I would stand a chance of vanquishing it.”

“We can’t vanquish it, no. But we could destroy the Institute that serves it. Same as happened to the Dark’s faithful.”

“An eye for an eye,” Basira adds.

“Well, you’ve wasted your time coming all this way.” Manuela’s disparaging chuckle gets caught in her throat. “I’m the only one here. An abandoned disciple, guarding a lost cause. There’s nothing left of our former power.”

“The Dark Sun,” Basira says.

Manuela tenses. Then her shoulders slump, weighed down by dawning, solemn resignation.

“Of course,” she says bitterly. “It isn’t enough to decimate our numbers. You need to steal the only remnant of our crusade.”

“We’re giving you the opportunity to reclaim its purpose,” Jon says. “Or would you rather it rot away here, diminishing until it collapses in on itself?”

Manuela is silent for a long minute, a shrewd look in her eye. “Why would you want to betray your god?”

“The Beholding isn’t my god,” Jon says. “I’m not a willing convert. I was drafted into someone else’s crusade without my consent – and you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

Manuela just scowls.

“I Know your story.” Jon’s voice turns sibilant with power as the Archive rears its head. “Indoctrinated into a faith that never spoke to you –”

“– brought up to believe in the light of God, his radiant, illuminating presence –”

“Shut up,” Manuela says in a low growl.

“– deep down they were vicious, spiteful people who used their faith to hurt others, and I fondly imagined them discovering themselves in an afterlife other than the one they had assumed was their destination – I broke with them as soon as I could –”

“Jon,” Basira interrupts. The firm squeeze of her hand on his shoulder is enough to snap him out of his shallow trance. She jerks her head at Manuela, who looks about ready to charge him again. “Maybe not the time?”

“S-sorry,” he gasps. He shakes his head to clear the residual static clouding his thoughts before looking back to Manuela with genuine contrition. “Didn’t mean to do that, I swear. I only meant to say that I – I read the statement you gave to Gertrude. I know that your parents were zealots. They envisioned a perfect world that seemed to you like hell on earth, and you did everything you could to rebel against their arrogance. To spite the god they worshiped. We have some common ground there, you and I.”

Granted, Jon didn’t grow up in a religious household. His grandmother was content to let him explore – and he did.

Even as a child, he had an inclination for research. A topic would catch his attention and he would voraciously seek out as much information as he could. His grandmother didn’t take much interest in the content of those fixations, but she did encourage them as a general principle. Not with overt praise, necessarily, but by facilitating his endeavors: procuring reading material on the obsession of the month, escorting him to the library every so often and allowing him to max out his card. He suspects now that she was simply grateful for some way to occupy his attention. If his nose was in a book, he was keeping out of trouble.

He never told her how wrong she turned out to be.

In any case, one of his many early “phases,” as she liked to call them, was comparative religion. Part of it was simple curiosity. Part of it was a genuine desire to find something to believe: some conception of the afterlife that would resonate with him, some straightforward framework for understanding the world, some sort of certainty to assuage his fear of the unknown. His grandmother never seemed to care whether he found what he was looking for. She never really asked.

It was for the best. He never liked admitting defeat. Not back then.

They returned all the books to the library on the day they were due, and Jon brought home a new haul, this one centered around the field of oceanography. The seas were brimming with mystery, but at least there was a very real possibility of turning those unknowns into knowns. New discoveries were being made every day, newer and newer technology being developed to push the boundaries of that knowledge. There were sure answers, and they could be grasped, so long as humanity could invent the right tools for the job.

Still, Jon found himself envying people of faith from time to time. Sometimes he wished he had someone to point him in some sort of direction, like many other children seemed to have. But hearing of Manuela’s upbringing… well, if Jon was forced to choose between extremes, he has to admit that he prefers the complete lack of guidance he received as opposed to strict proselytization. His grandmother may not have shown interest in his opinions, but at least she gave him the freedom to come to his own conclusions. She may not have had reassurances to offer, but at least she didn’t foist upon him a worldview that made no place for him in it.

“It’s not the same thing as childhood indoctrination,” he tells Manuela, “but… becoming the Archivist – it was like being drafted into the service of a god that I never would have chosen for myself. Had Elias told me the terms, I never would have signed the contract.”

“I take it he didn’t tell you beforehand that he murdered your predecessor?”

“That I had to find out the hard way, unfortunately.”

“So you’re saying you’re not so much a traitor to your faith as you are a disgruntled employee.”

“Elias is my boss. Is that a trick question?” Jon is surprised to hear Manuela give an amused snort. “But yes. I’d like to… tender my resignation, so to speak.”

Manuela scrutinizes him intently, as if trying to solve a riddle. “You would give up your power?”

“I don’t want it,” Jon says truthfully.

