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eremiss · 4 years

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21. Foibles

Thancred knows he’s in for a tedious day when the faint tickle in his throat blooms into an uncomfortable itch and a headache begins to brew between his temples. He covers his mouth with his hand and clears his throat as quietly as he can, hoping it’s nothing.

Of course it’s not.

Within the bell Gwen notices something is off about him, even though he makes a point to not give even the smallest sign discomfort around her. It doesn’t help that his condition has decided to rapidly start worsening. Her brows tug together and start to tilt at a worried angle, and her green eyes grow sharper, scrutinizing every little detail.

He’s not the least bit surprised when she follows him to his room, her journal in her hands and a flimsy excuse about work and spending time together on her tongue. They’ve passed many a day reading and working together, after all, and she has often hidden in his room when the pressure of others’ company has grown uncomfortable.

He doesn’t have the energy to fight with her, and stringing together sentences is terribly hard when the pounding in his head is breaking them apart, so he reluctantly accepts her company. She doesn’t attempt to force conversation or an admittance of his poor health out of him, but he can feel her eyes on him while he works --or tries to appear like he is, at any rate-- and he’s painfully aware of every grunt, groan and rough sound he makes.

When clearing his throat turns into a minor coughing fit, Gwen abandons her flimsy pretense of reading reports and writing in her journal. She appears at his side in moments, brows knit, mouth bending in a frown and eyes filled with concern.

“Just a frog in my throat,” Thancred dismisses, purposefully bending over the pages of code he’s been pretending to decipher. He can barely read the text for all the pounding behind his eyes and the fogginess in his head, but he doggedly tries anyway.

“You should lie down,” Gwen murmurs, lowering her voice and speaking softly enough that it doesn’t further irritate his head.

Thancred waves her away, jotting down a bit of nonsense to further the illusion that he’s working.

A hand rests on his arm, tentative yet heavy, while the other lifts his hair and braid off the back of his neck, letting a draft of fresh air touch his skin. The cool of her hands and the air feel wonderful.

“You worry overmuch,” he mumbles, his stubbornness starting to waver under the combined might of discomfort and the look she’s giving him. “It’s just a cough. It’ll pass.”

“Work in bed, then,” she says, squeezing his arm and rubbing soothing circles on the nape of his neck. “I’ll make you some tea for your throat.”

“You don’t need to. I’m fine.”

“I want to.” Her hand leaves his arm and her knuckles ghost across his cheek. Too late he realizes she’s checking his temperature and turns his head away.

She steps away, but he never hears the door open. Instead there’s the sound of shifting cloth and flopping blankets, and when he looks back she’s turned the sheets down and rearranged the pillows so he can recline against them. Before he can protest she scurries around and finds a book with a hard, smooth cover and sets it on the nightstand--for him to write on, most likely.

He heaves a sigh. Godsdamnit, he’s weak.

By late afternoon Thancred is well and truly sick and doubly miserable, burning from the inside out with a slow, stifling heat that casts a haze over his senses. His skull is full to bursting, and his chest is thick with scratching cotton that won’t budge no matter how much he coughs. At the very least he’s not nauseous, which he supposes might be worth something.

Gwen’s fretting and hovering is wearing at him, but he can’t quite bring himself to be outwardly surly about her sincere concern--though on the inside he’s grumping and complaining plenty. In the end, though, keeping his low mood and irritation to himself is for the best. Growling and snapping won’t send her away, nor ease the worry woven so plainly through all this coddling and mothering. It will just make her continued presence uncomfortable for the both of them, not to mention make him feel guilty for snapping at a dear friend for having the nerve to want to help him.

Besides, he can admit it’s a relief to drop the act of good health and not force his mind or body to work when neither wants to.

Thancred grumbles under his breath, massaging his pounding temples with clumsy fingers. Too much thinking...

Gwen mumbles something in a soothing tone, nudging his hands aside. The constricting pressure around his head lessens and then vanishes as his bandana falls away, and then a cold, damp towel presses to his forehead. He shudders at the wonderful chill that sinks into his skin and dulls the feeling of nails being pounded into the backs of his eyes.

He makes a grateful sound, tilting his head back and relaxing against the pillows. The movement upsets all the loose, sticky pieces clogging up his chest, and his next breath crackles audibly in his throat. He coughs quietly to try and ease both, but to no avail.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Gwen tense up.

He coughs again, harder, and then he suddenly can’t stop. He struggles not to bow forward, head pounding with every spasm of his chest and resonating down his neck and into his shoulders.

Gwen helps him stay upright and holds a handkerchief near his mouth. He takes it and muffles his coughs into it, attempting to keep his misery and whatever it is he’s hacked up to himself. He hopes he’s not going to get her sick, too.

The moment he starts to calm she guides him back against his supporting pillows, replaces the towel on his forehead, and presses a mug of warm tea into his hands. It’s some medicinal blend that’s bitter in a way that honey and sugar can’t wholly mask.

Thancred croaks his thanks somewhat reluctantly, irritation slinking around the back of his mind and poking at him. Gods but he hates nothing so much as feeling like a useless burden. He takes a small swig, letting the bitter warmth wash away the raggedness hanging on the back of his tongue and soothe his aching throat.

Gwen gives him a brief half-smile, hovering like she thinks he’s apt to start coughing again. Once a full minute passes without issue she finally relaxes, and he realizes just how tense she’d been. Odd.

Come to think of it, she’s had a similarly stricken look every time he’s coughed, and she’s much more tightly wound than she usually is when one of her friends takes ill.

Why might that be? He could ask, but he knows she won’t answer him, at least not fully honestly. Besides, he needs something to do besides sit around and be miserable, so why not try and puzzle the answer out himself?

The thought that it might be because he’s the one who’s fallen ill begins to come together and he pushes it away before it can take shape, though he can’t fully explain why.

He makes another vaguely pained grumble and shifts his head. She reaches out to adjust the towel and hums a sympathetic sound. Her fingers trail over his face and across his shoulders, pressing here and there to try and ease tense muscles.

A few minutes later he makes a --partially genuine-- comment about the heat and she fetches a lighter, looser shirt for him. When he isn’t yet freed from all his confounded buckles and straps by the time she returns, she helps with that, too.

He feigns clearing his throat, only to genuinely cough a few times when the act inspires an unpleasant tickle in his chest.

Her head jerks up immediately, apprehension writ plain on her face. Her hands flutter indecisively before one reaches for the tea and the other retrieves the discarded handkerchief. He detects a hint of unsteady tension, like an over-tightened bowstring, while she checks his pulse and murmurs at him. She watches him sip the bitter tea and hovers for a few more drawn-out seconds before slowly, carefully lowering herself back to the edge of her chair.

So it’s coughing, specifically, that puts her on edge. Curious.

Thancred sinks back into his pillows and ponders, and Gwen gradually relaxes as minutes pass without incident. He can’t recall all the instances of others taking ill in the past, but he’s reasonably certain their ailments hadn’t involved much coughing, at least not to the same degree as this.

He thinks to try and ask about it. She likely won’t tell him the truth, but he might still be able to glean some insight as to why she’s so distressed by his coughing, or why she feels the need to tie herself up in such knots when a friend falls ill. .

There are a few different ways he could parse the inquiry. He knows they’ll all be met with resistance and silence, but mayhap one of them will eventually yield an answer. Concern works better than bluntness when trying to get her to open up, as is the case with many people. Concern is soft and seeps into cracks and around walls, rather than butting up against them. It’s gentle enough to tempt, to coax her to reach out rather than close herself off.

“Not that it’s out of character for you to fret when a friend takes ill,” he says without preamble.

She looks up from all the things she’s crammed onto his nightstand, a pout on her lips.

“But I can’t help thinking this is above and beyond, even for you.” The words make his throat hurt, and the more he talks the more his voice turns to gravel. “Is aught amiss?”

Her brows knit and bend, a wash of melancholy dulling her eyes. She avoids his gaze and adjusts his blankets.

“Though it may not sound like it, I assure you I'm not truly at risk of coughing up a lung.”

The corners of her mouth tighten and dip, and her shoulders tense.

He wraps a hand loosely around her wrist and she stills. He softens his tone as much as he’s able, trying to reassure, “I’m fine, Gwen. It’ll pass.”

She glances at his face, then back down at their hands. “I know.”

“Then why do you look like I’m about to breathe my last whenever I have a tickle in my throat?”

Her brows furrow and her expression shifts, trying to close and flatten out into a look that brooks no room for more questions. It almost works. Her eyes, however, are far away and quiet, a heavy shadow rolling across them like nightfall.

Ah...? Mayhap this is a more delicate topic than he thought. He probably should have assumed as much, and might have, if his head was clearer.

Thancred slides his hand into hers and squeezes gently.

Gwen studies their hands for several breaths. Then she rests her other hand over his, slotting her fingers between his knuckles.

Something in his chest rattles wrong and sends a coughing fit kicking up his throat. Godsdamnit.

She keeps him from doubling over on himself, patting his back gently and mumbling soothing things until he collapses back against his pillows, lightheaded and breathless. His head is full of thunderstorms and his throat is burned out and raw, the air like sandpaper as he gulps it down.

Cold dampness dabs at his temples, his throat, his chest, sending little shocks of chill through him that clear away the dizziness and snuff the waves of heat rolling under his skin. The cloth vanishes, water splashes and trickles elsewhere, and then it settles on his forehead again. Murmured words and ghosting fingertips conjure ripples of healing magic that do more for his aching muscles than his head. For all it’s usefulness, the list of things healing magic can’t help is surprisingly, aggravatingly long.

Drained as he is, Thancred still has the energy to take the mug when Gwen lifts it to his mouth. He’s not that bad off. The overworked muscles in his stomach and chest ache as he sits a little straighter to drink.

“Drink it slowly,” she advises, hands hovering like she thinks he’ll drop it.

He does. His throat continues to tickle and scratch even after the tea is gone and the rest of him has settled, inspiring a few small coughs here but, thankfully, not another fit.

Weary and with his thoughts lagging, he allows himself a few minutes to simply sit and be miserable. He sinks into the pillows and lets her move his hair around, dry his face, fix his blankets and whatever else will quell her apprehension and satisfy her need to fret.

He doesn’t deserve to be fussed over like this, he knows. He hasn’t earned this time and attention, especially not from her. The Warrior of Light has better things to do than coddle him and put up with his neediness.

She doesn’t agree in the slightest and, in truth, a small part of him is grateful for it. The same part that selfishly revels in the gentle care and affection that have nothing to do with getting him back in working condition and everything to do with her genuine concern for his comfort and wellbeing.

A hand touches his cheek, tugging at his muddled awareness.

“Thancred?” Gwen’s voice is hazy.

He peels his eyes open and blinks sluggishly until they focus. His head is full of quicksand, and breaths sound rough in his ears and feel worse in his throat.

“You dozed off,” she says, still speaking quietly. “I made some more tea.”

Thancred grunts and pushes himself up, and Gwen helps him rearrange and fluff the pillows so he can sit more upright. The hot tea feels like heaven on his parched throat, and the fact that it’s a different, less bitter blend only makes it better.

She perches on the edge of her seat, looking satisfied, and picks up her journal. Then she pauses, expression shifting slowly. She sets her journal in her lap and purses her lips contemplatively, that dullness gradually returning to her eyes as a thoughtful little wrinkle forms between her brows.

He cocks his head, curious. He’s doing relatively well, he hasn’t coughed or even cleared his throat, so what’s this look for?

“I, ah…” Gwen pauses. She sinks back in her seat, leaning heavily against the backrest. “I was thinking, while you were asleep. I… Heh, I do tend to get, ah, a little wound up when people get sick, don’t I?” The corners of her mouth tighten and lift into an awkward, guilty smile. Her tone is careful, testing the topic and his reaction.

“I’d argue more than ‘a little,’” he drawls. It makes his throat itch, so he takes another swallow of tea.

She inclines her head, acquiescing the point. “I spent a little time thinking about it,” she stops. “And I realized it’s...”

She sighs, expression tightening with mild frustration. She opens her journal and leafs through it until she finds where she left off last, one page full of writing while the other is mostly empty. She reads over the full page, fingers moving haphazardly over the words as her eyes dart back and forth.

His brain isn’t functional enough to decipher her chocobo-scratch upside down, but tries anyway. No luck.

Gwen curls her fingers over the top of the page and tips it shut on her hand, like an actress holding a spot for reference while they work to memorize their lines. Her eyes drift slowly over the room, looking around but not at anything in particular. Eventually her gaze comes to rest in the vicinity of his elbow.

“I,” her voice is soft, “had a brother.”

Hearing her say it aloud is like a cold shock of water, even though he’d already been aware of that sad truth. She’s written about him before, though only on occasion, and she was so sparing with details and accounts of him it might even be fairer to say she’d mentioned him.

In want of a suitable reply Thancred gives her his full attention, turning to better face her.

She opens her mouth then pauses, looking vaguely pensive. Her gaze shifts around indecisively, that thoughtful wrinkle between her brows coming back. Trying to determine what to say next, and how much she needs to share to properly explain whatever thought is forming on her tongue.

Thancred asks, even though he’s half-convinced any sort of disruption will make her stop and withdraw, as if this piece of her past is a deer he can startle away, “What was his name?”

Her eyes flit to his for a moment, and she looks touched that he would want to know.

“Aifread,” she says gently, her tone more fond familiarity than reverence. The smile that tugs at her lips is tinged with reminiscence, and he wonders how long it’s been since she last said his name aloud.

Aifread. Thancred commits it to memory and mumbles it to himself for good measure, feeling the shape and weight of it on his tongue.

“And he-- he.... Was younger than me. By four summers or so,” she says slowly. “So I had to take care of him.” One corner of her mouth tugs down. “Us, rather. Both of us. And…” there’s a slight pause, less than a breath, and her eyes flash, growing dark and hard, “...and father.”

The change is so sudden and sharp he’s almost taken aback. He’s seen her angry before, but this is more than mere anger. This is something deeper, something loathsome with teeth in it.

Then it vanishes, like a puff of wind, and the hard emeralds of her eyes are replaced with soft, dull moss. “It wasn’t easy but...” She shrugs, expression drooping as she reaches up to pet one of the silver streaks in her hair.

“When I was nine summers old, almost ten, I…” She glances down at her journal but doesn’t open it. “I took ill. There’s no name for what it was, then or now. But the healers think it was the same blight that struck the lalafel who made the mill.”

Thancred lifts a hand and gestures for her to stop, a quiet, heavy hole opening in his chest. She told him enough when she said she’d had a brother, in truth. He doesn’t have all the details, but he doesn’t need them. He knows enough.

“Started as a tickle in my chest,” Gwen says anyway, purposefully looking away from his hand. Apparently she’s determined to finish now that she’s started. “Then it got worse… a few days later I couldn’t get out of bed. Then Aifread started coughing, too. Then father.”

Thancred leans over and rests a hand on the one tangled in her hair. “Gwen...”

She shakes off the gray strands and weaves her fingers through his instead, looking faintly relieved.

Her brows bend and she-half winces at an unpleasant memory. Then a certain little wrinkle appears on her forehead. “It’s, ah, it gets-- hazy. After that,” she says stiltedly.

A lie. And a rather obvious one, at that. He squeezes her hand and says nothing.

“Next thing I remember, I…” Her voice wavers slightly and she lowers her head. “I… woke up in the Adders’ medical ward. And... “

She takes a slow, steadying breath. Her voice trembles anyway. “And I... I was alone.”

Words have always abandoned him when it mattered, and now is no different. Thancred squeezes her hand and pulls, stopping just short of hauling her out of her seat and into his arms.

She jerks her head up, green eyes glassy and confused. She’s just on the verge of tears, but still keeping herself together, if only barely. When he pulls again she lets him drag her into his arms, stiff for a moment before melting into his embrace. She hooks her hands over his shoulders and clings to him, burying her face in the crook of neck. Her breaths shudder slowly against his throat, only a few tears smearing against his neck as she fights to hold the rest in.

He wishes she wouldn’t. She doesn’t need to.

He tries to tell her so. Instead another sodding cough claws its way out of his chest, and all his half-formed words of comfort get hacked up along with one of his lungs.

For what it’s worth, Gwen isn’t upset by the sudden derailment. If anything, she’s grateful for the distraction.

She slips away from him, producing a clean handkerchief from nowhere and rubbing soothing circles on his back until he finally slumps, wheezing, against his pillows. Somewhere in the midst of it all she rubs her hands over her face and manages to steady her breaths out.

He all but collapses against his pillows, dizzy and wheezing. It almost hurts to breathe, though he’s not sure what’s worse: his aching chest or his raw throat. She dabs his forehead with the cold towel, pours a fresh mug of tea, and fixes his blankets while he catches his breath, mumbling quiet, soothing nonsense and sympathy once she’s sure her voice won’t waver.

Rather than trying to fumble through expressing condolences, he settles for promising himself to be more patient with her fretting in the future and not complain about it... within reason.

“So, well...” she fumbles slowly, still measuring her breaths as she shifts her weight on her feet and tugs at her shirt. “All that to say I, ah... I only just realized that I, heh, have never really taken the time to understand where this,” she tries for a smile, “’fretting’ came from, myself. And... I have a bit of reflecting to do.”

He makes a vaguely affirming sound, unable to properly read the look on her face or the way she’s holding herself through the renewed pounding in his skull that’s hazing over his senses. Awkwardness, discomfort, maybe a bit of guilt, but he’s not entirely sure. Those, at least, are understandable. That was a rather heavy bit of history to tell someone, particularly when they weren’t quite expecting it. It’s not the sort of thing she would share with many people --or anyone-- which would only give it that much more weight when she finally decided to do so.

Gwen leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss to his brow, then tips her forehead against his. "Thank you.”

The affection is welcome, but it doesn’t stop Thancred from confusedly croaking that he didn’t do anything but sit.

She straightens up and smooths his hair back from his face, a measure of the worry and concern she’s been carrying since she first caught him coughing replaced with something more pensive. “You helped,” she pauses, trying to find the words she wants, “clear my head a little.”

“By sitting here?” he rasps between sips of tea.

She considers that, picking up her journal from the floor and flattening out a bent page. At length she says, “By asking. And listening.”

Asking...? What, asking why she was fretting so much? Has no one asked before?

She gives him a slight smile. “I’ll get you something to eat.” Her expression firms slightly and she points a warning finger at him. “Stay in bed.”

He grouses good-naturedly at her as she leaves, then frowns at the closed door.

He doesn’t know how long he’d dozed off for, but apparently it was long enough for her to take a thoughtful look at the root of her anxieties surrounding illness. Enough time to steady herself out a little and recognize her motives and behaviors for what they are, not just the good intentions she veils them in, and the toll all that worrying takes on her. Apparently she has never spared it much thought herself, though it’s hard to say whether or not that had been a conscious decision. Either way, it had surely been far easier to simply accept it as habit and dig no further.

It’s quite the step for her to take, both in confronting herself about her brother’s death and opening up to him about it. Despite the discomfort of such heavy news, he has no small amount of satisfaction, even pride, in knowing she trusts him enough to share the more painful and tender parts of her past. He imagines the hole in his chest is not going to fully go away any time soon, but it’s worth it. Aifread.

When Gwen comes back with soup, Thancred isn’t not much better physically, but his spirits are higher. She offers, with only a hint of reluctance and a dash of awkwardness, to get out of his hair and give him time to himself.

He asks her to stay.

They don’t talk about Aifread again, or anything else about her. But that shadow of worry from before isn’t hanging so heavily behind her eyes anymore, cracked open and broken apart into pieces she can try to work with, rather than something she simply has to carry. She still worries, of course, but she isn’t so distraught and tense, even when he starts trying to hack up his other lung.

It makes sense, he supposes. Secrets are heavy things, as are the consequences of carrying them for so long. They’re much easier to bear when shared.

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Foible - noun a minor flaw or shortcoming in character or behavior

HNNNGGGG TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE AND ENDINGS ARE HARD

But overall I’m pretty happy with it!!

*is debating removing that last line hmmmmmmm....*

TY TY @evangeline-cross for the advice and the beta read :B

#ffxivwrite2020 #Guinevere Ashe #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #WoL x Thancred #My writing #Gwencred #the beforetimes #or at least a mention #Sickfic #Aifread #talking about family #when you find out why someone is a worrywart when people are sick #and you're like 'o damn'#HNG 3 MINUTES

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 17 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer is concerned about Reader’s growing impulsiveness, but Reader is the one who gets a call from JJ asking if she can come get her boyfriend. Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader   Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+)   Content Warning: Discussions of drugs, death/dying, suicide, overdose; Alcohol, addiction, oral (male receiving), handjob, fingering, Daddy Kink, fights, PTSD, hospital talk, drunk smut w/ blanket consent Word Count: 12.5k

MASTERLIST

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When I opened the front door, I realized that I had returned to an empty home. I wasn’t sure which was weirder; the realization that the house was empty, or the fact that I was referring to her apartment as my home. It certainly had started to feel that way.

It never stopped being a shock that I would find a home in someone so quickly and with such little self-awareness. I'd certainly never suspected that the house we’d be in would also be shared with several other people, all of whom were significantly younger than me and shared almost no similarities with me beyond our love for (y/n).

And even if it wasn’t the weirder of the two realizations, the fact that she wasn’t there was definitely the more troubling one. I tried to gather at least a little evidence before I called her; I wasn’t exactly excited about being blindsided again. Judging by the red solo cups that were scattered in the kitchen, I had an idea of how her friends had spent the night. The fact that no one was here led me to another conclusion that I desperately hoped was inaccurate.

Her phone rang four times before she picked up, which was strange in itself. When she did pick up, she sounded like I expected her to. Tired. Groggy.

“Hello?”

“Hey little girl, where are you?” I hoped she couldn’t hear the fumbling of my keys in my pocket, or any other sign of just how anxious I’d gotten in the last three minutes. “Oh. I’m sorry, Spencer, I forgot I was supposed to see you today.” She mumbled, sounding genuinely apologetic if not a little confused.

“You… forgot?” I repeated, quickly making my way over to the calendar hung on a bulletin board outside the kitchen, noting the nothingness over both the current and following week.

“Yeah, I guess I got carried away with school.”

She was lying. I couldn’t be for sure about what, but it was obvious. If she was really having that much trouble with classes, she would have told me. We’d gotten past the whole insecurity over me thinking she was stupid thing a long time ago, and she knew I would always let her learn it on her own if she didn’t want my help.

“... What are you not telling me?” I tried to make the words playful, although my hand was now nervously patting the side of my hip at an alarming rate.

“Nothing! I just got distracted. I’m... a little busy today so we should just meet up again next weekend.”

“A week?” I knew she was probably getting tired of me parroting her words, but that just seemed like a ludicrous amount of time. Usually, we went barely a day or two without seeing each other when I was in the city, cherishing the time together when I wasn't called away to attend to crimes halfway across the country.

“What’s going on?” My voice was quickly falling into that register that warned her I was about to start profiling her, whether I wanted to or not. And unfortunately, she chose the worst possible reaction to that warning, further tipping me off to the fact that something wasn't quite right.

“Spencer, stop being weird.”

But I wasn’t. I knew that I could be weird; it’s kind of my thing. If you looked up weird in the dictionary, you wouldn’t find my name, but you’d definitely find a description that perfectly characterized my personality.

“You’re the one being weird. Turn on your camera.”

“I can’t. It’s dark in here.” She shot back her answer so quickly, I knew that she had already anticipated the request.

“Then move.” I ordered more than suggested. She understandably didn’t take kindly to my reaction, but I know she also knew why I was doing it. The excuses she was giving weren’t even well thought out.

“What is this? An interrogation?” She scoffed, “Do you think I’m cheating on you with barely dissolved stitches in my intestines?”

I took a deep breath, sitting down at the kitchen table still sticky with leftover sugary liquor and turned the phone onto speaker. “Turn it on.” This time, my voice broke with the order. As much as that didn’t make it sound authoritative, it did make her feel guilty.

As the screen lit up, it all made sense in the worst possible way. She was forcing a fake smile, her other hand resting against her face in a failed attempt to draw attention away from the the mottled skin of her left eye.

“I’m not cheating on you. Happy?” The words were sharp on her tongue, an anger in her features paired well with the understanding that I wasn’t wrong to be worried. I honestly think that was what bothered her the most – that she wanted it to be nothing, for me to be overreacting, but knew that it was a little more serious that she let on.

“I’m definitely not happy. What happened?” I was already at the door by the time the sentence ended... She shut off her camera just as quickly, hearing the commotion from my side. “Where are you? I’m coming right now.”

She sighed, and I could see it clearly despite the fact that she wasn’t on my screen anymore. “I don’t want you to come here. Spencer, I’m fine.”

I might have believed her. I might have honestly given her the benefit of the doubt – let her lie to me a little, and just accept that a black eye wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. Eventually, she would tell me how she got it, so I wouldn’t need to worry about it.

But it became very obvious very quickly that it was not just a black eye.

“Ms. (Y/l/n)?” A third voice announced in the background, accompanied by the distinct sound of an alarm sounding in the distance.

“... Are you in a hospital?!”

“For fucks sake. I hate dating a profiler.” She grumbled, implicitly admitting that my conclusion was right. She wouldn’t let me have another word, speedily slurring her goodbye. “I have to go, Spencer. I’ll call you later. Love you!”

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Anyone who has spent a long time in inpatient knows that nosy nurses are both the best and worst kind of people to be assigned to your stay. They were the best because they always had the best gossip and would spend their precious little free time sharing stories about their lives that were always more entertaining than whatever poorly budgeted gameshow was on the old, staticky television.

They were the worst because one wrong move meant that you were the subject of gossip. And boy, were they good at getting it out of you.

“Trouble in paradise?” She sweetly hummed as she pushed my bed down the hall.

I wanted to tell her that there was trouble, and that it was through no fault of my own. If the other people in the hospital didn’t have the audacity to be sick at the same time that I needed a CT scan, then I wouldn’t have even still been here. I could have been back at home, where… well, I guess Spencer would have figured it out either way.

“Yeah, I guess.” I sadly admitted, playing with the string of my gown. “He’s just a worrywart.”

The woman had that glimmer in her eye, the kind that came from years of seeing the same stories over and over again. Although, I had a hard time believing she’d ever been in this exact scenario, I guess they were all kind of the same after a while, semantics aside.

“Well, that makes sense considering your current state.” It was more of a reprimand than anything else, and I audibly groaned to try and get her to stop there. She didn’t, though, having spent enough time with me to know I needed to hear it. “You were very lucky, you know. If things had been even just a little bit different…”

Couldn’t you say that about everything? If things had been even just a little bit different, I never would have met Spencer in the first place. We never would have fallen in love or fought or done any of it at all.

I didn’t like thinking about that. I didn’t like even considering a life without Spencer. No matter how much pain I’d been through, or what traumatic memories were dug up, they were worth it.

That’s what she wanted me to realize, and she had succeeded. Suddenly, as we turned into the room, I was overcome with guilt at the way I’d ended my conversation with him.

The nurse knew it, too, because as she transferred me onto the scanner, she smiled. “I’m just saying, sweetheart. If he woke up next to your hospital bed last time, I understand why he’d be scared.”

Chewing on my lips, I thought about the last time I was in a hospital. I thought about how Spencer had curled his giant lanky body onto the bed and barely slept for 2 weeks. I could see the way his eyes got more sunken by the day, but never stopped shining with relief. I could hear him chewing on ice because he didn’t want to leave to grab food until after I’d woken up, and the cold would distract him from just how hungry he was.

“He must love you an awful lot to be that worried.”

I hated when they did that; when they read my mind and said exactly what I was thinking.

“Yeah, I know.” I tried to smile. It was hard with the stabbing pain in my stomach and the aching in the entire left side of my face, but I managed. It was just one of those things where if I thought of Spencer, my body had to react. It was as natural as breathing.

Which, speaking of…

“Take a deep breath in.” The technician alerted me from the speaker.

The high pitched whines of the CT scanner weren’t as obnoxious as the MRI machine. I was silently grateful that they were still too scared to use the giant magnet. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be stuck in a confined space, listening to loud banging that sounded too much like gun shots for my comfort.

Even just the thought made me nauseous. I felt like a baby, to have such a strong reaction to something so stupid. I’d been in an MRI before. I was a in a hospital. Nothing bad was going to happen to me, and I knew that.

But even now, in a machine that made virtually no noise and barely covered half my body, I wasn’t able to hold in a breath. Each time I tried, it felt like I was choking on Spencer’s lap again. The stinging in my stomach felt so much stronger, even though I knew it was healed.

The world felt like it was closing in on me, and every second that passed felt like days. I couldn’t even trust myself to guess how long it took for them to get images that should have taken no longer than 5 minutes.

I felt like such a burden. Like I was in their way. Like I was doing it wrong. Like I was a little kid, thinking that she knew what she was doing and could do it on her own.

I wanted Spencer.

That was the only thing I could think, and although it should have been comforting, it just left me feeling empty. The thought of him wasn’t enough to stop the tears streaming down my cheeks. The hands of the nurses trying to calm me down didn’t help, either. They felt wrong. They felt cold.

I just wanted Spencer. I wanted him to be there to hold my hand and distract me from my own thoughts. I wanted him to replace them with other things, like he'd promised me. I wanted to make new memories far away from here.

But I couldn’t. I was an idiot and I’d gotten myself back in the hospital, and he wasn’t here because I told him I didn’t want him to be. Why had I told him that? There was no reason that made any sense.

Once we finally did get out of the damn radiology department, I could still only barely function. The ride back to my room was much quieter, and the nurse didn’t meddle anymore. Gossip was only fun when it didn’t hurt like this.

Again, I couldn’t trust myself to guess how long I’d been in the CT scanner, but as we crossed back into my room, an overwhelming sensation of relief washed over me when I saw his satchel in the seat beside my bed. I hated the knowledge that I’d wasted 45 minutes of the technician’s time, but I was just so fucking happy that he had actually come.

Being alone in my room wasn’t a big deal anymore, because I knew it was only temporary. So as soon as I could, I sat up and waited patiently for my favorite mop of curly brown hair to peek around the corner.

He didn’t disappoint. He rarely did.

“Hey little girl.”

All the tension melted from my muscles, my head finally resting against the pillow with a dopey smile on my face. “Spencer.” I sighed, holding my hand out to him to usher him closer.

He gladly took the invitation, taking wide steps so he could be with me sooner.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I grumbled, flicking him on the arm while I locked our hands together. “But I’m glad you are.”

It was obvious from the way he let out a deep breath that he was also relieved to see that I wasn’t angry at him for coming. However, that’s also where his relief stopped. Because he’d seen me an hour prior and knew that I hadn't been crying then. But now, on top of the black eye, he saw the red rimming my sclera.

Taking my hand into both of his, he pressed a hard kiss against the back of it. Without looking up, he muttered into the skin a sad plea.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?” I asked, pulling back on my hand so he would stop with the shameless display of romance in such an awful place.

“Whatever’s going on.” He paused, but was clearly unhappy with the open ended question, and just as quickly specified, “What happened last night?

Unfortunately, I still wasn’t in the giving mood, even when it was information, and even if the person begging me for it was the boyfriend that I’d just cried for in the CT Scanner. If anything, that almost made it worse.

I hated feeling like this. Vulnerable.

“Nothing.”

Spencer was getting fed up, but it was like I couldn’t stop myself from fighting with him. I didn’t want to. I wanted to tell him that I needed him to take care of me and ask him to hold me while I cried on his shoulder about nothing at all, but I couldn’t. He would do it in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t ask him to. I couldn’t ask him for anything.

I couldn’t need anything without feeling too horribly guilty.

“Please don’t lie to me.” He was begging again, looking up at me with those impossibly warm amber eyes. He smiled when he saw the way my lips curled at the sight of him, unable to be angry for too long.

“Am I not allowed to have any stories for myself?” I joked, reaching forward to poke his face. Instead of moving away to avoid my hand, he leaned into the touch.

“You can. I just...”

“I know. You’re worried.” I responded with an exasperated sigh, rolling my head back. I could still feel him watching me, though, with a precarious smile, happy to see my spirits relatively high while also being deeply unhappy about the circumstances.

Wanting to see that full, confident smile again, I realized I didn’t have much of a choice. I’m sure that whatever he’d come up with in his head was much more sinister than what had actually happened.

“Fine. Stop looking at me like that.” I mumbled, gesturing to the childlike pout and laughing when he sucked his lips into his mouth in an attempt to follow my direction. I was glad he was still in a joking mood, because I had a feeling it would disappear as soon as I started talking.

I took a deep breath, looking up and away before I began my explanation of the stupidest night.

“I went out for drinks with my friends–”

“Drinks?!”

It hadn’t even been five seconds and he’d already cut me off. I couldn’t blame him, but it was so freaking annoying. This was exactly why I hadn't told him. Well, that and the fact he could get in serious trouble.

“I didn’t have any! Geez. Chill out.” I yelled back, chuckling a little bit at the conflicting looks of terror and relief. Because while he obviously believed that I didn’t drink any myself, it gave ugly context to the nightmarish guesses his mind had concocted.

“And everything was fine. We were on our way home. But then some asshole started messing with my friend. And she was way too drunk and started crying.” I was groaning internally the whole time, thinking about all the different ways this whole situation could have been avoided. Honestly, I don’t know why she had decided to try and square up with a cat caller when she knew damn well that she would start crying the second he raised his voice.

Which, of course, he had.

“So, I told the guy to fuck off. And he did not like it.”

There was a powerful rage boiling under the surface of Spencer’s skin, which was only betrayed by his clenched jaw and the sheets scrunched under his hand. “Did they arrest him?” He said, trying to calm the trembling in his voice. He wasn’t angry at me for being a victim, even if he was probably a little annoyed that I went out without telling him.

Not like he was even in the state, anyway.

“I didn’t press charges.”

He took a deep breath, clearly about to tell me that I was stupid for not holding him accountable. That I could’ve gotten hurt and he would’ve gotten away with it. That I could’ve died if he’d hurt me the wrong way.

I didn’t want to hear it.

“Stop. I didn’t want to go to court, and I’m fine. I didn’t even need invasive surgery again.”

Spencer was still angry but trying to settle himself down before he spoke. He could hardly even look at me, his hand leaving the bed to run through his hair and shake his keys in his pockets.

I wanted to tell him that the tension of silence was worse than if he’d just raised his voice at me, but I couldn’t even gather the energy to do that. My body and mind seemed resigned to their current state; they’d just given up.

“(Y/n)...” He started, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up at the use of my name. They didn’t retreat, especially not when he dragged a chair over to my bedside, sitting down and placing a gentle hand over mine again.

“Are you okay?”

It was so sincere. So pure, so unforgivably kind. My hand that had felt paralyzed seconds earlier twitched under his. “I just told you.” I shrugged, fighting the urge to pull my arm away again. I wanted him here. I wanted him to touch me.

So why did it hurt? Why did everything hurt?

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” His voice broke, and I saw the way he was holding back tears with his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth. He was biting back so many things he didn’t want me to know.

But again, I was too tired to fight it. So instead, I said nothing.

“It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re hurting.” He continued, urging me to give him anything to work with. “How can I make it better?”

He just wanted to help. Why couldn’t I let him help?

“I’m fine. Nothing even happened to me.” My throat tried to reject the words, my brain screaming at me that they were fundamentally untrue. But my heart hurt, pounding louder in my chest to tell me that the logic was wrong. Because I was a big girl, and I shouldn’t be scared by things that already happened.

I’m safe, right? I don’t need to be scared, right?

Spencer could see the panic on my face because I couldn’t even have hid it if I'd wanted to. And my brain was telling me to not to. It told me that I needed to talk to him, to let him listen.

“That’s not true. You’ve been through a lot.” He bargained, trying to locate that little voice in my head with his offerings. He wanted to pull that small part of me out and force it to talk so that we might finally be able to start to move on.

“You go through worse every day.”

‘It’s common for patients suffering from PTSD to minimize their suffering or compare it to others. It’s a completely normal response, but I want you to try to resist belittling your own feelings. They’re yours, and no one else’s. Okay, sweetheart?’

The voice was so clear in my head, my body jerked in response. I looked around the room, looking for any sign of the man who’d told me them first. But he wasn’t here; he hadn’t been here for some time.

“Do you know how many profilers I’ve seen leave in my time at the bureau?” Spencer distracted me from the thought. He probably figured my flashbacks were more sinister than what they actually were. As upsetting as they had once been, hearing my dad’s voice in my head was usually oddly soothing.

“No.” I answered blankly, trying to pay all attention to the man who was still here.

“Four. And I’ve considered it myself.” There was a soft chuckle to hide the guilt in the admission.

I didn’t know why he felt bad for it; his job was so ridiculously difficult. On top of constantly having to rearrange his life on account of the various inextinguishable evils in the world, he had to face those evils every day and try to figure out their inner workings in order to thwart them. The only time I'd ever done that, I'd killed all three of them. Not the best track record.

“The first one, she... she reminds me a lot of you.” The soft twinkling in his eyes, much like emotional music in the movies, alerted me that a backstory was coming. Based on the extent of just how nostalgic he was coming, I guessed that whatever he was about to say was deeply important to him.

However, I was fragile enough as it was, and I didn’t need to add jealousy to my current emotional repertoire. “Is this another JJ origin story? Cause I don’t think I can handle it.”

He laughed, shaking his head at the frustrated pout that formed on my face. “No,” He said quietly, taking a pregnant pause to formulate the story. “Her name was Elle.”

The story he told was woven well, although I expected no less. He told it passionately and with absolute sincerity. He told me about the woman who was one of the first people he'd bonded with on the team. The playful relationship he described was painted so vividly in my imagination.

I wanted to meet her. But by the end of the story, it was obvious that it wasn’t an option. He didn’t say anything about it, but from the far off look I could guess that he hadn’t seen her since that last day.

“She was like a sister to me, and to see her fall apart and not be able to do anything to help her... it was one of the worst feelings in the world.”

And I understood then, why he was worried about me the way he was. He was projecting his previous experience on me, but things were different with me. At least, that’s what I told myself. Realistically I should have been reminding myself that she'd had the training and resources to overcome her obstacles, whereas I was basically still a stupid kid. The prospect of facing the reality was too difficult though; I just shrugged it off.

“Well, I already killed the people who did this to me.” I chuckled.

Spencer did not appreciate my humor. There was an even stronger concern that flashed over his features, worried by my flippancy over the death of three human beings.

Fuck, I should feel worse about it than I do, shouldn’t I? But if I thought about it, then it hurt so badly. If I had to pick one, I would pick apathy every time. I would choose the emptiness before the ocean of remorse.

“I’m not worried about them.”

I had drifted away from him again, and the sentence forced me to look at him.

‘I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about you.’

I’d said that before. Those were my words.

I pulled my hand back from Spencer, rubbing my forehead with both hands before wincing at the sharp pain around my eye socket. It took me a minute to focus on the sentence and dive deeper into its implications. But once I remembered why it instilled such a visceral reaction, I nearly gagged on the words.

“Wait, you think I’m going to kill myself?”

“I didn’t say that.” He quickly responded in the most defensive manner possible. If that was his attempt to calm me down, it did not work. It only pissed me off even more.

Because there was only one reason why he would think I was going to kill myself. I hadn’t given him any reason to believe that was a risk. Yeah, sure, I was being reckless and impulsive, but I was a teenager!

“Why would you think that?” I demanded an answer, and he was immediately hesitant to provide one. It was all the evidence I needed to reach my conclusion. “Don’t lie to me, Spencer Reid. You asked Hotch, didn’t you?”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair now that it was obvious, I wasn’t going to want him to touch me. “Yeah, I did.”

“You told me you wouldn’t, Spencer! You promised!” I ground the words out between my teeth, hoping he understood just how much I was holding back my volume.

He looked over at the screen monitoring my heart, noting the way the spikes appeared at an exponentially faster rate. “I know.” He whispered with an evident guilt.

“What did he tell you?” I hated the way my voice shrank with my shoulders, my body insisting that I assume to the smallest position I could. Because as much as I hated that Spencer had asked when he told me he wouldn’t, I was desperate for the information.

I’d always wanted to see the files, to hear the story as they knew it. I wanted to know what happened, and this was probably the closest I’d ever come to that, unless that whole Ouija board thing is real.

“Probably the same stuff that you already know.” He knew he was disappointing me. He shouldn’t have felt as bad about that as he did, but I’d take the implicit apology for what it was.

“Tell me anyway.”

Spencer should have been delighted to have the opportunity to talk at me for such a long time, but I also understood why he wasn’t. They weren’t the best topics of conversation, your ex-best friend and your girlfriend’s dead father. But he was a trooper and a skilled conversationalist, despite people not being able to understand that.

“He told me that there were several missions your father was a part of that ended controversially. That… he reported several violations that were never followed through on.”

The words so easily unlocked memories I had tightly and resolutely locked away, it was unsettling. I could hear my parents arguing about the philosophy of blame and responsibility. My dad always arguing that he couldn’t stand aside and let innocent people get hurt. My mom reminding him that he couldn’t save everyone.

‘We also get to see a lot of good.’ Spencer had said on our first not-a-date.

‘Yeah, but which do you see more of?’ I’d asked, and he’d avoided the question. I remembered seeing the question dance across his vision before he shut it out. He'd wondered why I was so confident in my conclusions.

“And the last mission…”

He didn’t have to wonder anymore.

“I saw the report.”

My breath was knocked from my lungs by an invisible fist to my damaged gut. I swallowed, trying to regulate my heart that was at risk of setting off the damn machine next to me. “What did it say?” I whispered, clutching onto the sheets and my gown, hoping it would be enough to keep me grounded.

“Killed in action.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.” I barked, my brows furrowing regardless of just how badly it hurt to contort my face so badly. “He didn’t– H-He wasn’t–“

“I know.” Spencer responded, a note of pity in his voice that made my face twitch in annoyance.

I turned to him with the same snarl, years of repressed anger resurfacing and wreaking even more havoc on my already destroyed life. “Do you? Do you know?”

“I mean, I can’t ever know for sure but… You weren’t the only one who felt that he...” He couldn’t say the word suicide, and for once, I was grateful. “It seems like all of his team had the same concerns.”

He was trying so hard to calm me down, to placate my fears and rage. He was sympathizing the best he could, but the truth was he would never be able to understand just how fucked up it was. He hadn't been there when it was happening, so the only thing he could do was try to slap a band-aid on a well-settled scar and hope that my not being able to see it made it hurt less.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered the two words cautiously, his heartbreak clear in his eyes. He had nothing to apologize for, but there he was, doing it anyway.