If he’s perfectly honest with himself, there was a time that at least some aspects of that power were alluring. There was something intoxicating and liberating about being able to ask a question and not only receive a guaranteed answer, but be certain he wasn’t being presented with an outright lie – especially after spending so many months beholden to unchecked paranoia, distrust, and frantic, futile investigation.

But there was never anything benign or inconsequential about invading a victim’s privacy or compelling someone to surrender a secret, no matter how he tried to justify it to himself. Even if there was, even if it wasn’t both reprehensible in principle and harmful in practice, it still wouldn’t be worth the irrevocable costs.

“I want out,” he says, “and if getting out isn’t an option, then I at least want Elias to know what it is to be offered up to a god inimical to every atom of his existence. I thought you might be able to assist with that.”

“How?”

“The Institute is a seat of power for the Beholding,” Basira says. “If we introduce it to your Dark Sun…”

“A mote in the Eye,” Manuela says, intrigued. Her attention swivels back to Jon. “Do you Know what would happen?”

“No,” he says. “But I imagine it will hurt.”

“And then what? What happens after? You let me pack up my relic and walk away?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Manuela says.

“You don’t pose an existential threat,” Jon says with a shrug. “I have no doubt that the Dark will attempt another Ritual someday, but it won’t happen in our lifetimes. We have no qualms letting you walk away after our alliance is finished.”

“And the Dark Sun?” Manuela presses.

“I don’t know what condition it will be in after exposure to the Eye,” Jon admits. “But you’re free to do as you wish with it after. We won’t stop you.”

So she can hurt more people, Jon’s battered conscience chimes in.

“And if I say no?”

“Then I walk in there right now, Behold it, and destroy it entirely.” It comes out sounding more menacing than Jon had initially intended, but maybe that’s not a bad thing, given the way Manuela freezes up.

“You wouldn’t survive.” Manuela sounds far from certain.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But your Sun certainly wouldn’t.” Jon pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “Do you want to see its potential wasted here and now, or do you want to make all that sacrifice worth something?”

“If you’re so certain you have the upper hand, what’s stopping you from just taking it, then?”

“I’m not its engineer or its keeper. I wouldn’t even Know how to safely transport it. Too many unknown variables.”

“So you need me.”

“Yes. Beneath the Institute, there’s a… a sanctum of the Eye. A place of power, like Ny-Ålesund is for your patron. If you can bring the Dark Sun there, I… well, I’m hoping it will sever the Eye’s connection to that place. Destroy the Institute.”

“How would that work?”

“I’m… not certain,” Jon confesses. “Call it a… a hunch.”

“There’s precedent,” Basira says. “We found a statement that hinted at worshipers of the Dark destroying a temple to the Eye in 4th century Alexandria.”

Manuela’s eyes light up with interest. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Jon says.

“Oh, right. Foolish of me to ask,” Manuela says pertly. “Why would I expect you to know things? It’s only the entire point of you.”

“I never claimed to be good at my job,” Jon retorts. “Look, maybe I don’t Know exactly what will happen, but a focus of the Dark should hurt the Eye in some capacity, I think.”

“You think,” Manuela mutters under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear the derision in her tone.

“Whatever happens, it’ll be more satisfying than anything you’ve got going on here,” Basira points out.

Manuela barks out a contemptuous laugh. “You don’t even have the shadow of a plan!”

“We… haven’t ironed out the details, no.” Jon rubs the back of his neck, chagrinned. “We figured that if you did agree to an alliance, you would want to be part of the actual planning process.”

“And if you don’t cooperate, it’s a moot point,” Basira says.

“Also, I was… I suppose I was hoping you could offer insight,” Jon says. “The Dark is something of a blind spot for me, shockingly.” Manuela shoots him a withering look. “So even if I had any clue how to wield the Dark Sun, I wouldn’t be able to channel its full potential. Not like you could.”

“That much is obvious,” Manuela sneers, teeth gleaming in the torchlight as her lips stretch in a taut, wolfish grin. “You Beholding types always assume that knowledge is synonymous with control. Putting yourselves on the level of Powers greater than any mortal, assuming insight into things you could not possibly understand… you fly too close to the sun and then have the gall to indulge in outrage when you burn.”

We didn’t come here for a sermon, Jon almost says, but he bites his tongue.

“But I accept that I am a supplicant, not a god,” Manuela says, reverence seeping into her tone to supplant the reproach. “It’s pure hubris to assume that you could wield the Black Sun like a tool. It’s a communion, and only those with true and dutiful faith could ever hope to win its favor. Approach it with anything less than respect and devotion, and it will devour you.”

“If you’re done pontificating?” Basira says. She doesn’t give Manuela an opening to respond. “We’re well aware that we stand no chance of wielding–” Manuela looks up sharply, and Basira hastily corrects herself. “Fine – communing with the Dark Sun ourselves. That’s why we’re looking for an alliance rather than just taking it.”

“Do you think you could–” Jon pauses as he searches for a way to phrase his question that won’t unleash another tirade. “Would you be able to arrange for the Dark Sun to be brought into the Eye’s stronghold? Expose them to one another, let them… I don’t know – have it out with each other?”

“I’m capable of bringing it to London, if that’s what you’re asking,” Manuela says primly. “But it would be at a disadvantage on the Beholding’s home turf. If – if – I were willing to test this hypothesis, I would only do so on the condition that I could level the playing field as much as possible. Wait for ideal circumstances, as it were.”

“Which would be…?” Basira asks.

“The winter solstice. The Dark Sun will be the strongest on the night of the winter solstice.”

“That’s months from now,” Basira protests. “Can’t you just –”

“Ideally, I would insist on a total solar eclipse,” Manuela snaps, “but it will be quite some time before London witnesses another. Not until 2090.”

“Looking ahead, are you?” Basira asks.

“It is likely the soonest opportunity for another attempt at a Ritual.” Manuela pretends at nonchalance with a shrug, but she can’t quite conceal her profound disappointment as her voice grows measurably more subdued. “It gives me ample time to study our failure. To discover what went wrong.”

“To refine your Ritual, you mean.”

“There will always be faithful to take up the mantle,” Manuela says, her chin lifting marginally in defiance as she stares Basira down.

“But you won’t be around to see it.” Basira meets Manuela’s eyes with equal nerve. Jon remains silent, looking from one to the other as they face off against one another.

“No,” Manuela replies evenly. “I’ll have to settle for passing on my findings to those who come after. Leave behind a legacy to guide their steps.”

“In the meantime, the Dark Sun will stagnate,” Jon chimes in. It’s a bluff, of course: he has no idea whether or not it’s true. Judging from the unsettled look on Manuela’s face, neither does she. Jon latches onto that uncertainty, carefully twisting the knife just a little further: “Or, you could let it serve a purpose.”

“Its purpose was to usher in a world of true and holy Darkness,” Manuela says acidly. “You’re proposing I give it scraps.”

“Like it or not, you can’t give it the apocalypse it was promised,” Jon says.

Manuela’s fingers flex and clench back into fists. Jon suspects she would love nothing more than to wring his neck. She’s a truth seeker at heart, though. Ambitious, rebellious – idealistic even, albeit in a twisted sort of way, harboring an aspiration that most would rightfully find horrific. Adept at detecting and exploiting the more malleable aspects of material reality where possible, infusing the scientific method with just enough magical thinking to bend natural laws.

However, there are some truths that even she cannot deny, and she isn’t the type to ignore a certainty when it’s right in front of her face. And so, despite the unconcealed vitriol in her eyes and the contrariness sitting at the tip of her tongue, she does not deny his assertion.

“But it can still pay tribute to your god,” Jon coaxes, striving to stop short of needling. It’s a razor’s edge he’s always struggled to walk, but Manuela is still right there with him, toeing the line. “It’s better than nothing at all.”

Manuela directs a venomous glower towards the floor as she vacillates between summary dismissal and the temptation of vengeance. Basira side-eyes Jon as the standstill stretches from seconds into minutes, but all Jon can offer her is an awkward shrug. The ball is in Manuela’s court, and it seems she has no qualms leaving them in indefinite suspense as she painstakingly examines all the variables and weighs her options. The best they can do is wait and hope that tangible revenge will prove more enticing than spiteful noncooperation.

Eventually, she lets out a sharp exhale, raises her head, and breaks her silence.

“The winter solstice,” she repeats, her voice teeming with tension and lingering aversion. “Barring an eclipse, I would have to settle for the winter solstice. The longest, darkest night of the year… it’s second best, but it should suffice. Shame about the light pollution, of course,” she adds, wrinkling her nose with disdain, “but the power is in the symbolism.”

“Jon?” Basira prompts.

“Dream logic,” he says, massaging his forehead wearily. “It tracks.”

“Fine,” Basira sighs. She looks back to Manuela. “So does this mean you’ll do it?”

“I’m tired of haunting this place like a ghost.” There’s a sharp, predatory look in Manuela’s eyes now. “The Dark has lost its crusaders. The Watcher should have a taste of loss.”

Just then, a loud, metallic thunk interrupts the negotiations, reverberating through the space and drawing everyone’s attention to warehouse entrance. The light that had been percolating through from outside had been preternaturally dimmed before, but now it’s been snuffed out entirely.

Jon glances anxiously at Basira. “The wind, maybe?”

“There was no wind.” Basira is already drawing her gun. Like a switch has been flipped at the prospect of danger, her voice goes steely with manufactured composure. “Not strong enough to blow the door shut. I propped it open very securely.”

“We’re near the water, though,” Jon murmurs. “Strong gusts sometimes blow in off the sea–”

Jon’s mouth snaps shut at Basira’s quelling look. Manuela’s posture is defensive again, eyes darting suspiciously between Jon and Basira in the muted torchlight.

“I thought you said you came here alone,” she says accusingly.