“For what?”

“That you’ll never have your answer.”

I don’t know what I expected him to say, but his answer took me by surprise. Of all the explanations I’d heard after an unnecessary platitudinous apology, I’d never heard that. And even worse, I’d never heard it in such a broken way, sounding for all the world like he believed he'd failed tremendously.

“I’m sorry that... that I couldn’t find it for you.”

I couldn’t stand the sight, and my hand found his cheek like it did so often, returning home to find that it was just a bit more stubbly than I remembered it. “It’s not your job, Spencer. We’re not one of your cases.” I assured him, running my thumb over the rough skin and remembering that he’d only just gotten home from exactly that: a case.

He did so much for me every day, but in the past few months he’d had to do so much more. And as much as I tried not to, I took him for granted so often. It was never as obvious to me as it was in that moment, when a tear slid down his cheek at the tenderness of my touch. He always expected anger and pain. I didn’t want him to feel that way with me.

“But thank you for trying. I appreciate you.” I tried to throw my soul into the words as they formed on my tongue, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. “I love you very much.”

“I love you, too.” He sighed into the small embrace, leaning his weight more heavily into my hand. Still holding back, he grimaced at the words he shared. “If I’m going to be honest, I looked something else up myself. Not on any FBI database just... old school research”

I wanted to act surprised, but it was the least shocking thing I’d heard in a while. So instead I just stared at him, with the closest I could come to boredom while still being interested in what he had to say.

“Yeah? What’d you find?” Finally settling into the inevitable resignation, I moved my hand up the side of his face to tangle in his hair. It was so soft despite not having been washed for a few days. I could tell he hadn’t slept much. I wondered why he'd bothered digging into my past in the precious little free time he had.

But then he said it, reminding me of the pain of the cemetery and the events that both preceded and followed it.

“Trent Loughton.”

My fingers stopped in their exploration of his curls for a second, but eventually continued. “I see.” I hummed, trying not to push the conversation any further than he wanted to take it. As emotional as the topic was for me, it must have been harder for him. After all, he was the one who shared the nasty habit with Trent.

“I-I saw how he died... and I think I can fill in the rest myself.”

“Mrs. Loughton did give a lot of clues.” I laughed, mostly to stop myself from crying. That woman didn’t deserve any more of my tears. It was because of her that I’d spent years trying to convince myself that Trent’s death wasn’t my fault. Deep down, a part of me still believed her.

But honestly, it wasn’t my opinion that really mattered to me. It was Spencer’s. If he thought I was a failure, or that it was my fault for what happened, I wasn’t sure we’d ever be able to move past it. I wasn’t sure that I would ever be able to move past it.

“The drugs he overdosed on... they weren’t yours.”

Relief washed over me, but my mind told me not to get too comfortable, yet. “No, they weren’t.” My body had such a strange reaction to the words being said without an argument. I didn’t need to convince Spencer; he already knew. He not only believed me – he had come to the conclusion himself.

“So why did you say they were?”

It was such an easy answer, I knew he had to know it already. His hesitance to come to conclusions on my behalf, while appreciated, wasn’t necessary in this situation. “Pretty little girl with no record and a batshit war hero dad stood a better chance in the criminal justice system. I didn’t ask my dad to protect me, but he did.”

Spencer clearly sympathized with my father more so than me in that moment, which made my heart flutter in a remarkably inappropriate manner. I just couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that those damn psychologists were right – We really do sometimes pick men that remind us of our fathers.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Spencer said under his breath, and I wondered which one he was even talking about. It honestly could have applied to my whole life. He would have meant it each time, too. Because to him I couldn’t do anything wrong. I tried to take solace in that, but it honestly caused another voice to creep into the back of my mind.

I’d never be as good as he saw me. I’d never be worthy of his love.

Shoving those anxieties away again, I nodded in solemn recognition of the years I spent working to come to that same conclusion. “I know. It just took me a while to figure it out.”

My hand finally fell away from his face, although he grabbed my wrist to stop it from going too far. There was another hesitancy in his body language. His face turned down and his leg bouncing so gently I almost missed it.

“Is he the one you were talking about? The one you loved?”

Ah, nothing like a subtle hint of jealousy to boost a girl’s ego. I chuckled at the sound, swaying a bit in place to let him suffer a millisecond longer. “No. Not exactly.”

But then I genuinely couldn’t figure out how to say it. How could I describe what we had shared, when I'd spent so long trying to forget it? Had I loved him? Probably. No, I'd definitely loved him, just not in the way Spencer was thinking. Not like I loved Spencer.

“It was like, he always liked me, and I always thought we’d end up together because that’s how it happens in the movies, right? I was supposed to fall in love with him.” I ranted, trying to move my hands that were currently wrapped up in Spencer’s. “But I didn’t, and then he was gone and...”

We both stopped, his eyes trailing after me with questions he didn’t voice yet. He wanted me to finish before he decided whether or not they were worth it. I wanted to explain to him that they weren’t. As important as Trent was to me, he was gone.

“It’s fine. I’m sure he would be glad I found someone who makes me happy.” I was confident in that, at least. Because as I stared into those big hazel eyes, forcing themselves to stay open just to listen to me talk about my life, I was glad, too. “Even if that someone snoops too much for his own good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

There were many reasons, most of which I didn’t want to go into. But the way he was looking at me shattered my heart into a million pieces, and I knew that if I lied to him now, it would only make it harder to put those parts back together.

He just wanted to help. I knew I should let him help.

“I didn’t want to think about it.” I admitted for the first time out loud. “I didn’t want to consider all the similarities. I didn’t want you to think I was just looking for a man to replace the ones I’ve lost.”

I couldn’t tell when I started to cry, but it was even more exhausting and painful than normal. Which is why I didn’t hesitate to accept Spencer’s offer when he stood up, wrapping his arms around me just tightly enough that it wouldn’t hurt.

“I didn’t want to lose you, too.” I whined, the comforting scent of his cologne filling my lungs and reminding me of all the beautiful moments we’d shared so far. We had so many more to go.

“You won’t lose me. I’m here to stay.” He said, reading my mind like he always did.

“I know.” I started to laugh, but this time it wasn’t held back by secrets. “You’d think a girl could lose you by getting in a bar fight an hour away and going to an unnamed hospital but nooo...”

He laughed too, although his was much more reserved. Spoilsport.

Spencer’s arms tightened around me briefly, holding me closer to him before he backed away, his hands finding home on my cheeks. I anticipated a kiss, which was usually what happened when he held me like that. But he didn’t kiss me, instead giving me a gentle instruction.

“(Y/n), look at me.”

My eyes, bruised and dry, still opened at his command.

“No jokes. No lies.” He asked, clearly enunciating each word. “Should I be worried about you?”

All I could hear was the sound of my heart and the humming of the machines. I was brought back to the CT scanner, the way it felt to be choking on air. Flashes of other men I loved were racing through my mind. I couldn’t save them, I remembered, before my eyes landed back on Spencer.

My stomach twisted at the memory of a wooden box, a check, and suddenly all I smelled was the pine of the forest.

“(Y/n)?” He asked again, although I saw he’d already received half of the answer.

“No. I’m fine.”

The most terrifying part about it was that I believed what I said, but the look on Spencer’s face told me that I was lying. And I believed that, too.

—————————————————

The thing about coming back from a gunshot wound to the stomach is that it takes a ridiculously annoying amount of time. Like, yeah, the pain is something awful, but the wait for things to return to normal was even worse.

I didn’t even know how long it’d been, my brain blocking out anything that reminded me of that day. If I ever really needed to know, Spencer could tell me. I was basically only keeping track of the days by deadlines for school and the dwindling prescriptions I had left.

My follow-up appointment was next week, and it couldn’t come soon enough. Spencer told me he would come with me, but I hadn’t really heard from him in a couple of days. He didn’t even have time to tell me about the case, although I could tell it was one of the “bad” ones – not that there were really any “good” ones.

But still, it was almost 11pm and I was about to go to sleep, but I wanted to wait a little bit longer before I called it a night. I was just hoping that I’d be able to talk to him, even if it was just to say goodnight. I missed his voice like crazy.

So when my phone lit up, I didn’t even look at the caller ID. There weren’t many people who would call me this late on a Friday – my friends were all already out for the night.

“Hello?” I sang into the receiver, already excitedly spinning around in my chair.

But the voice that responded was decidedly not Spencer.

“Hey, (y/n), right? It’s JJ.”

Her voice rang like a record scratch through my head, and I halted in my chair. “Oh, hey JJ... Why are you calling me?” Suddenly, my enthusiasm morphed into an overwhelming anxiety and darkness that threatened to crush everything in its path. “I-Is everything alright?”

But then I heard it. The sound of terrible music, loud laughter, and the general bustle of a restaurant. It was followed by an even more nervous JJ, “Uhh, yeah. Everything is fine. I was calling because Spencer might have had a few too many drinks and—“

Above the chaotic noise that I just described, I heard Spencer Reid loud and clear. Well, maybe not the clear part. His inaudible slurring sounded vaguely like a rant I’d heard before. Then again, hadn't I heard them all at this point? ?

I hadn’t put it together yet, though, and once I did, I couldn’t help but laugh. “My boyfriend is drunk? Cute.”

I was already standing, gathering my things and tossing my jacket on to head out when I asked, “Do you want me to come get him?”

“Please.” I’d never heard a more relieved woman in my life. The very thought of him driving his best friends insane with his drunken lessons was enough to combat my exhaustion. The poor thing was probably humiliating himself one sip at a time.

But for every chuckle, I was really just hiding a deeper concern. Spencer wasn’t supposed to be drinking. Spencer wasn’t allowed to drink, and he knew that. Out of the two of us, he was the one who put himself at risk more often, and I had a goddamn bullet wound.

“Sure thing. Just send me the address.”

It dawned on me somewhere along the 20 minute drive that Spencer had not only finished his case, but also come home and gone out for a drink with his team. Normally that wouldn’t bother me, but the fact that he hadn’t told me about any of it...?

I tried not to think about it, knowing that talking to him about it tonight would be a waste of time, anyway. From the way he'd sounded over the phone, he wouldn’t be in any state to talk about the deep nuances of addiction and our relationship.

So I pushed it away, trying to enjoy the fact that I’d be able to see him again. Now that we’d cleared the air about my past, things felt strangely calm. I told myself it wasn’t just the eye of the storm because I wasn't sure I could handle much more excitement lately.

Showing up at one of the bars I used to frequent didn’t do much to convince me otherwise, either. The stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol hit me like a freight train as soon as I stepped out of my car. How did I do this every other night before?

As I approached the door, I didn’t even recognize the bouncer’s figure in the shade of the dim porch light. I recognized his voice, though, that’s for sure.

“Hey Jailbait, haven’t seen you around.”

Shit. Slower now, I hesitantly approached him with the most innocent and well-meaning look I could muster, knowing full well that another part of my life was going to be exposed tonight. At least this time, Spencer was the story and not the listener.

“Hey Tom...” I nervously laughed, drawing out the words while I came to a stop.

“Heard some pretty crazy shit went down to keep you off the scene. Must be bad if it keeps you away from me.”

It was weird to think that they talked about me. But I guess it was to be expected; we were all friends before Spencer Reid. And when someone in those friend groups goes missing suddenly, there’s usually reason to be worried. But in my situation, the worry wasn’t really necessary (aside from the whole being shot thing, I guess).

“Crazy is a good word for it.”

He leaned forward, beckoning for me to move in even closer with a wave of his hand. I complied, although I was a little confused as to why we were being so secretive.

“Hey, sorry, but... I can’t let you in tonight. You know I normally would, but the place is swarming with feds tonight.”

Then I remembered that I actually had to explain the reason for my absence, rather than just think about it in the abstract. “Oh no, I know.” I peered around him, trying to spot the man past the door. It wasn’t hard, considering how goddamn tall he was.

I pointed to him, causing Tom to turn with an amused grin before I explained, “I’m here for the drunk noodle man.”

The look on his face – hilarious, and a little insulting.

“What? Jailbait’s picking up a fed? Damn girl what’ve you been into?” He laughed, barely able to control himself. He laughed so hard, in fact, I’m surprised there weren’t tears in his eyes.

“Stop that.” I whined, but he didn’t listen.

“Does he know who he’s dating?”

The question hurt more than he could have anticipated. I didn’t want to confront those messy feelings, so I bundled them all into an annoyed exclamation. “Yes, he knows!” I huffed, crossing my arms and turning away from him as I stepped towards the door. “So can I go get him?”

He composed himself rather quickly after that, shaking his head and unhooking the rope that blocked off the door. “Please do. If I have to hear one more fact about Ancient Rome, I might quit.”

With the last obstacle gone, I happily skipped through the door, the excitement returning in a bubbling wave through my chest. “Thanks, Tom!” I chirped, barely giving him a glance as I raced through the door.

The only person more surprised to see me than Tom was Spencer. Although, to his credit, I did practically launch myself at his side. We both nearly toppled to the ground thanks to our lack of coordination, but we were luckily stopped by the bar he was leaning against.

“Boo!” I shouted in his ear, hearing a small, surprised gasp from my boyfriend.

“(Y/n)?” He turned towards me now, stars quickly forming in his eyes as a big, goofy smile spread across his face. It took him a minute, but eventually he recognized me in the dim light.

“Hey old man.”

Hugging me back just a little too tightly, he began to gush, “Oh my gosh. What are you doing here?” Of course, before I could answer, he came to several other conclusions. “Wait! This is a bar. You can’t be here! You aren’t twenty one!”

He thought he was whispering, but he definitely, definitely was not.

“I’m here to pick you up, not party.” I actually whispered back, turning to see JJ practically hiding at the table. I’m guessing he hasn't wanted her to call me, although I was pretty sure he wouldn’t care at this point. He seemed pretty happy I was there.

“You can’t pick me up. You’re hurt.”

I didn’t even know where to start with that, so I just chuckled. “Smart as a whip, Dr. Reid.”

I ran my hands over his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkled dress shirt he'd either had no time to iron, or had worn to bed the night before. I didn’t like either of those options. Spencer must have noticed me analyzing the fact, because his hand came up to stop me.

Trying to quickly change the subject, I blurted out over the terrible music, “Even when I’m hurt, I can probably still pick you up. You probably weigh the same as me.”

He scoffed, looking down at his lanky body compared to mine before shaking his head. “That’s hurtful, (y/n).” He attempted a puppy dog face, which only made laughter burst from my pursed lips.

Grabbing hold of his wrists and pulling him away from the bar, I turned and waved to the few team members I could spot among the crowd before returning to my drunken idiot of a boyfriend. “Come on, love. It’s time to take you home with me.”

When the cool autumn air hit him, I felt the goosebumps ripple over his arm. He leaned a bit closer, resting too much of his body weight on me for my comfort, but I wasn’t going to tell him to stop.

“How did you find me?” He mumbled, trying to touch me more than he currently was. Pushing him away from me was supposed to serve as a gentle reminder that we were in public, but he didn’t seem to care about that at all.

“JJ called me.”

“They all like you a lot. So do I.” His fast responses were a little less impressive considering how spontaneous they seemed, but I let it slide. As long as he was saying nice things, it was fine by me.

Guiding him as gently as possible, which is to say not gently at all considering he was essentially a human giraffe, I sighed. “I’m glad to hear it, Spencer. Maybe I can actually hang out with them one of these days.”

The guilt appeared before I could stop it, but it was the least of my worries at the moment. More concerning would be getting him into his house and in bed without either of us doing something stupid. After all, he was usually the one who stopped me from being stupid. And so far tonight, he’d already done something pretty damn stupid.

As I pulled the driver side door closed, a silence filled the car. Spencer was stuck between staring at me with a lovesick smile and looking away, probably because of his pink cheeks making him look a perfect combination of embarrassed and plastered.

“So what had you drinking, Spencer?”

“A case.” He shot back with that voice he usually reserved for the bedroom. It was the voice that told me not to press, to take his answer and let it die.

Unfortunately, I couldn't really do that this time, concerning this particular topic. . “Good thing or bad thing drinking?” I asked quietly.

I think he wanted to snap at me, to tell me that it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it, but he didn’t. The way my hands and words trembled told him that I was just as scared as he was that the answer might be the wrong one.

“I don’t know,” was what he said, instead.

“Okay.” I accepted that answer, understanding that it meant we could talk about it later, when his blood went back to normal and his mind was where it should be. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

And there we were, me sitting and staring at the indicators on the car as the engine turned, and him staring at me in the little light provided. After staring back at him for a moment, I had to ask the glaringly obvious question.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

That’s when Spencer Reid let out an honest to god giggle, his hands reaching out to massage my face that no longer showed any signs of the black eye I'd received a few weeks prior. “You’re sooo pretty.” He drawled, slumping over in his seat so he could rest his face against my shoulder.

I couldn’t help but laugh back, petting his hair for a second before returning my attention to the wheel. “Oooh, I like this.” I whispered, letting my heart skip a few beats as he nuzzled into the warmth that only I could provide him.

“I love you.” He mumbled against my shirt, letting out a deep breath before apparently trying to fill his lungs with the smell of my laundry detergent.

The sensation of his breath hot against my neck caused a familiar desire to stir in me, just barely beaten out by the even more powerful adoration I had for the puppy-like man who was already practically asleep on my shoulder.

“I love you, too, darling.”

He didn’t hear me, his soft breath indicating that he would be out for the drive. Taking my time to avoid the roads with potholes and curves, I managed to keep Spencer on me the whole way back to his apartment. Once we were there, though, I didn’t have any option but to wake him up. Unlike him, I definitely could not carry him out of the car.

It took him a surprisingly long period of time to realize that we were not, in fact, at my place. As soon as he did notice, he rubbed his eyes like it would transform the door in front of him. “Why didn’t you take me home?”

“This is your apartment, babe.” I explained, digging through his pockets to find his keys. He jumped at the contact before letting out a sound that was way too close to a moan for him to be making in the hallway.

“Yeah that’s not home.” He answered, swallowing down other noises that threatened to erupt by the time I withdrew my hand. “But home is–“ He hiccuped, patting his finger on my nose as he tried to stabilize his feet. “Home is where you are.”

“Mmm, so smooth.” I hummed, unlocking the door and shoving his drunk ass into the apartment before he could do something else that made me question whether I should just turn around and go home.

But he just looked so proud of himself, spinning around on his feet and crashing into the table beside the door. “Thank you!” He chirped, reaching forward to grab my hand and pull me closer.

When our bodies pressed together, the first thing I noticed was the fact he was clearly much more excited to be home with me than he was letting on. The thin fabric of his slacks left little to the imagination, and when my hand slid over the tent in his pants, there was nothing left to wonder.

“I brought you here... because I didn’t want to have to be quiet.” I purred, palming his erection over his clothes.

Through his broken moans, he still managed to ask the silliest question: “Why are you going to be loud?”

He was so fucking cute; so remarkably innocent in his drunken stupor, it was hard to remember that he was the same man that once finger fucked me on the metro.

“Why do you think?” I asked just as sweetly, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

Spencer still just stared, mesmerized by the way the buttons slipped from the fabric between my fingers. Once they were all open, I ran my hands over his chest before wrapping my arms around his neck.

He was the one to close the gap, coming down to deliver a feverish kiss against my lips. He tasted like honey and whiskey, and I wanted nothing more than to drown in him. His hands were on my lower back, sneaking under my shirt and spreading goosebumps all over my skin.

I moaned into his mouth with the utmost desperation, murmuring words against his lips. “Take me to bed, Spencer,” I begged.

The words awoke something in him, and suddenly, his hands were off of me and raised in the air.

“Wait— I can’t.” He concluded, drawing in heavy breaths.

“Why not?”

I wasn’t sure which part of this situation did him in, although I had my suspicions. As much as I wanted him, I would suppress those urges if he was really, truly uncomfortable. I almost felt bad for a second, but then he spoke again.

“I have a girlfriend.”

With a few slow blinks, I tried to figure out how the hell I was supposed to return a serious answer. Deciding that was impossible, I deadpan replied, “I am your girlfriend, you absolute idiot.”

I took his stunned silence to be permission enough to start leading him into his room. He honestly looked like I’d just told him all the answers to the universe, and he trailed after me like my hand was a leash. Still, once I sat on the bed and pulled his body against mine, he paused again.

“My girlfriend can’t— she’s hurt. She can’t have sex with me.”

I got the impression he was trying to reason with himself more so than with me, which explained the third person. But it was deeply unsettling, because I really needed to know he was here in this moment with me.

“Stop saying 'she'. It’s me, babe.” I gently reminded, and I watched it dawn on him again, his eyes lighting up in the darkness. Sliding my hand up his arm, I pulled him forward to hopefully convince him to climb into the bed with me. “And we don’t have to have sex.”

Funny enough, Spencer was the one who had enough sense to strip off most of his clothes before he stumbled onto the mattress after me. His lack of coordination was even worse with the alcohol, and it reminded me of the virginal teenager I’m certain he once was.

It was strange to consider, that if we’d met each other under different circumstances, at a different time, our roles might have been somewhat reversed. To picture him as an innocent little thing was... kind of exciting.

But he was anything but innocent now, his face hanging over mine while he helped me disrobe, trying to focus his analytical abilities on me in his haze. Finding no pain or hesitancy, he crashed his lips over mine with an energy I hadn’t seen in some time.

And it was so invigorating, to feel his skin against mine without him having to constantly worry about whether or not he was hurting me. It’d been far too long since we shared a bed together like this, and now that it was happening, I could hardly breathe.

“God, I love her.” He whispered against my skin, before quickly correcting himself, “I love you.”

I laughed, the kind that sputters from your lips when you try to hold it back. Pushing the hair from his face, I ran my fingers over his scalp. “How drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk, I’m stupid.” He replied with a cheeky smirk, diving back down to kiss me again. I wasn’t going to argue with the brilliant Spencer Reid, even if the point he was making was that he was, in fact, stupid.

Maybe it was stupid, the two of us tangling up in his sheets despite the fact that I hadn’t been cleared for it yet by my doctor. I knew that it was coming soon – probably at my appointment in a couple weeks, actually – so why wait? I knew that Spencer would never hurt me. Even now, his hands were gentle in their insistence, raking over my hip and stopping just short of the place where I really wanted him.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He groaned, his hips rocking forward and pressing his erection against my leg.

“Touch me.” I ordered, louder and more forcefully than I intended. I was expecting an argument, but I didn’t get one. In fact, Spencer’s finger had already breached my folds before I even finished talking. Unwilling to let him be the only one to enjoy himself, I reached down to grab his cock.

“Shit.” He hissed, biting down on his lip while he rutted against my hand. “I just want to hold you down and fuck you until you cry.” The restraint was obvious in the fingers slowly sinking into me, his jaw clenched and his eyes barely able to stay open. “But I can’t.”

Through my heavy breaths, I panted out another request. “Tell me more about it.”

He immediately realized why I’d asked, and his fingers began to pump in and out of me faster and with more force, his lips trailing kisses over to my ear. While I tried to keep up the pace of my strokes, it became more complicated when his breath fanned over my ear.

“It’s been so long since I bent you over and had my way with you like I did that morning over your kitchen counter...” He moaned, and I could almost feel the sensations as he remembered them. Although his fingers would never be the same, just having him inside me in any capacity felt like pure bliss.

But he wasn’t done, continuing to speak his thoughts into my ear. “I just want to—fuck, I want to fill you up.” I went to respond, but I choked on a sob, instead. The lewd sounds between us only aided his descriptions.

“God, I love the way you feel. You’re always so wet for me.” He whispered, beginning to make small thrusts with his hips. The movement essentially allowed him to use my hand to stroke himself, and he let out another unsteady moan at the contact. “Think about what it feels like, little girl.”

“I-I am.” I could barely make the words come out; my body too sensitive to his touch after being starved of it for so long. And Spencer was ready to take full advantage of that.

“I still have so much planned for you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that little stunt you pulled when you got all riled up.” He growled, using his free hand to grab a fistful of my hair. He yanked my head further to the side, laying sloppy kisses along my jaw. “I told you I’d give you triple the marks you left on me, and I can’t wait to cover you with me.”

“Fuck. Please, Spencer.” I hoarsely begged, my hand on his shoulder tightening so that my nails dug into his skin. If his grip on my hair wasn’t so tight, I would have thrown my head back. Instead, I just squirmed underneath him, crying out, “I’m so close, Spencer, please!”

He did not disappoint, his fingers curling inside of me with each thrust, and by some grace of God, he was able to coordinate his thumb over my clit. As if that wasn’t enough, he pulled back to look me in the eyes.

“I want to feel you come on my fingers.” It was more of a demand than a desire, as evidenced by the way his hand tugged on my hair. “Come on, little girl. Make daddy proud.”

Just like that, my body responded to his call, my muscles trembling from the tension as my orgasm hit me like a fucking freight train. It was such an overwhelming experience, to remember exactly how Spencer was capable of making me feel.

And he knew it, too. “Oh, good girl,” he cooed, continuing his kisses against my neck and murmuring the words as they came to him. “That’s my pretty little slut.”

After taking my time coming back to earth, I struggled from the overstimulation still burning between my legs. Spencer hadn’t stopped his fingers, which were diligently stroking inside of me while he continued to buck his hips against my hand.

“I want you to finish inside me.” I slurred in my delirium, withdrawing my hand from his dick while he whimpered.

“I-I can’t. I can’t fuck you.” He was asserting a necessary and understandable hard limit, and it was clear I wouldn’t be able to convince him to fuck me that night.

But that wasn’t the plan, anyway.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” I said between gasps, struggling against his fingers still inside me. “Come up here.” I whined, rubbing my hands on his shoulders while simultaneously trying to sit myself up.

The movement and the words made him withdraw completely. “(Y/n)...” He warned, running a hand through his hair while he sat up on his knees. “I could hurt you.”

“That’s always been a risk with us, Spencer.” My retort was both quick and persuasive, judging by the way he almost moved, but stopped himself yet again.

“Please. Please, do it. I want you to do it so fucking bad.” There was an obvious and deep desperation. I was literally begging him, to the point that I swore I almost cried. It felt stupid, but I needed him like I’d never needed anything in my life before. He’d spent months taking care of me, and I couldn’t do anything in return.

I just wanted to make him feel good, to give him something like we used to share.

Of course, I think those thoughts were also visible on my face, and they were obviously worrying him. With tender touches, Spencer’s fingers lightly trailed over the side of my face. The brief flashes of clarity alerted him of my struggle, and he let out a shaky breath at the war inside his own mind.

“I want to feel you inside me, and this is the only way.” I concluded, trying to lead him to the simplest conclusion. It was the safest, easiest way to solve both of our current problems. And although I could see how hard the decision was for him, my pleading eventually bested him.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, leaning forward to grab the headboard, staring down at me as I shimmied further up the wood.

“Fuck!” He repeated, rolling his head back with a light groan when both of my hands reached forward to grab his hips. “Fine. You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute.”

A giggle bubbled through my throat, and my body actually bounced in excitement as he slowly positioned himself in front of me. I wasn’t even sure which I was more excited for, my own orgasm or getting to finally give him one again.

As soon as my mouth closed around the head of his dick, I got my answer. Spencer’s moan filled the room, his hands holding so firmly on the headboard that the entire bed creaked. Although I figured he’d been taking care of himself in my absence, it appeared that wasn’t entirely the case. He seemed just as starved as I was.

“Holy shit.” He groaned, dropping a hand to the top of my head. I had to remind myself that he was drunk, which explained why he seemed so much more responsive than normal, with whimpers and pants flowing steadily through his mouth. He only got louder as he began to slowly push himself further into my mouth, stopping every few inches to retreat before pressing further.

“God, I need to do this more often. No back talk, no whining.” He said in a low tone under his breath, beginning to settle on a steady rhythm.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t think of anything except how fucking good it felt to be useful again, to feel him struggling to hold himself back as he started to more aggressively fuck my mouth. My eyes could barely stay open, but I needed them to. I needed to see him in the dim light of the streetlights that peered through the window.

He looked so beautiful, so perfect, and so mine. Feeling him slide back and forth against my tongue revived memories from long before and reignited my longstanding desire to do anything to please him. In all his caretaking, I was worried he might have forgotten how to control me.

But he hadn't. Thank god, he hadn’t.

“Come on, little girl. Earn your fill.” He whispered, burying himself in my throat and holding me against the headboard. I only lightly choked on the intrusion before my body complied, swallowing him further until my lips were pressed against the base of him.

Suddenly, Spencer withdrew, beginning a brutal, dizzying pace. Now, my eyes couldn’t stay open, rolling to the back of my head as I used my hands to steady myself against his thighs. The sobs trying to escape felt more like moans, and they shoved Spencer over the edge he’d been riding in his caution.

“That’s it. Take it.” He barked the instruction, looking down at me and smiling, “Don’t you dare spill any of it, do you hear me?”

My answer was stifled against him, just the way he wanted it to be. And with a few more rough thrusts, Spencer buried himself as deep as possible. I swore my heart synchronized with the pulsing against my tongue as his seed spilled down my throat.

I hollowed my cheeks, trying to drain every last drop from him as he finished. It had its desired effect, and Spencer grabbed my hair and forced himself deeper one more time with a growl. “Good girl.”

Once he had enough, he pulled out of me with a satisfied grunt, waiting just a second before clumsily falling onto the bed beside me. I laughed as he hit the pillows, obviously too tired to even reposition himself in the disastrous sheets.

“Thank you, daddy.” I spoke in the silence, gingerly cleaning the spit that had dripped down my chin.

“Fuck.” The curse was muffled in the pillow, but I understood it well enough. He seemed more concerned when I started to sink down into the sheets again, reaching a tentative hand out to him.

Finally rolling over, he grabbed my arm and guided me closer. “Come here.” He said with the tenderness I’d grown used to over the past few months. He turned towards me, apparently not ready for me to sleep on my side just yet.

He brushed my hair from my face, lifting the sheets to look at the now mostly healed wound. I hated it when he looked at it. It just reminded me that I’d never be the same girl he first met. Every time he saw it, he would remember that day. I didn’t want to think about it.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

But even with the insecurity and anger in my gut, I wasn’t lying when I answered. “No, I’m fine.” My heart was so full, my body relaxing for the first time in so long. I was just so unbelievably happy to be together again. Even if it wasn’t like last time, it was still just as wonderful.

“I’m a little better than fine, actually.” I admitted with a bright smile.

Spencer hummed something in thought, but then winced. “Do me a favor.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes and wiping a heavy hand over his face.

“Anything.”

“Kick my ass in the morning.”

He was caught off guard by my response, which was a full-hearted laugh that was too loud for how close the two of were. But I couldn’t help it, it was just so Spencer to still be punishing himself despite the fact that nothing bad had happened.

Once I calmed down enough to talk, I turned to him with a devilish grin. “I don’t wanna.”

Then were both laughing, and Spencer pulled me close to him until he could rest his chin on the top of my head, curling up against my side. “Spoiled brat.” He whined, running his hand through my hair and down my arm.

When I smelled the whiskey on his breath, the guilt hit me just as hard as any of the pleasure. I'd been so excited to get to experience this with him again, I almost forgot the reason he didn’t want to do it in the first place.

He just didn’t want to hurt me. He just wanted to make me happy.

“I just wanted to be with you again... I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” I whispered, pulling the covers up so that I could hide my shame beneath them.

“I wanted to be with you, too.” He reassured me, half asleep and barely able to talk but wanting to get the words out. “I know it’s important to you, but I need you to know I would be with you even if I never got to touch you again.”

“Please never stop touching me.” I quickly replied, a genuine worry in my eyes.

But when Spencer glanced over, he just laughed, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“No? Even when I get pregnant and have a big ol’ belly?” I playfully answered, bringing his hand to my stomach and pressing it against the side that still remained intact.

The familiar position caused a shift in Spencer’s body language, and suddenly he was even more insistent on being impossibly closer. “You’ll still be irresistible to me.” He said against my hair, running his fingers lightly over the unmarked skin of my lower stomach.

“We’ll see, I guess.” I mumbled, not realizing that I said it aloud until I heard his confused reply.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” The defensiveness in my voice was terrifyingly transparent, and I hoped that if his drinking made him forget anything, it would be this conversation. “Go to sleep, drunk ass.”

“I need hugs and kisses first.” He complained, rubbing his nose against me in a way that should have been irritating instead of adorable.

“Spoiled.” I grumbled, reaching a hand up to play with his hair. I turned to kiss his cheek through the smile that was plastered over my cheeks.

Already half snoring in his sleepy state, he got out one more cringe worthy joke before he succumbed to his exhaustion. “What’s good for the goose...”

“...is good for the gander.” I finished for him, before taking the advice and following him to sleep.

—————————————————

| Part 18 |

1K notes · View notes

loneveenas · 4 years

Text

through the years

pairing: iwaizumi x f!reader words: 3102 rating: m for the big ending xoxo summary: a birthday series of you and hajime becoming a little closer than just bodyguard and princess.

warnings: fluff with a surprising ending in some hinted on soft-porn :)))

note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @writeiolite // @seijoh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hope you’ve had an amaaazing day!!! <33333 note2: thanks @tamcitrus @hairbleachwhore @settersloveletters for the beta!!!! always vvvv much appreciated mwah!!!

[ e i g h t ]

you open the door softly, looking around the corners of it. your eyes light up as soon as you see him.

“hajime,” you whisper a little louder than intended. “come in, quickly!” you giggled as you dragged him inside your room. “you have to take a look at all the new things i got for my birthday!”

“they’re really nice,” he told you, smiling at every new toy you showed him.

even though the two of you were four years apart from each other and hajime was a mere servant’s child in your palace, in your eyes he was your best friend.

in his, however, you were someone he’d taken a little more liking to, more than just a childhood friend should have.

[ t e n ]

“how’s school?” you ask him. the two of you are lying on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. ever since he started middle school he got so tired when coming back home. you started inviting him into your room to get some rest.

just to rest.

“school’s alright. the cook made me a delicious bento, so that was nice, i guess.”

“oh, wow. what did she make you?”

“it was just sooo good. the rice was cooked so well and oh! she even included some super yummy stewed beef.”

“woah!” you exclaimed. "were your friends jealous?”

hajime grinned. “super jealous.”

“must be nice,” you said after a while, sighing deeply. “i wish i could go to a real school too.”

while you were beginning to feel sick and tired of being homeschooled, your best friend was having a blast in the outside world. in the palace, it was just you and a different teacher every year. of course you’d get jealous of him meeting new people and seeing cooler places.

“maybe when you enter middle school you can?”

“hm… i don’t think so. i never heard mom or dad say anything about it.”

“we can still hope!” he tried.

you shook your head and pouted your lips. “i think i’ll be stuck here, hajime.”

“how was your birthday?” he asked, trying to get your mind off of what was getting you down.

he was expecting your eyes to light up, to have you tell him about your amazing birthday, but you only sighed. “it was okay, i guess.”

you had come to find your birthdays boring if they couldn’t be spent with hajime.

that had hurt him. how could a ten year old think such thoughts that were already dripping with so much concern? it was an unknown feeling to him… but then again, he was just the servant and you were the princess.

[ f o u r t e e n ]

“why can’t you just join me for our family dinner?”

hajime swallowed loudly. “i just can’t, okay?”

though you didn't notice, he had begun to find it harder and harder to stay concentrated around you. your body was growing and he just turned eighteen.

you were still fourteen and he was eighteen.

“but you could two weeks ago?”

“that was because two weeks ago it was my birthday and your parents wanted to congratulate me on becoming an adult.”

“oh,” you said, not quite understanding why he could on his own birthday, but when you asked him to come to yours, he couldn’t.

“i’m just your servant, remember?”

“not just my servant, hajime,” you bit back. “you’re my best friend and i just don’t understand why i can’t have my best friend attend my fourteenth birthday dinner. but i guess— never mind, if you don’t want to.”

you had spat out the words harsher than you’d intended to, but you were already running off to your own room. you slammed the door closed behind you, loud enough for him to hear it.

“stupid hajime,” you said, muffled into your pillow. “stupid, stupid hajime.”

[ t h e n i g h t b e f o r e f i f t e e n ]

the past year had made it clear why hajime couldn’t just have joined your birthday dinner the night you had turned fourteen.

a year later, it was becoming even more clear why the two of you couldn’t just be best friends anymore.

the second morning after you’d turned fourteen, hajime had been introduced to you as your new bodyguard.

he had lied to you.

your parents had lied to you.

your parents had forced him to go to a special training school, in order for him to be perfectly capable in protecting you in any possible situation.

tomorrow was your birthday but you just wanted to forget about it altogether. a birthday vision in which hajime wasn’t your best friend anymore didn’t exist in your mind.

you didn’t want it anymore.

you were just going to stay in your room tomorrow, for the entire day. no one — not even hajime — could try and get you out of your room.

[ s w e e t s i x t e e n ]

whoever thought of the line ‘sweet sixteen’, needed to disappear from the world. you thought it was cheesy and you didn’t want to hear it. from no one.

you also hated the fact that hajime had been right the day you turned ten. you finally convinced your parents that you needed to go to a real high school in order to really think what the people are thinking. your parents were disgusted by the thought of it first, but you kept begging for it, so much that they had to give in.

thus, you celebrated your sixteenth birthday with your new friends from high school. it wasn’t a secret that you were a princess, which is why hajime suspected them a little. he didn’t shy away from the fact that he found all of them suspicious.

you, on the other hand, brushed him off and told him he shouldn’t be such a worrywart. you could tell your friends were genuine. you were sure they were.

“do you have to follow me around the entire day?” you snapped at him, still irritated from his before mentioned suspicion.

“yes.”

“ew.”

“you can spit an ‘ew’ at me all you want, but that’s not on you to decide,” he answered. “i’m in service with your parents, so until you turn eighteen you can’t do anything about it.”

“wow, no need to be so fucking rude.”

you stared at him. you had dropped the f-bomb for the first time in front of his face. it had slipped, in all honesty, but you couldn’t care less. hajime could honestly fuck himself with his stupid dictatorship-business around you.

“just because i can’t do anything about your rude mouth doesn’t mean i’ll stop guarding you.”

“yeah, yeah,” you snapped. “just make sure you stay away far enough from me and my friends tonight. like, on the other side of the hallway, not even near my room. understood?”

“yes, your highness.”

“good.”

you turned around from him. you had had it with him. however, you couldn’t deny the stinging feeling in your chest and your head. it pained you to be talking to him like this, but somehow you just couldn’t stop running your damn mouth.

hajime, on the other hand, had walked away from you. the second he was outside of your sight, he slammed his head against the wall.

you weren’t the only one who’d been having trouble with the forced bodyguard-royal relationship you were in. you were the only one who didn’t know anything about the forced part of it, though.

two more years, he kept thinking. two more years until you were eighteen. two more until you could decide on your own if you wanted him as your bodyguard or as your best friend.

two more years.

[ s e v e n t e e n ]

in the past year, your relationship with hajime had gotten better. he’d been right about your so-called friends and you hated it.

you were heartbroken about it. just when you thought you were making some real friends outside of your palace, they came to bite you in the ass.

hajime had been there for you, though, and you had seen him in a different light again.

but still not the same light he was seeing you in.

one more year, he told himself. one more.

tonight he had come over to your room. that had been a mistake.

you were just getting changed into the new pretty dress you’d gotten for your birthday, when he walked in.

“hajime!” you yelled out, quickly covering your body with your dress.

he immediately turned around, accidentally slapping his head against the door he had just came through.

“fuck,” he cursed and you gasped. that was the first time you’d heard him drop the f-bomb in your presence.

you started laughing loudly, still covering your body. “woah, i never imagined hearing you say that.”

he rubbed his head, not having left the room yet, but with his back turned to you. “i apologize.”

“no need to,” you mumbled.

“could you repeat that?” he asked, still rubbing his head.

you slowly walked up to him. had his back always looked that broad? “have you been working out?”

"uh, yes? yeah. yeah, i have"

“interesting.”

the little hairs in his neck stood upright when he noticed you had come closer than you were before. “why is that?”

“it looks good on you,” you mumbled, placing one finger on his back and trailing it down. hajime was doing the best he could in suppressing a shiver.

“oh,” was the only thing he could say.

the blood was rushing through his veins and he could feel his heartbeat picking up. fuck.

“will you be attending the birthday dinner again?” you trailed your finger back up, smirking about the feeling of the tensed back underneath it.

“as your bodyguard, yes.”

“i see. well, if you can excuse me, i need to get ready.” you inched a little closer, moving your lips up to his ear. “unless you want to watch me get changed, of course,” you whispered, teasingly.

hajime started coughing loudly in reaction to that. “i have to go. please, excuse me, your majesty.” he didn’t even turn around to bow as he left, rushing out in a hurry.

you smirked. so you had been right.

hajime, however, couldn't get back to his own room any faster. he cursed at himself as he tried to get there without any of the other servants noticing his… state.

fuck.

one more year.

one. more. fucking. year.

[ e i g h t e e n ]

hajime stormed inside your bedroom.

“happy eighteenth birthday!” you looked up from your computer, brows furrowed. a quick glance at the clock told you it was just past midnight.

“oh my god,” you exclaimed, “already?!”

he threw himself on your bed, placed your laptop away from you and went to sit across from you.

“happy birthday,” he said again. “i don’t have your gift with me right now, but i just had to come see you as you finally turned eighteen.”

“that’s very sweet of you,” you said, smiling softly at him. he blushed softly in return.

it hadn’t gone unnoticed to you this year that hajime had started blushing more and more these past couple months every time the two of you shared a conversation.

which happened quite often, by the way.

“i… actually came to ask you something,” hajime started, fidgeting with his fingers and swallowing loudly. he was getting nervous and you were enjoying every second of it.

“ask me what?”

“do you remember what i told you the day you turned sixteen?”

“… vaguely?”

“i don’t want to be the bearer of this news but i have to. it’s nothing bad, i promise you! you just have to make the decision of choosing a new bodyguard or keeping—”

“keep you. anytime of the day, any time of the year.”

“oh.”

“yeah. so don’t ever come ask me if i’d trade my best friend for some other lousy shit who doesn’t even know how to do their job. you at least have some experience,” you said in all seriousness.

hajime couldn’t help but laugh out loud. his beautiful laugh erupted and resonated through your room. you, again, enjoyed every second of it.

“good to know,” he finally said, coming to.

“you know, since i turned eighteen, you’re going to be next to me a lot more, right?”

“right.”

“so we better start a more professional talk, then.”