“We – we did,” Jon says. “We–”

“Oh, Archivist,” a new voice sings out, oozing with an exultant malice. “Long time no see!”

It’s been ages since Jon last heard that cadence, but it’s horrifyingly, heart-stoppingly familiar even after all this time. It pierces Jon like a knife in the dark. He takes a frantic step back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his panic skyrockets and a tidal wave of adrenaline crashes over him.

“We just want to talk,” croons a different voice, rougher and more ragged-sounding. It’s difficult to gauge the newcomers’ positions through the impermeable gloom, but judging from the sounds of their voices, they’re drawing ever nearer. “Won’t you come out?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jon breathes an incredulous laugh, distraught enough to border on a whimper. “Now?”

“Who are they?” Basira asks urgently. Jon is still frozen in place, eyes straining against the darkness. Any answer he could make is bogged down with terror, snagging in his throat and forestalling coherence. “Jon!”

Jon swallows hard and finally looks at Basira, his eyes wide with dread.

“Hunters.”

End Notes:

naomi: hey jon. jon. consider: surveillance state kink jon: shut the hell your mouth

____

Both instances of Archive-speak are from MAG 135. A few pieces of dialogue from the beginning of the conversation with Manuela are taken/reworked from MAG 143. The Melanie and Basira gossip is from MAG 106.

Once again, had way too much fun with the text convo btwn Naomi and Jon. Cannot resist those chatfic shenanigans vibes.

In other news, Daisy WILL point at Jon and loudly exclaim, “Is anyone gonna volunteer as wingman for this lovesick disaster or do I have to do everything myself?” and not even wait for an answer. (Jon made the mistake of confirming that he doesn’t mind her lovingly dunking on him about this sort of thing and now she’s a menace. Listen, playful ribbing is basically her platonic love language.)  

Sorry for the cliffhanger!! But hey, I think we all knew that there’s no way things would go entirely smoothly for Jon and Basira. And now I finally get to add some new character tags.

I’m very behind on replying to comments. (Tbh, spent most of the last month grappling with this chapter. I was stuck on a scene that REALLY didn’t want to cooperate.) I’m gonna try to catch up this weekend, though. <3 As always, thank you for reading!

#the magnus archives #magpod #tma #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

[gingerbreton]

Professional (Adam x f!detective)

Summary:

As they continue to work on the Murphy case, Adam takes his turn 'babysitting' the detective.

Since she uncovered the truth, Adam has seen a different side to Neve Langford.  And it is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain professional boundaries.

Notes:

This is set during the 'babysitting' week after the detective leaves the facility, before Murphy's attack.

Rating:  T    Word Count:  1961

[Read on AO3]

The shrill ring of the bell stops the detective in her tracks, and Adam has to catch himself from crashing into the back of her as a pair of fellow early-risers dart from the bakery door and out into the rain-wrapped Square.  He snaps out a hand to stop the door from slamming back into Neve’s face.

A wave of warm air washes over Adam as the door swings open again, carrying on it scents of baking bread and the cloying sweetness of fresh pastries.  He wrinkles his nose at the powerful odours, missing the clean chill of the breeze blowing in from the forests which surround the town.

“I’ll be right with you,” a bright voice calls out from the back at the sound of the bell.

With a brief shiver as the stark temperature change hits her, Neve hurries into the warmth of the bakery.  The swift click of her heels echoing in the quiet space as she makes a beeline for the display of particularly sickly looking breakfast goods.

Adam hangs back by the door, eyes adjusting to the light after the darkness of the early morning.  He passed the bakery on patrol the other night, it’s window display illuminated in keeping with the Square’s aesthetic, though had not set foot inside before.  Nor had he intended to until the detective insisted on breakfast.

This would have been so much simpler if the Agency had insisted the detective remain at the facility.  But here we are...

A large table dominates the seating area.  Adam eyes the way it limits passage through the space to two routes—less than ideal if they have to exit swiftly past an adversary, but he can work with it.  He’s just pondering the strategic pros and cons of the large curved counter when his attention is drawn to the detective.

Neve removes her scarf to shake loose the fine drizzle which clings to the fabric.  She pushes her hair out of the way as she does so.  It’s this motion which catches Adam’s attention, but not what holds it.

Faint bruises paint the detective’s freckled skin, faded to the point of being almost unnoticeable.  At least to human eyes.  To him it’s blatant evidence of where bloated fingers constricted around the detective’s throat.  An injury, Adam is guilty to admit, he did not notice until after the fact—not until Neve had collapsed in his arms.

The detective’s hair falls back into place, hiding the marks that even she seems to have forgotten behind a waterfall of soft strawberry blonde.  

But a thought lingers in Adam’s mind;  humans are fragile.

This isn’t a startling revelation.  He’s known it for over 900 years.  In the past it was little more than an inconvenience—something to take into consideration when dealing with them.