“righ— ah, fuck no.” you giggled at the word. “if you only even think about us dropping any informal speech we have going on i’ll personally request your parents to fire me from being your bodyguard.”

you faked a gasp. “hajime-kun! you would never!”

“oh, shut up. as long as you’re not getting too cocky, i think we’ll be good.”

you leaned in towards him, placing your hands on either side of his knees. “oh? you don’t want the princess getting too cocky around her loyal servant? interesting. i’ll keep that in mind.”

your voice had gotten a little hoarse from leaning in, but something inside you made you much more of a daredevil in trying to seduce your bodyguard (and best friend).

[ n i n e t e e n ]

the past year you’d become much less subtle in the liking you had taken to hajime.

much less subtle. much more affectionate and seductive.

being an adult made you legal, among other things.

you knew that.

hajime knew that too.

the tension had been leading up to something. and you felt like the night you became nineteen was the perfect timing for the final explosion.

you may or may not have slipped a little note in his pocket today telling him to come up to you room.

you also may or may not have planned this entire evening out with candles and everything.

now, you were just waiting on hajime to read the note in private and actually show up tonight, as you were sitting on your bed, all donned up and ready to hunt down your prey.

t w e n t y ]

“i’m interested in you,” you said out loud.

hajime looked up from his book. “you what?”

you groaned. “you heard me. i’m interested in you. weren’t my hallway chases and requests for you to visit me in my room — which you declined most of the time — enough for you to notice?”

“i—” hajime started.

“wasn’t that night on my nineteenth birthday enough? it’s been a year and all i’ve gotten in return was some staring— and i don’t even know what to call your ‘flirting’! it didn’t do the trick for me, that’s something i know for sure.”

the limousine came to a stop and you sighed. not even giving him the time to respond.

“anyways, we’re here. make sure not to have my bags touch the floor or i will fire you.”

you wouldn’t, but it was still nice to watch him fumble about himself with that.

[ t w e n t y t w o]

“are you sure we should be doing this?” hajime whispered in your ear.

you eyed your bodyguard from the side. the road was wobbly and it was still a long way to go.

he’d definitely learned from his mistakes the past two years ago. how the two of you had managed to keep it a secret you honestly had no clue, but it still worked out. no one at the palace was questioning you asking your bodyguard to come into your presence, since that’s something the two of you had been doing ever since you were eight years old.

he was running his hand up your thigh as you were trying to unbutton his shirt.

“yeah we should. doesn’t it make it more fun and exciting either? i’m not in hair and make up yet anyway so that’s not going to be a problem.”

hajime didn’t need to hear anything else. he took his hand off your thigh and you immediately felt cold. you whimpered, and he heard it. he took your hands in his and guided you to sit on his lap. the limo seats were low enough for you not to bump your head into the ceiling. your separated legs made the skirt of your dress ride up, showing him all of your legs. he couldn’t help run his hands over the smooth flesh, moaning as both his hands finally connected with your legs again.

“so i think we have ten minutes. top,” you whispered into his ear, leaving kisses along the outline of his face. “we better get started.”

he hummed into your shoulder, moving his hands down and not bothering to take off your panties. “understood, princess,” he hissed as he wove his fingers underneath the garment and making room for his fingers to dive into your wetness. “oof, babe, already?”

“shut the fuck up,” you said, unable to suppress that well-known shiver that erupted when he called you ‘babe’.

you undid his dress shirt, showing you his bare chest. definitely liking what you saw, you moved your hands up and down his chest, making him shiver this time. you grinned, trailing your finger down, more and more until you reached his pants.

“oh?” you said. “not shying away ourselves either, are we?”

he let out a low growl as you trailed your nail over the outline of his bulge. “shut the fuck up,” said hajime this time and you smiled at him. while undoing his pants and revealing his length to your hands, you kissed him, smiling widely.

“let’s go,” you whispered into his mouth, taking his length between your hands and touching his sensitive spots. “i’m all ready as you can tell, and i think you feel the exact same way.”

if the two of you didn’t have an age gap of a little over four years, it would have made this entire situation a lot easier. then you didn’t have to fill it in in the small breaks you had or the cleared out evening schedules. if the two of you just had had an age gap of two years, maybe even less, all the pining and flirting would have gone and been a lot easier.

all previous ‘gone-wrong’ birthdays were quickly forgotten with hajime by your side. your birthday was finally a great success.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO IOLITE I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS AAAAAAA #YOU DESERVE THE ACTUAL WORLD ILY #haikyuu fic #haikyuuwritersnet #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi imagine #iwaizumi x iolite #lolol #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fanfic #iwaizumi fic #iwaizumi fanfic #dyo's fic

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msommers · 2 years

Note

5 for A-L for Elena!

i took forever to get to these but!! thank you so much!!! // big ol' honkin oc question list

A5. Are they good at handling change in their life?

i think so, yes. purely because on first thought it feels fitting as elena’s birth itself caused a huge change to the city, plus her parents made some big changes with their inventions and following elevation to nobility, it feels right that elena would be able to continue that and go with the flow & adapt to any changes in her life without terrible issue.

B5. Do they hold doors open for people?

100%! absolutely!! elena’s here to help people and make their lives easier, she goes out of her way to open doors for people and help them through if needed. that person who would stand and hold open a door for a small crowd of people waiting outside with a smile on her face the whole time lmao

C5. Do your OC’s morals and rules of common decency go out the window when it comes to those they don’t like, or when it’s inconvenient? Aka, are their morals situational?

not a chance, elena's a goodie good down to the bone and her morals aren't going Anywhere. those things ain't Budging, not an inch. if anything i think that her morals may shine brighter around those she doesn't like, as they're put into the spotlight and never more clear than when somebody's trying to tear her down or find a weak spot to exploit.

D5. Do they believe in ghosts? If not, why? If so, do they think they’re magical/tie into their religion, or are they scientifically plausible?

well, she’s in a fantasy dnd world where ghost are For Sure actual things so she for sure believes in them. i don’t think she’d have any personal beliefs tied to them?? sort of just a thing like yeah dragons, ghosts, goblins, these things just exist in the world.

E5. What’s their highest education level? Do they want to continue their education?

oh gee, what does a tutor hired in the city of whitestone to give elena lessons until she was like 18 count as in terms of education level?? whatever that is. i don't think she'd ever turn down the opportunity to go for a bit more learning, but it's not anything she'd actively seek out at this point. she doesn’t need to understand the deeper history of tal’dorei to help the sick of whitestone, so why bother wasting any more time with her nose in a book?? that’d be silly.

F5. How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera?

i would say that she’s decently handy! her father is a Genius inventor and being a handyman comes along with that, so elena has had plenty of learning experience from watching and helping him with things around their home. she hasn’t grasped the bigger things (aka his farming inventions) but that’s fine, she’s happy enough being able to repair the commonly broken things around homes and the like.

G5. Did they go through any typical phases growing up?

was the suck up kid who always followed the rules and had to make sure everyone else did at all times, the worrywart stage where she was hyper anxious and afraid of things happening to her family/friends/the people she knew and kept asking if she could do anything to prevent the bad things, probably the idealist and do-it-all teen phases (which she hasn’t entirely grown out of yet tbh).

H5. Does your OC believe in marriage (or their culture’s equivalent)?

yes! she has a fantastic example of it growing up with her happily married parents and it’s given her a positive outlook on it, she adores the idea that people can be so in love that they wish to be bound to one another it’s so sweet. that being said, i think she’s also someone that can understand the politically arranged type marriages. she definitely looks more favorably on the “we’re so in love let’s do a marriage about it” type but as a person who is so dedicated to helping a city herself, she can see the benefits that people turn to in a political tie.

I5. Are they a good cook?

yeah 🥰 i imagine she loved helping with meals as a kid and she’s spent a lot of time with her parents in the kitchen since then, always wanting to be of help and maybe steal a spoonful or two of what they’re preparing. she probably has a whole Thing about making food for people as a way to support and care for them tbh

J5. Are they or would they protest for a cause they’re passionate about?

i don’t even need to ramble about this one, the obvious answer is yes she absolutely would do so if necessary.

K5. Does your OC feel isolated or unrelatable due to the experience their PA brings with it? If so, how do they deal with it?

i’ll go with the idea that elena’s divine magic is her PA just to give this one an answer! i think for sure that elena feels such ways at times, though it’s not often she allows herself to think so negatively because she sees her magic (and her entire Being, i suppose) as a gift directly from pelor and it wouldn’t seem very good of her to question or resent such a thing. she knows that there are other people in the world who have divine magic—some of them even from pelor himself as well—but it’s her particular circumstance of being The Sunblessed that came with hers which brings the isolation into play at times. it can get to be a bit heavy on the shoulders after hearing so much from folks about how there must be Big Plans for her, how they can’t wait to see what blessing she brings to the city next, how extraordinary it is for them to know and often interact with a whole ass child of pelor, etc etc.

however i do feel that the root of these feelings is 100% the fact that she hasn’t heard or seen a single thing from the dawnfather, i don’t think she’d have those moments of “they are all expecting such grand things of me, yet i have no idea what i’m supposed to be working towards” if she had any sort of hint from the big guy upstairs lmfao

L5. Which OC do you think is the most decent morally or behaviorally? AKA, which is supposed to a “good guy”?

funnily enough probably elena, emma would be right behind her. like i said before elena’s a Goodie Good to the core, she firmly believes that she was created to help people and that’s her main focus in life, accomplished so far by being almost sickeningly sweet and kind to anybody that she can. i don’t think she’s had any sort of chaotic kind of thought go through her head since she was a little kid, her morals are strong and she’s never strayed from good behavior.

#ch: elena granger #lost all of my braincells but found them again for long enough to write this up #she's just a sweetheart who has a lot of worries pent up but she doesn't really Know about them all bc she doesn't acknowledge them #(elena voice) yeah i feel a little blue sometimes but then i just focus on something else and it goes away isn't that what everyone does

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multific · 5 years

Text

Always Been

Michael Langdon x Reader

Summary: Love was hard as it is, but when you fell in love with someone like Michael, your feelings get more complicated.

A/N: I have not watched any series of AHS, so if this is not accurate to the storyline, I’m sorry, think of it as an AU. I just saw Cody Fern and got inspired by his characters, so if any of you wish to see more of his characters (mainly Michael and Xavier), don’t be afraid to send in your feedback. Hope you like this! Enjoy~

You were in love with Michael, the Antichrist himself.

You met when his grandma, Constance committed suicide, you found him on the streets crying his eyes out.

And since then, the two of you were inseparable.

You saw him doing horrible, terrifying things. You saw him kill, you saw him eat human hearts. And yet, there was something behind all of this that you loved.

You still remember one night, when you realized that you were in love with the boy.

You were walking to his and Miriam’s house when a man attacked you and attempted to kidnap you. You struggled against the man’s hold. You cried for help, but no one came, fear settled in and that’s when he arrived, Michael separated you from the man and brutally killed him. You remember the rage on his face, you had to walk up to him and calm him down while Miriam got rid of the evidence.

As you stood behind him, your hand on his shoulder as they shook with anger. He was taking long and deep breaths like an animal.

“Michael, I’m fine.” you repeated that to him, not only to make him really believe it but you knew that your voice calmed him down.

“I can’t lose you.” he whispered and he hugged you, with his body covered in blood, with you crying from fear and relief, you knew, this wasn’t a matter of friendship to you anymore. Your feelings were much deeper than that.

You were there when he was told about his true identity as the Antichrist.

You weren’t a couple, much to your disappointment, since you decided to hide your feelings from him. You thought that he didn’t need any more complications in his life.

Planning the apocalypse was already a hard task.

Even if Michael could read minds, he still promised to never read yours, that’s why he didn’t know about your feelings.

And now, you were living in Outpost 3 with him.

He changed so much during the past years. But towards you, he was the same. When both of you got Miriam back, that’s when all his confidence came back truly.

“I finally have all my family back.” is what he said.

You were devastated.

You spent so many years, supporting him, loving him, caring for him, and all he saw you was a sister-figure?

You were both angry and sad.

During dinner, you always sat on Michael’s right side. He excused himself to leave the room and that’s when you decided to go to sleep earlier than usual. Making up an excuse that you didn’t feel good.

You left the dining room before Michael could return.

You went up to your room and took a long bath. Not only half an hour later there was a knock.

“Y/N? Are you in there?”

Of course, it was Michael. But he did sound worried.

“Yes. I’m in the bath so don’t come in.” you said, trying not to sound suspicious.

“Okay, Ms. Mead told me you did feel well. Are you sick? Do you need medicine?”

“No, thank you. I think I’m just tired. I will go to bed shortly.”

“I still want to make sure that you are not ill. Call for me when you are done in there.”

“There’s no need for that!” you called out but you knew, he was already gone or he ignored your words.

He always liked to get worried about you.

You let out a long sigh.

You put your head against the bathtub and looked at the ceiling. Thoughts immediately flooding into your mind.

This one-sided love won’t lead anywhere. I need to either leave or forget. Who am I kidding I could never leave him. So, I need to find someone else to love… You thought about all the possibilities that were available, but you made a face of disgust. No one could compare to Michael.

When you got out of the bath and dressed up, with a shaky hand you opened the door to your bedroom, you expected him to be sitting on your bed, waiting for you, but no one was there.

Michael got really worried when you got sick, let it be a simple cold or a twisted ankle, he was always the worrywart. And since he never got sick, he was your personal nurse on one or two occasions.

Then you remembered that you are supposed to call for him, so that’s why he wasn’t there. Maybe he was doing an interview or some satanic stuff. Who knows?

But instead of doing what he asked you to do, you got under your warm covers and went to sleep.

You had a dream.

A wonderful and sweet dream of Michael and you. In your dream you were on a balcony with him, just watching as the sun came up. You knew that it wasn’t a memory. You looked at him and he smiled back at you, the lights from the sun illuminating his perfect blonde locks.

You got woken up from your gorgeous dream by someone touching your forehead.

Your eyes opened and you slowly got used to the darkness in the room. You saw Michael sitting on your bed with his palm against your forehead.

“You didn’t call for me.” he answered a question you never asked. “I came to check if you are sick or not.”

“I’m fine,” you told him trying to shake his handoff. You badly wanted to go back to your dream, so you closed your eyes, but his voice made you open them once again.

“You are not. Physically, yes. You are more than healthy, but I’m worried about what’s going on in there.” he said as he pointed at your forehead.

“I told you, I’m fine. I just feel exhausted, this whole end of the world is a bit much. And people here… I don’t really like them.”

“Understandable. They are all idiots and they are no fun either. But only if you’d let me look into your head for a second, maybe I’d understand better. I could be a lot more help.” it’s not like Michael needed approval from anyone. But you were different.

“No! That’s- no. You promised me you never would.” you said sitting up in your bed and looking at him with a serious face.

“I know. But I’m really worried. I cannot lose you.”

“You won’t, I promise. I’m fine. I just need to sleep.” you said and tried to convince him with a reassuring smile. But he didn’t look convinced. He just looked at barely blinking. Since you were still a bit tired from your sleep, you laid back and looked at the ceiling. Trying not to think of anything.

“Is this about Ms Mead? I know you don’t like the idea of an android bu-“

“No, that’s not it,” you said letting out a sigh.

“Then help me understand.”

“I can’t. If I say it, it might ruin everything. You might hate me or leave me.”

“That will never happen and you know that. Tell me, Y/N. I know this is not new with you. I have seen you many times just looking into nothing letting out a big sigh and nearly cry.”

He noticed?

It was true, you liked to overthink stuff, but you always tried to do it alone and hoped he would never notice. Like the time a girl flirted with him. You were so sad that Ms Mead ended up sacrificing the girl just so you will get better. Which you did, even with the circumstances.

“Just, tell me, please. I’m so desperate, I try to make you happy, I got Miriam back, and now I’m on the edge of losing you and I don’t even know why.”

You were afraid to look at him, you knew that if you’d meet his eyes, it would be over for you. But you needed to give him a proper explanation.

“Promise me. That even if you reject me, don’t send me away.” you said and he sat you up to hold you close to his chest.

“Why would I?”

“I love you.” you said it, but something in you told you that he didn’t understand it so you explained yourself, while you were still hugging him. “I fell in love with you the day we met and only realized it when you saved me from that lunatic. I have been hiding my feelings for so long. Miriam helped me though. She knew about how I felt, said she saw my feelings in my eyes. And I’m so afraid that you only see me as a sister or friend, when I feel so deeply for you.” you slowly let go of him but you still didn’t look at him only when he placed his finger under your chin to make you look into his eyes.

He never, ever looked at you so deeply. He had a serious face on and when he saw a tear roll down your eye, his thumb was quick to catch it.

“I broke my promise.” he said. And you were confused for a second but when you realized what he was talking about, you shoved him back.

“You-No.”

“I needed to know if you were telling me the truth or just what I wanted to hear.”

“What you wanted to…What are you talking about?”

“I knew that I was in love the moment I looked into your eyes. I was still a boy, crying in a dark alley and then you came, an angel, to save me. Your voice, your eyes and your gentle heart. I thought I would never deserve it, which I probably don’t. But hearing you say this. Makes me more than just hopeful and happy. Seeing your memories… here let me show you mine.” he said as he placed his palm against your head, closing his eyes.

Pure confusion is what you felt, but then you started to see pictures, his memories.

You saw yourself, the way he saw you, you felt his emotions all the confusion, nervousness, self-doubt, and finally, love. Love as pure as a man like him can feel.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked, you placed your forehead against his.

“Looks like, both of us are idiots.”

“Seems like it. So, are you mine now, My Queen?” he asked.

“I had always been.”

And with that he leant in to seal your deal with his lips. Such wonderful lips he had, soft and just the right amount of full and warm.

That night, for the first time in a long while, you set your head against his chest and fell asleep, knowing that when you wake up in the morning, he’d be still there, holding you, kissing you, loving you.

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ask-chef-teruteru · 4 years

Note

A note lay in waiting in Teruteru's home, somewhere he'd see it when thinking about his deepest life regrets. It reads; "If you yourself cannot release it will come to take a piece" (M!A: Regrets! For the next 24 hours (asks) muse is haunted by a Crypt TV monster known as the Looksee, where muse must confront their life's greatest regrets, and either release their regretful feelings, or face the dire consequences at the hand of the monster roaming their home)

This was getting ridiculous. Yes, it’d been a stressful last few days; yes, it’d been a stressful span of far longer than that if he wanted to get technical— and he didn’t— but it wasn’t like he hadn’t been able to shrug it off before! There was no sense in being such a worrywart or beating himself up for things that’d already passed. He could hardly be considered the same person that he once was. Different than the annoying little pervert who tried to peek under every skirt with a hemline high enough, different from the newly-named ultimate student who would’ve rather come off as superficial and shallow before he’d breathe a word about his home and family, certainly different from the lost soul who’d given up on hope and life ever getting any better.

As he aimlessly puttered around the diner— Teruteru should’ve left nearly two hours ago when he’d changed the sign to display that they were now closed— he couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe it didn’t always feel like things were much better. He hadn’t overlooked the worried glances amongst the restaurant’s small staff, nor the pitying glances of longtime patrons. He’d so recently had a panic attack and— while he was grateful that he hadn’t fainted in front of said staff or patrons, it was still mortifying. Were all of his lovely visitors sweeter than sugar and simply trying to check in on him?— of course. Did word reach his mother when he’d pleaded for no one to upset her with that sort of news?— no, and it came as no small relief.

... Had he hardly left the kitchen, barely spoken a word to so much as a single person since that unfortunate blunder? No, he hadn’t. Having everyone feel sorry for him, having to find increasingly more creative ways to avoid answering what’d happened, having to hear offhand theories about whether or not it’d be best for him to stay out of the kitchen for a while because what if it was something hereditary, your poor mother fell and got hurt pretty bad last year, didnt she— it was making him feel sick. Angry. His whole purpose in life was supposed to make people happy, and now what? There were no smiling faces. There was no praise for his cooking or appreciation for his hard work— just too-soft tones wishing that he’d take the day off or remarking on whether he hadn’t gotten enough sleep lately or whether he’d been crying or whether he was getting sick.

If they’d just forget it already I wouldn’t look like shit n’ y’all wouldn’t need t’ keep askin’.

Heaving a sigh, the chef rubbed a hand to his cheek. He’d been gritting his teeth too often lately, making his jaw sore. What was one more thing on the list of his bad habits though?

... Had that list actually gotten any better over the years? Was he really that much different than he once was, or was it all just wishful thinking? What difference did it make if people didn’t want to be near him for fear of wandering hands or if it was for fear of being murdered?

What excuse was there? That he’d been forced into a killing game? That he hadn’t been the only one? Was that supposed to be a consolation? He’d been the first to be driven to take someone else’s life. He’d had every opportunity in the world to prevent the first death from occurring, but had he prevented it? No. No, of course not. He was too much of a coward for that. Why keep his friends safe from a potential threat when he could try to take the easy way out instead? The Most Tragic Event could’ve been sloughed off on the technicality of being brainwashed—he wasn’t, damned well knew what he was doing the entire time even if Enoshima’s manipulation had gotten him to that new low— but so what? Jabberwock Island couldn’t. 'Boo hoo, it was a killing game, who wouldn’t have done the same thing to see their family, don’t blame yourself, Teruteru!'— all those who’d survived perhaps? All of the innocent victims who’d deserved better? The one who’d willingly given up their life because they’d given their word that no one would die so long as they were around?

He didn’t deserve the diner to still be standing or for his mother to still be alive.

The thought knocked the wind out of him, but it wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t been proud of the Hanamura Diner for a longer span of time than he had, and why did he deserve to have his life in tact after the Tragedy where so many countless others didn’t? Why’d he deserve to wake up when he should’ve been dead following his execution? Why’d he deserve to not even have to remember all the atrocities he’d committed under despair’s influence when it’d destroyed other people’s lives forever?

The simple truth of it was that he didn’t. Even if the title of Ultimate Cook meant anything at all, even if he was still making people smile with his cooking— and that was the kicker, he hadn’t been lately!— it wasn’t worth it! He wasn’t worth it! The scales of how much he was enriching the world by being in it would never outweigh the harm he’d caused.

Instead of looking for things to do to keep himself from being idle for more than a few seconds at a time, he could’ve been actually spending time with the family he literally would’ve killed to see. Mama’d been getting tired early recently— would no doubt have turned in for the night if not have fallen asleep in her chair, waiting on her ingrate of a son to return by now.

The chef had been halfway considering leaving when he felt that familiar weight on his heart becoming too strong again; he’d stopped keeping himself moving for too long and he couldn’t stand how much of a crybaby he’d become any time he thought too hard about anything lately. He wasn’t going to drag his sorry ass through the door with watery eyes and a runny nose. Was hard enough lying to his mama’s face when she asked him what was wrong and he knew he couldn’t keep up the charade if he was so obvious from the get-go. She’d been through enough and if making her life easier was as simple as putting on a brave face, then the least he could do was be a good enough son to not get that part wrong.

Still. The diner was already spotless; save for a few spots that showed the establishment’s age, what was left to do? The floors were clean enough to eat off, the kitchen was clean enough to perform surgery in, and even the bathroom looked like the untouched model room of some fancy home magazine. Hell, he’d already been daring enough to drag out the ladder this week, clean the windows far beyond what he could reach from the ground, operating with the hopes of the ladder not being too wobbly with no one there to hold it steady—or call an ambulance if he fell. Save for making notes on what could stand to be renovated— which inspired more dread than excitement lately— what else was there to do?

Just a little bit more tidying up— five minutes at most— and then he’d get his shit together and go home. He could do that.

Straightening up a few chairs that would be immediately askew the second a customer took a seat, checking beneath tabletops for any dried wads of gum— no more since the last time he’d checked a couple of days ago, how nice— and finally he went behind the counter to wipe the dust from a picture that’d been hanging back there for ages. He’d hated that picture for the longest time— while he’d at least deviated from that terrible bowl cut, he hadn’t quite refined his current style and the humidity had been particularly awful; his mama stood beside him, her own hair more than a little frizzy and the wind did nothing for either of them. The restaurant stood as their backdrop, the sign behind them proudly displaying that it was the Hanamura Diner. Teruteru smiled a little, recalling the memory of that day. In the photo he was proudly, if a little sheepishly, holding up his brand new apron with its shiny new third star, and his mama had a tear glistening in her eye.

You did it, baby! You been workin’ so hard n’ you earnt e’ry las’ one o’ dem stars! Heehee, now y’all cain’t go ‘roun’ sayin’ I go talkin’ up your cookin’ more’n it deserves, y’hear me? E’rybody gotta eat n’ you givin’ ‘em food dat taste like they home— even if they ain’ had a home a’fore. That matters to people, baby— you bringin’ joy into dis world n’ I couldn’t be more proud!

He’d giggled then and, for the first time, he truly believed it.

Gently wiping the dust from the glass, Teruteru’s eyes lingered on the photo for a while longer, finding some much needed comfort in the memory of that day. Heart feeling lighter, he moved to put it back on the wall and—

Stopped. Of course the picture had been there for years now, the portion of wall that’d been beneath the frame was considerably lighter, but it wasn’t right. The surrounding wall looked... Different? Not the yellowed effect of something that’d been there entirely too long, but...He frowned a little, feeling as though he was on the verge of some kind of epiphany— like something was on the tip of his tongue or just tantalizingly out of reach, but movement caught his eye and the moment passed. A note with darkly scrawled text fluttered to the ground. Had that been stuck to the back of the picture frame?

If you yourself cannot release, it will come to take a piece

He read it once. Twice. Flipped the paper over and furrowed his brows upon finding no further explanation. The paper didn’t look aged— if anything, it looked like it could’ve been stuck back there just this morning.

Despite the words meaning very little to him, Teruteru still felt like he shouldn’t throw it away. In his efforts to fold the note and put it in his pocket, the picture frame slipped from his hands and landed face down with an audible crunch that immediately made him wince. As though being gentle would do any good now, he delicately picked up the picture and his heart immediately sank upon seeing the huge crack in the glass. The bare spot on the wall looked bad, but he couldn’t just put their picture back as it was.

Hugging it to his chest a little, fishing his keys out of his pocket and brushing past the note, he decided it was best to go home. He’d done enough. Even one of the fluorescents was beginning to buzz in protest of the double shift. After turning out the lights and stepping outside, he made sure to lock the door, tugging at it despite knowing it wouldn’t budge.

He felt a chill run down his back as he was met with the outside air on his neck and was hit with another dawning epiphany. Something was wrong here too.

There was no sound of trees rustling in the breeze; his hair wasn’t getting into his face like it had on the breezy day of the photo. Wind wasn’t sending a shiver down his spine.

Frozen in fear, he could only look into the freshly cleaned pane of glass on the door; so clean he could see himself in it. So clean he could see something behind him in it. No face save for a wide maw with sharp teeth; spindly fingers with even longer claws; stitches or scars or something along its face that gave its skin a patchwork effect while also bringing with it the distinctive odor of infection. Rot. Spoiled meat— of course he’d know that smell. And it was breathing down his neck.

Mustering up what minute amount of courage he had, Teruteru spun around as fast as he could to face it—

But there was nothing there.

All at once he was reminded of every last comment to take the day off, that he should get more sleep, that he was looking awful, and he gritted his teeth again. A clean conscience was supposed to make for a great pillow, but he wouldn’t know, would he? So no, he wouldn’t be getting any sleep, would be looking apparently awful enough to tell him so, and... What? Was taking the day off and squandering his talent going to do any good at all? No, it wouldn’t.

Tomorrow. Things would get better... Tomorrow? Did anything ever actually get better that fast? What’s more, hadn’t he already come to the conclusion that things rarely got better at all? Looking at the photo in his hands again, the answer was obvious. Trying to calm himself down enough to look cheery on the off chance that his mother was awake, the answer was obvious. Dreading coming back in the morning to the diner that he loved filled with the people he loved and doing the job he loved because he couldn’t make them happy, the answer was obvious.

As the figure he’d seen reflected in the door followed behind him, its steps silent, the answer was obvious.

No, things wouldn’t get better.

M!A: Regrets 0/24

#asks #anon #magic anon #a splash of #trauma cw #murder cw #blood cw #body horror cw #[recommend the crypt tv series if you arent sensitive to the cws listed]#[havent watched All of it yet but im invested]#[i. i think i Gotta answer more lighthearted asks in between this event or ill burn yall out]#[so like? consider this to be the main plot rn and the light stuff being before this goes down i guess?]#[im not becomimg an angst blog i swear]#[ill tag this as]#looksee #[for the people who dont wanna see this event though because i cant imagine everyone being into it]#long post #event: out of the frying pan

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kyulkyungs · 5 years

Text

soulmate!jisung

request: Can you do a Jisung soulmate au or Boyfriend au (Hihi!! This is a total can-do for me!! Hope you enjoy!!)

others: jaemin | jeno | haechan

in which your injuries show up on his body and vice versa

you weren’t known for being very clusmy

in fact you weren’t known for that at all

you were the most careful person most would ever meet

yet why were there so many bruises all over your legs and the skin splitting on the palms of your hands constantly

your only answer was that you probably sleepwalk and do something extraordinarily crazy every single time

or your soulmate does something extraordinarily crazy every single time

all of this is mostly true

you had no idea why you used to wake up with bruises on your knees and shins and feeling scratchy on your hands

heck you were sure the bruises had bruises and the callouses had callouses

but you honestly felt as if you got an injury you’d worry your soulmate more than they worried you

because to see that they had never received an injury that they didn’t know if it’s origin for the first time would probably make them settle into a panic

you know this because once you gave yourself a bruise by bonking into the corner of the table and jisung nearly screeched and hollered to his friends about how you were going to have to go to the hospital

“jisung chill it’s just a bruise”

“jUSt a- pfff jUsT a BruISE mY BUtT lOOk”

“............. it’s literally the size of a dime, it’s not even that bad”

“noT EvEn That BAD whAT lET ME tEll You-”

he’s just a worrywart but not so much for himself lmao

but he’s so used to this sort of stuff

he dances and trips because there’s not enough grip for his shoes or feet, he’ll slide across the floor and accidentally skin his knees, or too much action on the ground to catch himself leaves marks on his hands

at this point you’re just used to having to hold things a certain way so that it doesn’t hurt to hold pencils or cups and stuff

some people pointed out that the way you hold utensils and writing objects reminds them of a elementary scholar and you just blankly look at them and are like yeah i sort of feel like one with all the scrapes and bruises on me all the time

like seriously you have skinned knees all the time and still healing scrapes on your elbows and fading bruises on your legs

there was an instance where there were no bruises or scratches or scrapes for a week or two and the only thing you could feel was a strange soreness

and you concluded that your soulmate was sick due to the heavy feeling in your chest like you were being sat on as well as the throat pains

that time was like a breeze because you could finally wear that one t-shirt you’d been wanting to wear out but you had so many marks that you’d get weird looks

so you went out with a friend to stores and shops and just hanging out in general

and by the time it came to sun down you were heading back and decided to walk into a market by home for a quick snack

you ended up standing in one of the aisles longer than you expected because you couldn’t decide between two of your faves almfalkdngnsflkn

when you finally decided and got into checkout you were right behind this guy who was sniffling and coughing into his hand with cough drops in the other

you were inching away as much as you could without losing your spot in line because him coughing into his hands was gross and germy and just hearing it made your throat kind of itchy as well

he kept shuffling around and it kept causing you to shuffle as well because you just wanted snack, not germ attack

and plus you didn’t want your soulmate getting any injuries or problems during this one peaceful time where they weren’t giving both of you any of them

but it was kind of hard to do that with this guy’s constant shuffling around it was like he was trying to jam out there but couldn’t confine himself to a small area without getting in someone’s way

and suddenly he’s like moonwalking backwards and you’re scrambling to get out of the way and when you do that you hit the shelf next to you and wind up hitting your head pretty hard

he stops when he hears the sound, but because you’re not fully out of the way and he’s turning so fast...

he ends up tripping over you and knocking himself over on the ground

“are you okay?” you squeak out, but there’s a throbbing in the back of your head where you hit the metal shelf

the guy just groans and rubs the back of his head and then slowly gets up

which was.............. unusual....... because????

he fell right on his butt

and you were coherent enough to see that he didn’t hit his head at all...... to confirm your questions and rapidly fired suspicions there soon came a throbbing in your rear

suddenly the aching in your chest wasn’t just from the heavy feeling from your soulmate’s sickness in front of you.....

“i’m sorry, are you okay?” the guy asked and wow he’s tall?

he was wearing a face mask, presumably to keep from spreading his cold, but his eyes..... they were so expressive and so................ pretty

“yeah, i think you’re my-”

“oh my gosh! i have a cut on your arm!”

and sure enough you look down and there’s a small cut from one of the plastic cases that you grazed

it’s slightly bleeding, but it’s not so concerning

the guy is freaking out too much to let you get a word in and he’s about to go rushing off to find some bandages in another aisle until you grab him by the arm

he lets out a yelp because it stings and it’s not because of your tight grip

he still doesn’t understand when you try to tug his sleeve up until he finds a light cut on his arm....... right where your’s is

“where did i get this? i didn’t-”

“you’re my soulmate”

and at this........ he finally understands

he was so confused that it hurt but at the same time it was.... pretty cute hehe

he’s trying to wrap his mind around his soulmate being right in front of him and looking at your identical cuts and seeing you gingerly rub the back of your head

and then he moves one step further to see if you’re not messing with him somehow

“does your butt hurt?”

“i- well, you’re not feeling it to find out”

at this he goes really red and in the end confirms to himself that you are his soulmate

and he pays for your snacks as an apology, but he feels like he would’ve done it any other way regardless

especially when he thought you were so cute *u*

when the two of you leave the store, you find out that the cutie’s name is jisung and he tests your name on his lips and you have to look away when he nods approvingly like that was the perfect sound for him to ever make

he also starts telling you about how he dances and likes to try neat tricks with moves and different styles

to which you point out that you get a lot of bruises and scratches and marks from that and he starts rapidly apologizing

but you tell him to make it up to you by showing you (and/or teaching you ;)) dancing sometime

jisung is also very adamant about holding your hand right at that moment because he is very worried that you will fall and he must save you so you don’t get any more hurt than you were

and if he falls you can save him instead!

more like he was already falling for you

but later on did he realize that you did end up catching his sickness because he kept coughing in his hands

(but he made sure to take extra care of you, which was okay minus the new burn mark on your hand from him trying to make you hot soup)

#elli writes #jisung #nct #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fluff #fluff #soulmate au #neutral pronouns

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straykidsscribbles · 5 years

Text

For Who Could Ever Learn to Love a Dragon?

My one year anniversary fic- I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve written for Minho. Thank you to all of you, for all the support, patience, and kindness. You’re amazing. I hope you enjoy this, and my other works. My masterlist is in my description.

Summary: The mountain always looked terribly mysterious, and the dragon trapped inside was cruel and lost... never to be loved by anyone again.

Word Count: 9233 words, Beauty and the Beast AU, Minho x neutral reader

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a young prince. His name was Lee Minho, and he was well known throughout the lands as one of the most talented dancers of his generation. People would travel far and wide to come and see his performances. Minho received award after award, accolades aplenty, and adoration from all around him.

Unfortunately… the praise ended up getting to his head. And so, Minho’s talent morphed into vanity and hubris. People who had longed to learn from him or just meet him even were disappointed by his cutting words and cruel language.

A year passed in this manner, and Minho only grew more and more vain. He began turning away even the students that had studied under him for years and the teammates that he had once danced with. Minho grew single minded in focus, everything centering around the mastery of his art.

That is, until that fateful day.

Minho was practicing in his main studio, mirrors all around him so that he could analyze his own movements and perfect them as best he could. He was so engrossed that he didn’t notice one of the servants knocking lightly on the doorframe.

“Your highness?” the servant asked, trying to catch Minho’s attention. “There’s someone here to see you my lord. May I show them in?”

Minho looked up and rolled his eyes, turning away from the servant. “I’m busy. You have your instructions. If someone wishes to see me during practice, they can come back when I’m free. I’m not changing my schedule to accommodate anyone. Why on earth should I? I’m a prince after all.”

“My lord, you must see them!” The servant was getting more agitated, wringing his hands worriedly.

Fire flashed through Minho’s eyes. “Did you just imply that I am required to do something? Excuse me? Leave my sight right this instant, and if I see you again, you’ll regret it for the rest of your days.”

The servant bowed and backed away, cringing under the deadly glare Minho was directing at him, Minho turned back to his dance practice, stepping quickly into rhythm and letting the music float over him, carrying him with it.

Light footsteps sounded behind him.

“So, you really are as vain and horrid as they say you are,” a quiet voice mused from behind him. Minho whirled around, furious at being interrupted again.

“How dare you interrupt me?” he snarled at the black cloaked figure standing in front of him.

The figure laughed coldly. “How dare I? How dare you, Lee Minho? How dare you behave in such a manner to a witch with my power. Either you apologize right now, or regret it for the rest of your days”

Minho let out a scornful laugh. “Why would I, a prince, apologize to a stupid, ugly, pathetic old crone like you?”

And that was the last laugh that escaped his lips. The witch let out a snarl, smashing her stave against the stone floor of the castle. Curls of bright green magic spiraled through the air, filling the hall with the smell of acrid smoke.

“Your vanity has brought about your downfall young prince. I curse you to live as a creature befitting your ridiculous vanity—I curse you to be a dragon until you can learn the humility required to be human once more. You have until this flower dies to change your very being from the inside out, else you will be forced to take this form for eternity!” She slammed her stave against the ground three times, and a cloud of white vapor swirled around her.

When the vapor vanished, so had she. Only a pretty white iris lay in her wake.

Minho couldn’t concentrate on the woman’s disappearance however. Sharp pains suddenly wracked his body; the green curls of magic that had remained even after the witch disappeared wrapped themselves around him. He felt his limbs changing, his body growing longer and more lithe.

Then, his back began to burn. It burned as though someone had poured molten lava over it, scouring and puckering his skin even as he felt his shoulder blades growing longer and longer, until they became like a second pair of arms. He writhed in pain as his body twisted and morphed, until finally, blessedly, the world went black around him.

His final thought was only asking, begging, to know what kind of monster he had just become.

---

You pulled yourself up onto the kitchen counter, biting into an apple that you’d plucked from the tree outside. Today was your least favorite day of the month—departure day.

You and your brother Felix had been living together for many years in this town, studying dancing under a celebrated dance master who had moved to the country to establish his own school. The only real difficulty was in living so far away from your parents but having your brother with you helped deal with the loneliness.

That is, only when he was there. Which, incidentally, is what made this day so miserable. Felix would be leaving to go back home, while you remained to take care of your home alone—and while you took turns going back, the separation was never easy on whoever was left behind.

“Now remember, stay on the roads, and make sure you don’t wander! There are bandits and all sort of other dangers around here.” You instructed Felix.

He rolled his eyes as he pushed the last of his provisions into his bag. “I’m going to be fine you old worrywart. I’ll be back within the week, is there anything you want me to bring back?”

You thought for a second, mentally running through the list of items that you’d left at your parents’ home. “I think I left my favorite record at home, you know the one that we still haven’t come up with a choreography for? Bring it back with you, I’m sick of not being able to come up with something for it.”

“Anything else?” He pushed open the kitchen door to the yard, where the car was waiting.

“No, just hurry home soon would you?” Felix nodded and quickly started the car and waved to you from behind the wheel.

You waved back, ignoring the strange apprehensive feeling that kept fluttering in your stomach.

---

About a week later, Felix was driving as fast as he could in the pouring rain, trying to get home as soon as he could. The car had already made a few ominous noises, and he did not want to be caught outside in the storm, and that too on top of a mountain.

All around him, the wind shrieked through the trees lining the side of the road. Felix had even heard a few wolves howling wildly almost as though they were hunting for prey under the cover of the night.

His nerves were rising at every little sound that filled the small car’s cabin. He could hear every little creak of the straining engine, every whistle of the wind outside, every hair-raising, inexplicable noise that came through the windows and dove straight into his heart. The sooner I get out of this mess, the better.

Unfortunately, right as he had that thought, the car gave off a large splutter and died, smoke rising from underneath the hood. Felix groaned to himself, getting out of the car and over to the smoking hood.

He opened it, only to find more smoke and what looked like a battery that had shorted out from all the rain.

“Wonderful. This doesn’t look like I can fix it any time soon,” Felix grumbled as he went back to his seat and pulled out his bag. “Might as well try and see if there’s any caves or something nearby that I can shelter in.”

Right at that moment, a flash of lightning lit up the dusty country road. Felix glanced up and caught sight of a door cut into the side of the mountain he’d been driving up. He rushed towards it, disregarding the brambles that cut at his clothes and hands. Reaching the door, he pounded on it wildly, screaming for someone to open it.

No one responded. Felix’s cries grew more and more desperate in sound and he pounded a little harder.

And then, his fist caught on a hidden pressure plate in the door. It swung up without a warning, leaving Felix reeling and stumbling over himself as he entered the room behind the door.

That is, room was a bit of a misnomer. The area was enormous, with ceilings easily a hundred feet high and torches lining the walls wherever Felix looked. He shrugged off his soaked cloak and left it in a heap next to the door, moving closer to what appeared to be an enormous sunken fire pit in the center of the room.

Teeth chattering, he reached out towards the lightly glowing coals, trying to leech some semblance of warmth back into his fingers. Let me rest for a few minutes, then I can go back and try and get the car started again.

Those few minutes were enough though, and Felix’s eyes slowly began to droop shut, until he was fast asleep on the floor of the enormous hall.

---

“HOW DARE YOU WALTZ INTO MY CASTLE AND TREAT IT LIKE YOUR PERSONAL DRIP CATCHER!” A thundering roar shook the walls of the hall and Felix started awake, sitting up abruptly and almost hitting his head on something that had just appeared in front of him.

He blinked a few times, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. “Wha- where am I?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“You, pathetic little blob, are in my mountain castle. MY CASTLE!” The voice growled.

“I’m sorry, I only hid here to shelter from the rain. Please, forgive me for trespassing sir.” Felix doubted the apology would have any effect, yet he attempted it regardless.

“An apology is NOT enough. You dared enter; now you will never leave. Enjoy rotting here for the rest of your miserable life.” An enormous something came hurtling down towards Felix’s prone figure out of the middle of the air and scooped him up. Felix screamed at the sudden loss of solid ground underneath his feet. He hurtled through the air for a moment before crashing into a tiny nook about thirty feet in the air.

Felix figured he didn’t really have options aside from begging at this point. “Please, my family needs me! I can’t leave them alone! I beg of you sir, spare me and let me go.”