When did it become a concern?

Adam shakes his head to dispel the thought.

“Good morning, Haley.”  

Neve greets the proprietor, a warm smile settling on her lips.  It’s the kind of warmth that draws people to her—that draws him to her.

Before this gentler warmth grew between them, the detective’s temper used to flare like a wildfire—his too, if he’s honest—threatening to set them both alight.  Now the fire that seems to burn at the heart of Neve has settled into a welcoming glow.  It makes her eyes sparkle, and Adam struggles to look away—wishing he could hide behind his aviators without drawing comment.

Whether she knows it or not, the detective is making his task difficult—crouching to peruse the selection of pastries, the edge of her lip, not fully bitten, just caught by a drag of her teeth as she scans her choices.  Decision made, her lip slips free when a smile wins out and she points to a particularly plump croissant.  

Adam snaps his gaze away.

The task of drowning out their conversation is made easier when it descends into inane small talk.  He diverts his attention back to where it should be—watching for threats.  It is his turn to babysit the detective after all.

The large windows of the shopfront are fogged with thick condensation from the chill of the late winter air hitting the warmth of the bakery’s interior.  He frowns at the lack of visibility out into the Square beyond but resists the urge to wipe away a section of the misted glass.

“Adam-”  Neve’s voice stumbles to a stop, correcting herself when Adam’s gaze flashes to her.  “Commanding Agent, did you want anything?”  She pauses, something tentative—hopeful even—in the look she gives him.  “My treat.”

“That isn’t necessary, detective,” Adam replies stiffly.  

His throat dries at the sudden memory of Neve's name escaping his lips in the lab a few days before.  ‘I prefer you call me that.’  More so at the memory of the way she looked at him in response.

“But thank you.”  He adds with a cough as her gaze flicks away, wondering if he imagined her shoulders sag.

‘I think using your title would serve us better since we are working together.’

Adam has been doing this job, or some version of it, for centuries.  Times change, the Agency adapts, people come and go, and never once has he struggled with professionalism.  With boundaries.  

But now his words are getting away from him, he has to check every action to maintain these boundaries, to remain professional.  Because that’s all this is.  Professional.

As soon as Murphy is caught the team will move on.  He will move on.

‘But I’m glad to know we are on good enough terms for first names—Neve’.

The first had been a slip, but the second, in spite of himself he’d allowed her name to linger on his tongue.  Savouring it one last time before he drew a line.  Rebuilt that boundary.  Adam has always considered himself a strong-willed man, and that should’ve been an end to it.

But then Neve smiled.

He’d seen her smile before—obviously—but not like this.  Not for him.  Impossibly soft and sweet and shy.  A blush colouring her cheeks, heart fluttering as she held his gaze.

The sight etched itself onto his memory.

A wave of panic hits Adam as he sees the detective move to sit at the large table, only then realising how long he’d been lost in thought.

“We should be going,” he blurts.  The thought of sitting alone together—Adam scolds himself for his flustered reaction.  “To meet the other at the station.”

“Oh—of course.”  

A confused frown tugging at her brow, Neve turns to Haley who is already transferring her coffee into a takeaway cup.

It’s not until the detective is sweetening the drink that Adam takes in the sheer size of the thing.  Despite the blanket of frothy milk, there’s an almost overpowering scent of espresso.  Neve pours in one sweetener, and then a second.

Adam wrinkles his nose, a judgemental frown creasing his brow.

“You’ll not taste that with your breakfast.”

Neve meets his eye, a familiar stubbornness catching in her eyes.  She picks up a third sweetener, tears the packet open with her teeth and pours it into her drink, all without breaking his gaze.

Adam rolls his eyes, drags the door open and heads out into the cold, but not before catching the smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

----

Dawn light is beginning to daub hues of pinks and orange across the undersides of the thinning rainclouds.  The downpour has slowed to a light drizzle which hangs like mist in the air, droplets quickly clinging to the wool of his coat.  

The clocktower declares it’s a little after seven thirty as Adam strides across the pavement, pausing only when he realises that the detective isn’t at his side.  This isn’t unusual in itself—between those ridiculous heels and fitted skirts, it takes Neve two paces to keep up with one of his—but this time there’s no click of heels following him.  

Though there is the increased patter of her heartbeat.

“Detective?”

He turns in time to see her linger in the doorway, deep-green gaze furtively scanning the Square before she steps out.  Adam can feel the nerves radiate from her as she hurries to his side.  

It wasn’t long ago that he lamented the detective’s habit of rushing off into trouble, but now, as she stands glued to his side on the cobbled streets of a town she’s called home her whole life, he finds himself half-grieving the freedom that came with her naivety.

“You are uncertain.”

The statement catches Neve off guard, her heels skittering on the slick cobblestones as she snaps to look at him.  Adam instinctually reaches out to steady her, but swiftly pulls his fingers back before they brush the small of her back—burying the offending hand deep in his coat pockets.