By now, the something that had scooped Felix up had gone back to the ground and was tapping the bag that he’d left near the fire pit. The contents of it soon spilled over the floor, and the something moved into the light.

Felix couldn’t stop the horrified gasp that escaped his lips as the light fell on his captor.

He was being held captive by a dragon.

A DRAGON. I’M DEAD. THERE IS NO WAY I’M EVER GOING TO ESCAPE. His breathing got faster, almost to the point of hyperventilation.

The dragon poked gingerly at the pile of items that Felix’s bag had contained. One in particular caught his eye- the record _____ had requested.

“You have a set of records but no instruments, only extra clothing and foot wraps. Are you a dancer?” The dragon’s voice had changed slightly in timber, an almost longing note lacing the edge of his question.

Felix gulped in a breath and replied in the affirmative. The dragon hummed thoughtfully, an utterly terrifying noise that shook the walls of the room slightly.

“I think I’ll keep this in my personal collection.” He swiped the record up and gingerly clutched it in one paw. Slowly, the dragon’s enormous wings spread, and he made to loft himself off the ground and back into whatever passages he may have been hiding in before.

Now or never Felix. You can’t let him take it. “Wait! That’s not yours! You can’t have it!”

The dragon cackled wildly. “Well, if the owner comes, we can discuss what happens with both you and your record. And you. It’s about time I had a dancer to perform my dances for me.”

And with that ominous statement the dragon lofted himself into the air, leaving gusts of wind in his wake that chilled Felix to the bone in his still damp clothing.

I hope _____ doesn’t come looking for me.

---

You frowned at the calendar. Felix was supposed to have returned two days previously, and he’d apparently left your parents’ home on time. Yet there was absolutely no sign of him anywhere, and none of the travelers from that direction recalled passing a boy around his age.

Needless to say, you were out of your mind with worry.

He was your younger brother, your responsibility, and you’d let him go off on his own. If I’d been with him, he might not have gotten lost. What if someone kidnapped him, or he got stabbed and left on the side of the road? What if he got enchanted by some witch? What if he-

You shook your head violently, trying to get the horrible thought out of your mind. Felix is fine, and I am going to go find him.

Mind made up, you quickly threw together some spare clothes, food, and money into a bag. Now that you had a plan, you felt slightly lighter, like someone had relieved the pressure weighing down on you. You quickly stuffed your feet into your boots and ran out the door, bag slung over one shoulder.

Hopefully the dance teacher will let me borrow his car if I say it’s because Felix is missing.

You stalked through the outskirts of town, walking quickly to avoid the somewhat sleazy gazes of the young men loitering in the alleys. It was the fastest route to the heart of town; a detour would only slow you down.

“Hey babe, how about you stop walking so fast? We’re just looking?” One of them called out. Another one whistled as he looked you over, eyes lingering inappropriately.

You ignored them, pulling your bag closer to yourself and walking faster, an angry glare painting your face. If those idiots even breathe on me I will scream bloody murder and claw their eyes out.

“Awww, don’t scowl like that babe, your mouth looks so pretty when you aren’t frowning.” The first one called after you as you stormed out of the alley onto the main road.

People. Finally.

You quickly knocked on the door of the studio, hoping that you wouldn’t be stuck outside for long. Within a few seconds the door swung open.

“____? Is everything alright?” your teacher asked, a worried expression clouding his face.

“I’m fine sir, I just… Felix is missing and he took our car. Is there any way I can borrow your car to go look for him?” The man’s face softened, and he nodded.

“I’d offer you tea or something but I’m guessing you want to leave immediately?” You nodded mutely. “Come inside, I’ll get you the keys and you can leave from the back entrance.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I just hope you find him safe and sound.” Me too.

Five minutes later you were cruising along the main road, eyes laser focused on the pavement in front of you.

---

Three hours later, your hands were beginning to hurt from how tightly you were clutching the steering wheel and you were almost sure that the second you took your foot off the accelerator it would cramp up. Pushing onwards with only willpower and desperation to fuel you, you began your steady descent down the mountain road.

You were on your way down the hill when you saw it. Sure enough, there was Felix’s car, parked at an angle to the road.

And it was empty.

You quickly pulled over and ran over to the car, searching wildly for any sign of Felix. Something, anything to tell you that he was still alive and not lying dead somewhere after rolling down the mountain side.

As you were examining the driver’s seat, you happened to glance up. The light was striking the side of the mountain at an odd angle, and you could almost swear there was a door cut into the rock with a path leading away from the door towards it.

“I wonder…” you grabbed your bag from the car and sling it over one shoulder, making your way up the path to the door. You scrabbled around on the smooth surface until your fingers caught on a latch and the door swung open.

A dark, empty space loomed in front of you, completely devoid of any light. You took a deep breath, and then stepped inside.

This is for Felix.

Almost immediately the door closed behind you, leaving you trapped in the darkness. The world was pitch black around you, making it seem like someone had trapped you deep underground.

The panic rose in your throat. Walls seemed to close in around you. A ringing began to sound in your ears. You’d never been stuck somewhere so dark before. Somewhere so utterly terrifying.

I’m going to die here, and no one will ever find me.

Suddenly, a crevice that spiraled all the way around the hall sparked to life, flames flickering and lighting the enormous hall in front of you. You immediately felt your breathing ease and the tension seep from your limbs.

And then, you saw the tiny, curled up figure tucked inside a niche on the other side of the hall. Bars covered the niche’s entrance, and all around you the walls loomed up in sheer black darkness.

“Felix!” you yelled, voice cracking in desperation. A narrow ledge connected the two of you and you clutched your way along the stone wall towards him, ignoring the steep drop below you. “Felix!”

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from tear encrusted eyes. “____?” You can’t be here, you have to leave!”

“I’m not leaving here without you! Do you have even the slightest idea how worried I’ve been? I was going mad waiting for you to come home. Good thing I did come, now we can get out.” You shook the bars roughly, trying to get them to swing open somehow. Come on, come on, open damn it! I can’t leave him.

Felix shook his head, pushing you away roughly. “Get out of here, before the dragon comes back. Please, I’d never forgive myself if you got stuck here with me. Tell Mom and Dad I love them, yeah? I’ll miss you.”

A sob escaped your throat as you turned to go back to the door. “I’ll get you out of this Lix, I promise.” Even as you spoke, an odd sense of foreboding filled your very soul. Why does it feel like I’ll never see him again?

“Just GO!” You shuffled along the ledge back to the door.

Your fingers scraped the smooth stone, trying to find the latch that would open the door once more from the inside. After a minute or so of frantic searching, your fingernail caught on a small latch.

And then, just as you were about to slip out the door, a thundering roar that shook you to your very bones filled the room.

“How dare you enter my home? Two intruders in three days, how lucky for me. Is this the one you begged me to spare?”

Wind rushed through the room. A sharp clicking, like metal clanking on stone floors, scraped your ears.

“Run _____!”

“Not so fast.” A paw reached out of nowhere and clamped down on your shoulder, before the paw’s owner took off. The floor dropped away beneath your feet, leaving only empty air below you.

“Shut up.” The voice said, setting you down next to the bars in front of Felix’s cage. “Now stay still. You have a decision to make.”

You couldn’t stop trembling. Every part of you shook with fear at what the unknown thing that had grabbed you would do to you.

Before you had a chance to blink and let your eyes get adjusted to the light, Felix was standing beside you. Chains were wrapped around his hands and feet, with another length holding him in place so that he couldn’t run to you no matter how hard he tried.

Taking matters into your own hands, you ran over to him, paying no heed to the rocky floor that threatened to trip you up. You pulled at the chains keeping him in place, but they wouldn’t budge.

A cold voice cut through the air, making your hair stand on end. “You have a choice now… run for your life and leave your brother behind with me…” A chuckle ensued as whoever the unknown speaker was saw your determined expression.

There is no way I’m leaving Felix here.

“Or…” the sly pauses the voice was making were just making you angry now.

“Spit it out!” you yelled into the darkness around you.

“You could take his place. I will let your brother go if you agree to stay with me for the rest of your life, in this place.”

All you could hear now was your own heartbeat rushing in your ears, faster and faster. What do I do? Take his place? Let him go.

You thought back to your home, to what awaited both of you. Felix had so much left he wanted to accomplish, so much potential that would be lost if he stayed behind.

I’m sorry Mom, Dad. This is for him.

“I’ll take his place.”

“No! _____, you can’t do this, I won’t let you! You’re insane if you think I can leave you here to pay for my curiosity.”

“Felix, this is my decision.” A small sparkling key came flying through the air and you caught it.

The voice spoke once more. “Unlock his chains and cuff yourself.”

You did as told, fingers shaking so hard you could barely hold the keys. You couldn’t meet Felix’s tear-filled eyes as you pulled the shackles off his wrists and tightened them around your own.

“I love you Felix, I love you and Mom, and Dad, and I want you to do everything you—”

The dark figure swooped down and grabbed Felix, carrying him up into the air and out of the light from the nearby torches.

The last sound you heard from your brother was his anguished scream as the little door in the side of the mountain closed, leaving you alone. The sound shattered you from within, breaking whatever reserve of strength that had held you upright while your brother was still there.

At least Felix is safe, you tried to reassure yourself. At least it’s me trapped here and not him.

It hit you then that you really were trapped.

With only the monster for company.

At long last, the figure you’d seen swooping around came into full view.

Glittering dark green scales covered a lithe, muscular body. Spines that glowed with some sort of inner fire lined his back and neck, sharp as knives. The creature’s front paws had long claws over six inches long. Along his back you could make out folds of green leather, which had to be wings. A barbed tail curled around him almost like a cat’s would, swishing back and forth as the dragon, for that was what stood before you, breathed in and out. Steam rose from his nostrils, and rich dark eyes twinkled in the light of the torches.

Those eyes looked almost human in nature. Warm and mischievous rather than cold and unyieldingly cruel the way you’d expected.

“Well? Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Do you want to stay in that cell where your brother was?” The dragon’s voice was surprisingly soft given his horrifying appearance. It was loud and deep, yes, but it had a lyrical quality to it that contradicted the sharp fangs that were just visible in the corners of his mouth.

“Answer me! Do you have a name?”

“____.” You hid the waver threatening to make itself known. “I want to leave this hellhole of a cavern and get back to daylight.”

“Daylight?” the dragon mocked. “You think you deserve to see daylight, little one? After sneaking into my castle? You’re staying right here, my preciousssss.”

The dragon’s hiss sent shivers up your spine. Even his voice is terrifying. It’s like ice and poison and corrosive acid all at once—

“Now then, _____. Do you want to stay in the cell, or are you going to cooperate and let me take you to your new room?”

“Do I even have a choice?” Doubt it. He clearly has his own ideas over what to do with me.

“Cell it is then.” You cringed away as the dragon’s cruel claws came close to your shoulder.

“Room, please!” I can’t handle being carried by those daggers one more time.

“So, you can be reasonable. What a surprise. Come.” The dragon clicked down a hallway that had yet gone unnoticed by you in the corner of the large cavern. You followed, unsure as to how to respond to the twelve-foot-long dragon. Yet another thing no one ever told me how to deal with. I just hope Felix is safe.

Three corridors, two sets of double doors, and four large halls later, the dragon pushed open a large gilt door.

“This is your room. You will be joining me for dinner in the dining room in one hour.” He spoke curtly, with a careless, disdainful glance at you.

“What if I choose not to?” Might as well test my boundaries.

“That was an order, not a request.”

And with those words, the dragon turned, tail whipping through the air behind him and almost hitting you in the face. With no other alternative, you entered the room, slamming the door shut behind you with a clang that echoed through the hollowed-out mountain castle.

With little else to do, you threw yourself onto the bed and began to sob. You were trapped, in the middle of nowhere, with only a monstrous dragon for company. And even the finery around you couldn’t disguise the fact that you were a prisoner, in a gilded cage.

Golden bars were still bars after all.

---

Minho clicked down the halls back to wing where his old rooms used to be. He’d long since outgrown the bed he’d occupied as a child; now he simply had knocked down half the walls and turned the space into a very messy nest, with bundles of items lying all over the place.

Just because his claws couldn’t wrap the fabric properly didn’t mean he couldn’t order the servants to do it for him.

Speaking of servants, where were they? He mused as he settled down into the nest of soft blankets. Intimidating people really was a full-time job.

His eyes began to droop slowly shut, only to slam open as a small candlestick began jumping up and down on top of his scaled back.

“Prince Minho! Wake up! Who’s the person in the guest wing? Is it the one? Will they break the curse? Are they cute?”

Minho rolled onto his other side, flicking his wing to try and get him off. “Go away Jisung. Make sure ____ is down for dinner on time and tell Chan he has to make sure dinner tastes good.”

“Ooooh, trying to impress ____? Your new consort has a pretty name. You better behave well with them. No temper tantrums, and woo them properly, that’s the best way to get them to break the curse.”

“Would you shut up? I need a nap.” Jisung had veered uncomfortably close to the truth. Minho did hope that ____ would be the one to break the curse, but he also didn’t want to hope.

If he had hope, the chances of being hurt when he was trapped as a dragon forever would only be more painful.

As it is, he only had about half a year left before the curse became permanent.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice Jisung leaving the room and going to meet Changbin outside.

“Is he alright?” Changbin asked, hands whirring worriedly on his face.

“I don’t know Binnie-hyung. I don’t know. Let’s just get things together and try and welcome our guest. It’s all we can do it this point.

---

You looked up at the knock that reverberated throughout your new room.

“Go. Away. I don’t want to see your scaly face,” you hissed at the door.

“It’s dinner time. Your presence is required.”

“Fuck off!” Something inside you snapped. “Do you think I’m going to sit and politely eat opposite the dragon that kidnapped my brother and blackmailed me?”

A loud huff came from the other side of the door. “If you don’t come and eat with me, you won’t be eating at all.”

“Good riddance! I don’t particularly feel hungry after being manhandled anyway!” You yelled back, before picking up a large, heavy looking hair brush and flinging it at the door. “You can bother all you want, I’m not coming out.”

“Then rot!” The dragon stomped away, his heavy footsteps clanking on the ground heavily.

You let out a heavy breath, feeling the tears begin to well up once more. You hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t hungry. Right now, the only feeling in your stomach was one of nausea and horror, horror at what you were probably going to face.

Who knows what the dragon’s going to do to me when I refuse to leave at his order?”

Exhausted, miserable, nauseous, and ready to collapse, you curled into a tiny little ball on the surprisingly soft bed. You didn’t have much else to do, might as well sleep.

You’d need all your energy to try to escape later on.

---

Your eyelids fluttered open after some time, feeling crusty and dry after your sobbing. You rubbed them carelessly, remembering the warnings your mother had always given you about your eyelashes falling out if you rubbed your eyes.

If I have a chance to listen to Mom nag me ever again, I’ll be the happiest person on earth.

You took the silence as an opportunity to explore your new room. A few shelves lined one wall, with various knick-knacks and decorations filling the space. Sheer curtains led outside to a window, surprising seeing as you had entered a mountain. Maybe it opens onto the valley inside. Like a castle courtyard, only the mountain and cliffs are the castle themselves.

A set of pretty wall hangings finished the other side of the room, along with a screen and a large wardrobe which seemed to be letting out a few large snores every now and then. At this point though, after seeing a dragon speak, not much would be startling you.

You went over to the wardrobe and poked it. It jolted awake with a shudder, blinking open carved eyes near the door.

“Oh, hello! You must be _____, the master sent me up to see to you. I’m Hyunjin, your new helper! We should get you into some night clothes so you can sleep, yes?”

You frowned. “I don’t want to go back to sleep. I’m going to explore and find the kitchen.”

The wardrobe—Hyunjin—opened his mouth to speak again, but you forestalled him by wrapping your cloak more tightly around you.

“Do me a favor and don’t tell the dragon?” You called as you slipped out the door. Hyunjin just stood there, unmoving in his shock.

Slowly, a little smile spread over his face. Maybe some challenges were just what the master needed to bring some light back into his life and spice it up a little.

Maybe Jisung and Changbin were right. Maybe you would be their salvation.

After all, you simply had to fall in love with a dragon. How hard could it really be to orchestrate that?

---

The answer, as Hyunjin, Jisung, Changbin, and the other plotters were soon to discover, was that it was really quite difficult to orchestrate two people’s falling in love with each other. Especially when one of those individuals was a cantankerous dragon who took no pleasure in anything other than brooding, and the other was an angry kidnappee who kept breaking things and sneaking around the passages to elicit a reaction from Minho.

Suffice it to say, things were not going well by any means.

And they were just about to get worse.

It was the middle of the night, and you’d dragged yourself out of bed, hoping that the late hour would ensure you wouldn’t be discovered. Lighting only a small candle, you slowly crept down the passageways back to the large cavern where you’d first met the dragon.

Tonight was the night you got out of this weird castle-cave-hollow-mountain-thing.

You tiptoed along, pausing at every slight noise you heard. Shivers ran up your spine and the little hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You had the distinct feeling that someone was following you, and yet when you turned your head, there was no one there.

Nervously toying with your fingers, you finally came up on the enormous cavern that you’d entered weeks ago. Slowly, you made your way up a narrow ledge to where the bars that had once imprisoned Felix now lay.

You tore your eyes away and forced yourself to look at the other walls, scanning for the slight crack that had unlocked the little door earlier. Fingers scrabbling against the smooth stone, you searched silently, hoping against hope that you’d find the door again.

And then, your fingernail caught on something.

Tamping down a squeal of excitement, you placed the candle on a nearby ledge, letting to soft light wash over your hands as they searched for the hidden catch within the crack. Within a few moments you’d found it and clicked it open once more. The door swung open, revealing a stormy night.

You tightened your hands into fists. I’ve come this far, no turning back now. You shoved the door open and slipped out the door, hiding your nose in your sleeve to protect it from the biting wind. You struggled down the path, steep as it was, until you came up on the road below.

Disaster struck.

Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of howling.

Only this time it wasn’t the wind.

This time, it was wolves.

Some sixth sense told you to duck, and not a second too soon. A large gray wolf sailed over your head, fangs snapping exactly where your head had been not a moment ago.

A scream tore itself from your lips. You curled tighter in on yourself, surrounded on all sides by slobbering, slavering wolves who regarded you with a cruel yellow light in their eyes.

I’m going to die here. I’m never going to see my family again, or breathe in the fresh morning air, or hear the applause after a performance. I’m never going to—

A roar split the air, and then beautiful emerald fire burned in a ring around you. The dragon swooped down from the sky and swiped angrily at the wolves, ignoring the snarling, snapping fangs and claws that slashed his scales away. He curled around your prone form, swiping away a wolf approaching from behind with one sweep of his tail.

“Get. On.” You did as told, too shocked to respond in any other way. Dying at the claws of your scaly savior would probably be less painful than being eaten by a bunch of wolves.

One of the wolves leaped into the air as the dragon took off and sank his teeth into the dragon’s left foreleg. You could feel him shudder in pain underneath you, but he shook it off, flapping his leathery wings and making his way back to the mountain-castle.

Huh. From this height you can see the towers and ramparts that the ivy grew over and hid. It’s actually a really beautiful structure. Clearly, the shock was making you a little loopy as well.

The dragon sank down in a courtyard with high walls all around it, at the very tip of the mountain. You slid off his back, preparing to complain about the cold ride and the fact that he still wasn’t planning on letting you go even though it was completely useless to keep you trapped there!

Then you saw the blood, surprisingly red and warm, welling up on his paw.

He did save my life… I guess I owe it to him.

You immediately knelt next to him and pulled the bleeding paw into your lap. Grabbing the corner of your cloak, you wiped it gently, trying to see how deeply the wolf’s teeth had pierced his skin.

Behind you, a little crowd was gathering. The servants were all staring as you tried to stem the bleeding.

“Jisung, could you get me some hot water? And maybe some towels, and some alcohol for cleaning this?” you asked, not taking your eyes off the dragon. If they’re going to stare, might as well be useful for a change.

“Of course, we’ll get them to you right away. Changbin come on!” the little candlestick hissed, yanking Changbin behind him. They soon returned with the items you had asked for and left without another word.

You finished wrapping the bandages rather haphazardly around the dragon’s paw. He was more awake now, staring at you with those rich green eyes and making you feel like you could never hide a single secret from him.

Stupid dragon. Dying might have been better anyways. It’s not like I even know his name.

“Get inside. Do you have a bedroom?” you asked, tugging the paw that had been in your lap towards the wall.

“Down the west hallway. First door,” he rumbled, rising from his prone position and entering one of the corridors. You followed, unsure as to where in the castle you actually were.

The dragon nosed open one of the numerous doors lining that hallway and slipped inside. The room was large—it had to be to hold someone so large—and it had pretty green and gold wallpaper covering the walls. A large pit lined with pillows stood in the center of the room, and the dragon fell into this now, cushioning his head on one of them.

“Thank you for saving me.” Some unknown force compelled you to speak. “I owe you my life… I know it doesn’t mean much but I am grateful Mister Dragon.”

“It’s Lee Know.” The dragon’s voice was so quiet you barely heard it.

“Lee Know? Like… the verb?”

The dragon—Lee Know—simply blinked and closed his eyes. You shrugged and turned away as well, ready to go back to your own rooms… if you could even find them.

Maybe escaping could wait until tomorrow night, when you were a little less tired.