“The fact that Murphy is a vampire still concerns you?”  Adam hushes his tone, despite the empty street.

A slight frown knots Neve’s brow, her lips moving around a thought.

“It’s not that,” she says after a moment, pointedly avoiding Adam’s gaze.  Pulling her collar up high to guard against the rain, she hurries across the street.  He follows, matching her pace with ease.  “What Murphy is on a biological level is irrelevant.”

Adam raises a brow, though he shouldn’t be surprised; she’d looked at the evidence, considered the blood results, and accepted the true nature of Unit Bravo with little more than a dry comment about how they should get a DNA database entry sorted, unless they wished to be named after the station’s pathologist.

“It’s just...the balance of everything shifted overnight,” Neve continues.  “I went from being a professional trying to catch a murderer, to being his next victim.”

Her voice catches, but she coughs it off before Adam has a chance to say anything.  

“You know, they tried to recruit students to take part in medical trials while I was in college.  For cash.”  She takes a long sip of her coffee before trying to smile, as though there’s a joke in there somewhere but she can’t decide if it’s funny.  “I wasn’t interested then either.  And I doubt Murphy offers better pay than the drug companies.”

The laugh that accompanies her slipping smile is breathy and lost in thought.  Without seeming to notice, she fidgets at the cut across her palm.

“I don’t want to be a victim.”

She seems to startle herself with the admission—a rare confession of vulnerability from a woman who insists she can take care of herself.  Adam’s brows furrow deeply under a weight of concern.

“It will be alright.”

You will be alright.

“I know it will.”

The vulnerability is gone.  Neve sets her lips into a tight line.  Stubborn.  Determined.  If it wasn’t for the nervous fluttering of her heart, he might even believe her.

Adam’s lips move for a moment as he tries to conjure an adequate sentiment to put Neve’s mind at rest, but his words fall short.  Instead he sets about watching their surroundings with redoubled diligence—as though the action may at least allay some of her fears.

“Adam…”  Neve almost reaches out to him, he freezes, watching the motion, but she thinks better of it.  “I know it will.”

Her expression softens as her eyes finally meet his—stubbornness waning to give way to something else.  Adam could be mistaken, but buried deep, warming the dark green of her eyes, there’s trust.

Their gazes break apart under the weight of the heavy silence that follows, and they make for the detective’s car without another word.

Adam will not let anything happen to her.

And he tells himself there’s nothing more to it than that.

#adam x detective #adam x f!detective #adam du mortain #twc detective #detective neve langford #neve langford #adam x neve #the wayhaven chronicles #my writing

[vampiregirl1797]

When You Need to Escape to Your Happy Place

Spencer Reid x Reader

GIF Not Mine.

Click Here For Masterlist.

Word Count: 2,621

Warnings: talk of a toxic relationship, but otherwise SO MUCH FLUFF.

Summary: A fight with your father leads to you seeking out Spencer’s calming presence.

‘Can I come over?’ I said, speaking quietly in an attempt to keep my voice from cracking due to all the tears I’d shed in the past hour.

‘Of course you can.’ Spencer’s voice was soft, but I could hear the concern in his tone— he knew me well enough to know that a call past 11pm followed by me asking to come over meant one of two things: I was drunk, or I’d had a fight with my dad again and I needed to get out of the house. In this case, it was the latter.

‘Great, I’ll be up in a few minutes.’ I murmured, hanging up the phone and wiping the moisture from my cheeks with the sleeve of the oversized hoodie I was wearing.

Spence had become my safe place, somewhere I could escape and feel content and free. My dad and I didn’t get along, and honestly it had been that way for as long as I could remember. I’d given up hope that we ever would, but that revelation didn’t help when I was still living at home and was faced with his presence more often than not. The relationship was complicated, but honestly I couldn’t wait for the day I could afford to move out and never have to live through forced conversations again. The thing with my dad was... he was a bully. An emotionally manipulative bully. Maybe it was harsh, and a few years ago I would have felt awful for even thinking it, never mind saying it aloud, but it was the truth. Our opinions differed, and when they did he would scream at me and tell me I was childish for not respecting his opinion, when in actuality I had no problem respecting that his views were different from mine. What I did have an issue with was him being blatantly ignorant to the information I tried to bring to his attention, especially if that would lead to him questioning his own opinions. 