---

“Are you absolutely sure about this? You don’t let anyone into your collection!” Changbin asked worriedly as he toddled as fast as he could to keep up with Minho.

“They’re just sitting there and gathering dust. _____ likes music and dancing, almost as much as I—well at least they’ll be used this way.”

“If you say so…” Changbin trailed off. “When she messed up anything and gets all cross don’t come crying to me.”

“Don’t you have clock-servant things to do?” Minho hissed, flicking Changbin with his tail. “Go away.”

Changbin snickered to himself as he made his way down to the kitchen. The others would want to hear this.

Meanwhile, Minho came up to the door to your bedroom and tapped lightly against it with one claw. He waited for a moment, unsure as to what your response would be.

To his surprise, you smiled happily at him and came out into the hallway as well. “It’s really lovely outside today isn’t it?” you asked, closing your door behind you. “Is your paw doing better?”

Minho was quite taken aback. “It’s—it’s doing a lot better thanks. I… I was wondering if maybe… you’d be interested in something to distract you, so you don’t have to spend all your time here bored.”

“Finally! I thought I’d go mad from just doing nothing! Where are we going?”

A small smile almost appeared on Minho’s face. “It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”

You shrugged and did as told. If he’d wanted to kill you, he’d probably have done it by this point, you mused as you placed one hand on his neck and let him guide you through the maze of hallways.

“You can open your eyes now.” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts.

Your eyelids fluttered open and you let out an involuntary gasp.

The room was full of shelves of records and sheet music. A large piano stood in one corner of the room, while the other side had a polished floor and long mirrors covering the walls. The room looked freshly cleaned, as though it had just been dusted the night before.

“Do you like it?” Lee Know asked, tail swishing nervously back and forth.

You threw your arms around his neck in a quick hug before turning to the shelves. “You have so much music in here, it’s ridiculous! I didn’t know so many pieces were available over here.”

“It’s yours.”

“What?” You couldn’t possibly have heard him right.

“I—I don’t have any use for them. Once, I might have, but now? It’s better that you have them.”

You stood there, gobsmacked, as he turned and left the room.

What was it about that dragon that kept surprising you?

---

A few months or so had passed since your failed escape attempt and Lee Know’s subsequent gift of the dance studio and music.

You were… strangely enough… almost happy. The only thing that kept ruining things for you was your constant worry for Felix. Already regarded as somewhat… odd… by the other villagers, you hoped he was alright.

Today however, was a special occasion. You’d spent ages coercing the dragon into trying to do a dance with you, even if it was just swaying in time to the music, and yet he had refused every time. He would spend hours watching you play or dance and never say a word, just looking mournfully at you with those sad green eyes.

Something about his eyes reminded you of royalty.

It was probably nothing.

But at any rate, today was the day you were going to manage it. You’d sent Jeongin along to convince him to come to the studio (no one could ever say no to the little teacup) and you had everything set up.

And then, the door opened, and the dragon entered.

“Excellent. You’re here! Now come on, today’s the day you get over your fears and you start dancing. It’s not hard, anyone can learn how to do it!” You pulled him over by the paw. “Now then, let’s get started. Here’s how you do a basic box step.”

“____, I’m not dancing.”

You turned to him and stared directly into his eyes. Eyes that shone like stars.

“You are. And that’s final. You spend all your time moping anyways, it’s about time you do something useful for a change.”

He rolled his eyes but followed, unable to say no.

“Hit it Jisung!” you called out, and the candlestick moved the needle of the record player into position. The soft strains of music filled the room, lifting you up a little almost involuntarily.

There was something about dancing that just felt… freeing.

“Okay, now then, one step forward, to the side…” you frowned a little. “You could look a little happier about it you know.”

“_____. I’m a dragon. We. Don’t. Dance.”

“Says who!” you placed your hands on your hips. “New thing. Let’s just put on music and you just… move in time to it.”

“____” he whined. There was absolutely nothing he could do as you switched out the records and put on one of your favorite pieces.

“Now close your eyes, let the music wash over you, and just move. Don’t think.”

Minho did as told.

And before he knew it, he could feel his limbs moving in time to the music again. The skill he’d lost as a child slowly came flooding back and even in his dragon body the rhythm and elegance were clearly noticeable.

He’s definitely trained. He has to be. Lee Know, who are you? You wondered as you watched.

A light push on the back of your knees sent you stumbling towards him.

“Join in ____!” Jeongin giggled from where he was pressed against Woojin’s side. The teapot turned to shush him, but the teacup simply giggled and turned back to watch.

You slowly stepped towards the dragon, analyzing his steps to see where you should join in. Almost involuntarily you felt yourself catching the tune and moving as well, weaving towards Lee Know and then moving with him in perfect synchronicity.

You were spinning in and out of each other’s paths, comets in orbit, never crashing. Simply spinning, spinning, falling, staring at those green eyes.

And then, the record stopped playing.

“Bravo!” Woojin let out a puff of steam. “That was amazing you two!”

You blushed heavily, but Minho’s reaction was far more telling. He simply turned and left the room, not even glancing back.

---

“I’m doing it and you can’t stop me!”

“Well we can’t but Chan and Woojin can!” Changbin yelled, jumping up and down on Minho’s back. “You can’t let your only chance at a normal life walk right out of here!”

“I also can’t keep _____ captive forever. They don’t deserve this life. I’m giving them the mirror and the ring.”

“On your own head be it!” The door slammed shut as Changbin stomped down the hallway.

Minho stroked a claw against the glass case that held the witch’s iris. The flower was dying, and he could feel his own strength deteriorating with it.

It was for the best.

---

You woke up to sunshine streaming into your window and warming your face as you lay in bed lazily. Something tells me today is a good day.

As you looked around, you noticed a small tray with two items resting on it sitting on the front of your dresser. You swung your legs out from under the covers and padded over, picking up the note that lay with it.

Put on the ring and say the name of the person you wish to be with three times, and you shall be with them. Say the name of the person you wish to see three times and blow lightly on the surface of this mirror, and you shall see them.

With these, I hope you always live happily.

Your freedom is yours, your life your own.

Thank you for giving me music again.

Prince Lee Minho, or as you better know me, the cursed dragon Lee Know

You sat down in shock, wondering if this was all simply a dream. My dragon was a prince? He gave me magical items that would get me home? What do I do?

Putting on the ring and slipping the mirror into your pocket, you whispered Felix’s name three times. A gust of wind swept around you and you closed your eyes tightly against the chill.

And when you opened them, you were home again.

And you could hear screaming in the yard outside.

“I’m not crazy! _____ has been captured by a dragon! Why won’t you people listen to me?” Felix yelled, fighting against the two men holding him steady.

I knew he needed me. I knew they would hurt him. Time to see if this mirror works.

You pulled it out and whispered “Lee Know” three times before blowing on it.

Nothing happened.

“Maybe you need to say Lee Minho,” came the piping voice of Jeongin from inside your pocket. You gasped and reached inside, pulling him out and setting him in front of you.

“How did you get here?”

“I snuck in when Prince Minho left the tray, and then I leapt into your pocket while you were reading. I wanted to see the world! Woojin never lets me do anything fun.” The little teacup pouted adorably.

“Well, first things first, let’s get my brother out of there. Show me Lee Minho!”

This time, the mirror worked as said.

Minho’s dejected face and sharp claws came slowly into focus, and you grinned to yourself. Perfect.

“Will you all shut up!” You yelled, pushing the door of your cottage open and holding up the mirror. “Felix is telling the truth! There is a dragon in the mountain, but he isn’t evil. He’s kind and sweet, and he’s the one who let me go!”

You waved the mirror around, showing everyone the image inside it.

And then, the mirror let out a howl. Minho appeared to be screaming in agony of some kind, barely able to stand as the pain wracked his body.

He sounds like he’s being tortured. What could have happened in just a few hours?

“The dragon!” “He’s evil!” “Look at him, screaming for blood!” “He must have bewitched these two!” “We have to kill him, to protect our children!” “To reclaim the mountain!” “Kill the dragon!”

“KILL THE DRAGON!” The crowd’s chant rose into a roar, and the mob shoved you and Felix inside your cottage before barring the door.

“We’ll deal with you later,” one of the younger men hissed, picking up a pitchfork.

Felix whirled to face you. “What do you mean, he’s kind and sweet? He was ready to imprison us!”

“Felix, you don’t understand!”

“Well, make me understand!”

You began relating the whole sorry tale. Your attempted escape, his gifts, the way he’d simply let you go at the end. As you spoke, Felix’s eyes softened.

“Maybe he isn’t so bad. But why is he screaming all of a sudden?”

Jeongin piped up from your pocket. “Woojin said Prince Minho was cursed. And that he had to get someone to fall in love with him, or else he’d DIE. Do you think he’s dying ____?”

You exchanged a look with Felix. He knew you better than anyone; he could tell what you weren’t saying.

“Fine. I’m coming with you though.” He reached out and took your hand, and you whispered Minho’s name to the ring.

A gust of wind later, and you were standing in your bedroom again.

“Wow, this is fancy!” Felix exclaimed, moving over to the window. “How come you got a cool room and I got a cell?”

“You were the one who got captured, dork.”

“Carry on.”

“We need to find him, the ring only brought me back here. I don’t know where he could be!” You slumped into your chair, head in your hands.

“I’ll go tell the others to prepare for an invasion!” Jeongin jumped down from your pocket and toddled outside. “Maybe Jisung or Changbin knows what to do!”

You turned to Felix. “Let’s start looking then.”

The castle was unreasonably enormous. Every other corridor seemed to branch off and leave more doors to be searched. Jeongin found you again with the others in tow, and upon further questioning it turned out that they too didn’t know where Minho was.

Hours had passed in vain, searching for the dragon of the castle, when a large thump sounded against the walls, shaking them.

“They’re breaking down the door!” Jisung yelled. “Come on, we’re going to hold them off. ____, it’s up to you to find the prince.”

You nodded and went the opposite direction. The flower… the image in the mirror… maybe he’s in the west wing? Or the tower? We hadn’t gotten there yet.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you clambered up towards the tower. Your breathing came heavily, forcing you to slow down if only to be able to breathe.

Outside the highest window, you could just make out the prone figure of the dragon lying curled up on the balcony. His head and arm lolled off one end, limp and lifeless.

“Minho! NO!” The scream was torn from your lips as you sank down next to him, pulling his head into your lap. “Please, wake up! You have to wake up!”

Minho’s eyes fluttered open, the emerald flames that had always sparkled within them almost dead.

“I’m done for _____. I love you you know. And if you love someone, let them go.”

Tears you hadn’t even noticed dripped onto his face.

“So I let you go.”

And then, the spear came sailing out of nowhere, and lodged itself in his heart, slipping underneath his arm. Even the balcony hadn’t protected him against the force of the blow.

A little puff of steam rose from his nostrils, and then you could feel Minho’s steady heartbeat fade away.

Sobs spilled out of you uncontrollably. “I can’t do this Minho. I love you too! Only I’m not going to let you go.”

And then, green curls of magic seemed to float up around him.

The swirls of smoke curled around the dragon, pulling his head off your lap and into the air above the tower. Below you the mob of villagers seemed to suddenly calm themselves, no longer in a murderous frenzy.

The air exploded with bright green light, and you flinched away involuntarily. What is going on?

And when you opened your eyes, a dragon no longer lay in your lap.

No.

The figure in your lap was a prince, wearing a simple green tunic and black pants. An emerald and silver crown adorned his head; thin green leather boots graced his feet.

And then, he met your eyes.

A tiny gasp escaped your lips. His eyes weren’t the emerald of the dragon you’d grown so used to seeing. They were warm brown, the color of chocolate, but the stars that had lain dormant in them before now sparkled in full glory.

“Well, ____, you can’t take it back now. You love me hmmm?” A lilting laugh escaped the prince as he sat up. “You broke the curse.”

“I might have done it sooner if you hadn’t been so rude!” You quipped, the reaction almost a reflex now from the hours spent bantering with him.

“You cured me of that too I guess.” He lowered his face a little closer to yours, and your eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his lips to your cheek gently. “I owe you my life, my love.”

You sat there, dumbfounded as Minho laughed a little at you again. He pressed another little kiss to your nose. “You fell in love with dragon me… I wonder how you’ll handle the craziness that is human me?”

Something inside you told you that it would be just fine.

Absolutely perfect in fact.

Anyone who could learn to love a dragon would probably have no issues dealing with a human. Even if he was a prince.

And so, our little ensemble lived happily ever after.

---

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christophe-delorne · 5 years

Text

Gregstophe Week: Day 7

SADNESS // RAINSTORM // PROFESSION CHANGE AU

TITLE: Yellow Dahlias

WARNINGS: None. Just fluff.

AGE: Late 20s

NOTES: Later than usual posting this, decided to be lazy today. What kind of fanfiction writer would I be if I didn't write a Flowershop AU?

Every day for three years now, Christophe was always outside his flower shop at five am on the dot. From what Gregory could tell, the Frenchman kept to a schedule, while Gregory could respect that, it was almost a little concerning. It made him wonder if Christophe ever did something that strayed away from the usual daily task. Gregory was always one to be punctual, but he made time to do something fun and new every so often. When he watched his shop neighbor day to day, there was always a pattern. No one came to visit him other than customers, he never seemed to take social calls either. Gregory was lucky to even manage to snag Christophe's number and only because they needed it to look out for each other's shops in case of an emergency.

Gregory would be lying if he hadn't thought about texting Christophe just to be social, he wanted to know more about the mysterious flower shop owner who worked beside him. However, he never had the courage to make that first text, Christophe wasn't one to even hold conversations in person, would he be any different through technology? Gregory didn't want to ruin their cordial relationship by being too nosy or overbearing towards Christophe. What they had right now was decent enough, Gregory had seen Christophe with a temper and he didn't want it directed at him. He let out a sigh, the longer time went on, the more frustrated he got. He was going to drive himself mad at this rate, he should find some sort of hobby or a date to take his mind off the Frenchman.

He recalled his dinner with his friend Estella last night, they had tried dating a while back but it didn't really work out. Still though, they remained close friends and Gregory had hoped hanging out with her would take his mind off things. It hadn't and Estella had easily taken notice. She had always been perceptive about people close to her, which was why she had noticed Gregory didn't have his heart in their previous relationship and broke it off. She had tried her best to encourage Gregory to make a move, to reach out and test the waters. The idea made for a fairly sleepless night for Gregory. Usually he was good when it came to dealing with stress, it came with owning any sort of shop and his bakery was no exception from constantly stressing him out.

This morning, getting out of bed had been rough, little sleep and now facing down the day of seeing Christophe again after everything he'd talked about with Estella, he was and wasn't looking forward to the rest of the day.He'd just go through the routine again with Christophe. He'd say good morning to Christophe, who would be sweeping the sidewalk in front of their stores and then for the rest of the day Gregory would be staring out the front window, waiting for another glimpse of Christophe. Estella was right, he was just a lovesick puppy at this point. Why couldn't it have been with someone more approachable instead of someone who'd shut down any conversation before they even had a proper start.

Gregory toyed with the keys in his pants pocket, while it was summer, he still preferred to wear pants since he worked mainly indoors anyways, shorts just seemed unprofessional in this setting. Though at least he wore something different every day, not too uptight, but still looking like he cared about his appearance. Unlike Christophe, who's wardrobe seemed to consist of maybe a few shirts and a couple of pants, all in need of replacing. He was certain his neighbor wasn't poor, he'd seen customers come and go and Chris had cornered off that bit of the market by being the only flowershop in town. It fit Christophe though, he never seemed to care about appearances, certainly he was grouchy and closed off, but he did his work well.

His shop finally came into view as he rounded the block's corner, the sun was already up since it was summer, not glaringly but the sky had a soft glow to it. By now Christophe should've been out front as usual, so it was a bit of a surprise when he saw an empty sidewalk. It made him stop and look around as if Chris would be somewhere within sight, but nothing. It was concerning to see, Chris had never missed a day off work ever since they've known each other. Had something happened? As far as Gregory knew, Chris lived alone, so if something did happen, no one would know. Gregory pulled out his phone to check to see if he received any messages, but there were no notifications.

Tucking his phone away, he went up to the flower shop's door, the closed sign was still up. So Christophe hadn't come in yet, so he had to still be at home. Though it made him wonder if he was okay, if he had no one to care for him, Gregory had to step up and be that person. Before he could back down like a coward, he pulled his phone back out and pulled up the messenger. He paused though as his mind scrambled on what he should say. He didn't want to sound like a worrywart pestering the man, something casual and not too invasive. They were just acquaintances, nothing more despite Gregory's wishes. It wouldn't be too weird if he checked in though, right?

Hey, its Gregory, you weren't outside your shop, so I'm just checking in to see if you're okay and if you need me to keep an eye on the shop for the day.

There, simple as that. Though it still made his heart hammer in his chest, nervously standing there, waiting for a reply. He should go in his own store and get things ready for the morning crowd, but his feet were stuck in place. He wouldn't be able to concentrate anyways while waiting for a reply, making him look like an absolute fool for being so hung up on one simple reply. Then, his phone chimed and a text bubble popped up, making his heart feel like it was about to leap from his chest from excitement. He always knew he'd been one for the dramatics.

i'm not comin in today, sick.

Gregory should've expected this, the brief message, Christophe wasn't one for long winded conversations, even in text. The knowledge that Christophe was sick was worrying, Christophe usually didn't let even a cold keep him down. So being sick and not coming to work sounded like it was pretty severe despite Christophe not elaborating on how exactly he was sick, but Gregory knew enough about the stubborn Frenchman to know he wasn't the type to ask for help. He could be lying in his bed alone, too weak to get up and take care of himself. The thought alone made Gregory frown and his hand tighten on his phone.

I'm coming over to help you then, what's your address?

i'm fine

If you were fine, you'd be at work, now come on, tell me.

After a moment of no response, Gregory thought maybe pressing had been a bad idea and he'd chased Christophe off. Finally, a message came through, revealing where Christophe lived. It wasn't surprising that Chris lived nearby, it wouldn't be much of a walk to the small apartment complex. Though Gregory wanted to pick up a few things before heading over, so he sent a reply that he'd be there soon before tucking his phone away. Being up this early, the grocery store was fairly empty, just employees restocking the shelves. It made it easier for Gregory to pick up some typical care package things. Medicine, soup, tissues. He wasn't sure what Chris had, but he would come prepared for anything.

The apartment complex was nondescript, nice but nothing fancy, a old building that was kept lovingly so nothing was falling apart. Gregory had assumed the worse, with Christophe's lack of care, he might've lived in some sort of dump. It was a relief that he wasn't though, Gregory would've had a fit if it'd been true. Juggling the large paper bag of groceries, he pressed the button to the elevator, taking him up to the third floor where Christophe indicated he lived. While it wasn't the more sophisticated type of decor his own apartment complex had, it was more down to earth, a homey, well lived in sort of vibe.. Looking at the numbers on the doors, he made his way down the hall until he found the right one, raising a hand to press the doorbell. He hated the idea of forcing Christophe to get up and answer, but he didn't have a key.

Gregory could hear a bit of shuffling inside, waiting patiently for the door to unlock and crack open. Light from the hall spilled into the dark apartment, making Chris visible wince. He looked pale, even with his darker skin tone. The Frenchman squinted against the harsh light, letting his eyes adjust before he could properly identify that it was Gregory. The door opened wider, Christophe already shuffling back into the studio apartment to nearly collapse on the bed. It seemed he didn't even have the strength to pretend he was alright, another concerning point considering Christophe held tightly to his pride.

Gregory moved over to the little kitchen, setting the bag on the counter so he could get to work on making Chris something to eat, who knows if he ate anything last night as there was no evidence of dishes in the sink. He paused though when he took note of a vase of flowers, possible a half a dozen yellow ones. He wasn't an expert on flowers, so he wasn't certain what they meant, but they stood out in the otherwise Spartan apartment. He stared at them longer than he intended, had someone sent them to him? That'd be an odd thing to do considering Chris was a florist, so maybe Chris had brought them home for himself.

Curious, he reached out, there was a yellow ribbon tied around the vase, just beneath the lip, a decoration that held a little cardboard note. He squinted a little, having trouble reading when the only light was from the small light under the cabinets, but there was definite scribbling on there. He moved the vase a little, directing the cardboard note a little more into the light so he could read the cursive a little better.

To: Gregory From: Chris

"I meant to give them to you today." Christophe voice made Gregory jump a little, he hadn't even heard Christophe move. He'd been so wrapped up in his suddenly very chaotic thoughts, he hadn't been paying attention. Gregory whirled around faster than he intended so he could face Christophe, a bit of red staining his cheeks from the embarrassment of being caught snooping.

"Beg your pardon?" Had he heard Christophe right? Christophe didn't seem to look away, his expression schooled so Gregory could get a read on him. Even while ill, Christophe appeared to remain stubbornly closed off. Though his once gruff voice sounded weaker than usual, pulling a bit at Gregory's need to care for him.

"I said they're for you. They're Dahlia's. They remind me of you." Christophe explained a little more as if he figured Gregory was simply too dense to understand flowers. Gregory looked back to the flowers, they'd been carefully arranged. It was amazing how such a rough edged person could create something so beautiful, but as long as Gregory had known Christophe, that had always been the case. "Guess the surprise is ruined. They're still yours if you want them."

"I'd love to have them." Gregory quickly stated, but he knew in his heart he