Aside from that, he also didn’t respect my personal space, or my right to have control over my own body. I’ve never been close with my dad, perhaps due to our differing personalities, but either way I’ve never felt comfortable around him. Whenever he’s in a room, I’m hyper aware of his presence, unable to completely relax. If he’s on the same sofa, I’m focused on making sure he stays out of my space, the prospect of him accidentally touching me putting me on edge. I’m less chatty, partly because I know he most likely won’t respond to anything I say to him anyway, but also because I minimise my talking to avoid saying something that may lead to an argument. Occasionally, he’d demand a hug, or some form of affection. He wouldn’t ask, he would demand: ‘give me a cuddle’ or ‘give me a hug.’ Now for me, this would be equivalent to a stranger walking up to me and demanding physical affection like I owe it to them. When I say no, he pulls his face and makes snide comments intended to make me feel guilty or to earn my mum’s attention to get her in on the guilt trip too. I don’t understand how he thinks I’d feel comfortable enough around him to casually give him a hug, especially since we’ve never been close, and we don’t get along. It’s as if he feels he’s owed affection from me because I’m his daughter, and that’s not the case. 

Due to our distant relationship in close living quarters, I was unable to act like I wasn’t uncomfortable around him, it was apparent in my tone whenever he spoke to me and I answered him, it was obvious in my behaviour whenever he ‘told’ me to do something (he never asked) and as a result, we argued a lot over my “attitude” towards him. And believe me, I’d beaten myself up over my tone when I speak to him more than a hundred times, and I’ve actively tried not to do it, but it’s instinctive and because I simply cannot pretend to be something I’m not. I just can’t do it. 

This was why we’d argued tonight. He’d told me to clean the living-room, I’d put some Ariana Grande on over the Alexa, he’d yelled at me for putting it on too loudly because of the dog, I’d pointed out that mum had it the same volume whenever she cleaned the house and it was never a problem then. I’d tried turning it down but I couldn’t hear it loudly enough to get into the proper groove of cleaning, I’d stormed to my room to grab my headphones, he’d lectured me and told me my attitude stinks and ordered me out of his sight. So after throwing on some sweats and an oversized hoodie I’d stolen from Spencer a few weeks prior, I’d left. I ended up driving around for a while and when I stopped I found myself in front of Spencer’s apartment building. 

‘Hey honey,’ Spence greeted after he’d opened the door. He waited until I’d stepped inside before he asked the question that made my already brittle defences crumble, ‘are you okay?’

Just like that, the tears returned and I found myself instinctually nuzzling into his chest as his arms wrapped around me. I loved being in Spencer’s arms, he was so tall that being hugged by him was guaranteed to make me feel safe and content as I was surrounded by his scent and warmth. I don’t know how long he held me for, but by the time my sobs had subsided, my throat felt raw and my head hurt from all the tears I’d shed. When I pulled back, his usually cinnamon eyes were dark with concern, but he didn’t speak, knowing by now that if I wanted to share then I would in my own time. Instead, he took my hand and led me over to his sofa, and when I saw the blankets and two cups of still steaming hot chocolate he must have prepared for my arrival, I nearly broke down in tears again. He was such an amazing, kind, considerate man and honestly I’d been in love with him from the moment we met six months ago. I’d wanted to tell him, but the timing never seemed right, with him getting called away at a moments notice because of his job, and also because I was a chicken who was afraid of him rejecting me, and then me losing him altogether. 

‘I’ve bought all of your favourite movies on Prime,’ he murmured, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and allowing me to snuggle into his side, ‘what do you feel like watching?’

‘Hmm... I would love to watch Moana, but I’m intruding on you so—.’ I never got to finish as he shushed me and played the movie I’d requested. 

A small but genuine smile broke out on my face and I rested my head on his chest to hide it, knowing he’d want to know the reason for the goofy expression on my face. The truth was, whenever Spencer took care of me, or did something for the simple reason that it would make me happy... it made me all warm and gooey inside. And that happiness, that warmth, often found a way to make itself known, whether it was through a blush or a goofy grin. Either way, I always attempted to hide my reaction from Spencer, afraid he would want to know the reasoning behind it. 

I felt my eyes flutter closed as Spence settled a grey fluffy blanket around the both of us; the comforting warmth and the smell of him was enough to relax me down to my bones, and to allow the emotionally taxing day to catch up with me. The last thing I remembered was hearing Spence humming along to “You’re Welcome” as Mowi sang to Moana. 

//

Waking up was disorientating when I found myself in a bed that wasn’t my own and surrounded by furniture that certainly didn’t belong in my bedroom. But then Spence’s arms tightened around my waist and I figured out where I was, relaxing again immediately. I turned to face him, my arm wrapping around his middle and my leg settling over his hip as I got as close as physically possible. A contented noise fell from my throat as I inhaled the scent of him: he smelled like citrus from his shampoo, faintly woodsy from his cologne and like soap from his fabric softener. It was heaven and I swear if I could somehow bottle it up, I’d never leave the house without it. 

I didn’t realise that Spence was already awake as I rearranged myself around him, but he didn’t mind, in fact he was delighted at her willingness to snuggle back up to him once she’d remembered where she was. He’d felt her stiffen when she’d woken up, which was why he’d pulled her closer a subtle way of reminding her of his presence. Now here he was, fully rested, more comfortable than he’d ever been and able to observe Y/N’s beauty closer than he ever had without her catching him staring. If he believed in such a thing, he’d swear he’d woken up in heaven.

Despite how comfortable I was, I couldn’t fall back asleep. So after I took a few moments to appreciate the tranquility of the moment, because honestly, I’d never felt this content in well, ever, I reluctantly shuffled out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping genius. I shrugged off the hoodie I was still wearing, leaving myself in a tank top as I made my way to his kitchen, deciding to make him his favourite breakfast as a thank you for looking after me last night. I was familiar enough that pulling out the necessary appliances to make him some chocolate chip pancakes didn’t take me long, and pretty soon I was pouring his coffee and adding the obscene amount of sugar. Once that was done I was about to yell for him, but he surprised me by wrapping his arms around my waist. I squealed and almost dropped my cup of coffee, but I couldn’t deny how good it felt to have him holding me again. If he wasn’t careful, I was going to get addicted. 

‘Good morning.’ He murmured against my shoulder. I shivered at the feel of his warm breath against my skin and the sound of his voice husky with sleep. God, how was it possible for me to be so attracted to him? 

I cleared my throat before I answered with a, ‘good morning. I made you breakfast.’ 

‘You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. I love your pancakes,’ He smiled brightly as I turned to hand him his plate. He seemed reluctant to release his hold on me, much to my delight, but he did and he made his way over to the breakfast bar to eat. 

I slid into the stool next to him and we ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both enjoying the food and waiting for the caffeine to kick in to allow us to wake up properly. After a while, I decided to share with him my reason for needing him last night, he deserved it and honestly, there was no one easier to open up to than Spencer.

‘Thank you for looking after me last night, Spence.’ I murmured, his warm cinnamon eyes were soft with understanding and another emotion that evaded me, ‘I got into a fight with my dad again, about something stupid as always, but the result was the same.’

‘I’m sorry, honey.’ He murmured, his hand enveloping my free one, the warmth from his touch radiating throughout my body, ‘you know, if you wanted, you could always move in here.’

I blinked at him, surprised at his offer, I knew how much he appreciated his space and I couldn’t believe he was offering me the opportunity to invade it, ‘Spence that’s really sweet of you to offer, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it but I can’t afford to pay rent. That’s one of the reasons I’m still at home, it’s one less expense when I start at university.’

‘You wouldn’t have to pay rent,’ he assured me, continuing before I could protest, ‘think of it as helping me out, okay? I’m gone on cases more often than not, sometimes the apartment can be empty for days at a time. If you’re here, you can look after the place for me, keep food in the fridge, and make me feel more secure knowing that someone is watching over everything. Think of that instead of rent, okay?’

I took a deep breath and thought it through instead of immediately dismissing the idea, like my instincts were telling me to— I didn’t want to take advantage of him. It would be nice to get out of my parents house, to find myself in a warm environment absent of my father’s toxic presence. Plus, living with Spencer would be like a dream come true— one I’d admittedly had a few times— but what if I got too lost in my own feelings and it ruined everything? But he would be on cases more often than not, so that limited the time I could potentially jeopardise our friendship. But I feel like I would be taking advantage of his generosity— living here rent free, only having to keep the place tidy and the fridge stocked, was that a fair exchange?

‘Just know that I wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t completely happy and comfortable with my proposal.’ His soft voice broke me out of my thoughts, and I felt a sheepish smile on my face as I processed his words. He never failed to amaze me at how in tune he was with my thoughts.

‘Honestly, Spence, it sounds perfect, but I just worry that it’s not a fair exchange for you.’ I bit my lip, worried he’d realise I was right and take the offer off the table.

‘It would be, Y/N.’ His eyes softened to chocolate and shone with nothing but reassurance, ‘Honestly, more than the cleaning and grocery shopping, it would be nice to have someone here. I feel so alone when I return from a case that more often than not I’m eager to go back to escape the emptiness of my apartment. But if you’re here, it won’t feel so cold, it’ll be warm and welcoming.’

I swear to god my heart melted to a puddle of blood and goo in my chest from his words. The sincerity in his eyes told me he meant it, and what kind of heartless monster would I be to argue with him after that admission?

‘I’d love to move in with you, Spence.’ I whispered.

His smile lit up his entire face, his cinnamon eyes glittering with happiness as he wrapped me in a tight hug. I was powerless to resist his excitement and a delighted chuckle fell from my lips as he stood and span me around in a circle. A part of me couldn’t believe that this was happening, that I was finally going to be able to escape the prison I was starting to think I’d be trapped in forever, to move in with the only man I felt truly comfortable around. But one thing was for sure, in that moment, I was happier than I’d ever been in my entire life, and I knew that as long as Spencer was in my life, I’d never feel any different.

A/N: I know, I know all I’m writing is Spencer Reid imagines lately, but I can’t stop!! I hope you liked this one, even there was no declarations of love like in my previous Spencer one-shots, I kinda love how this turned out. 

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds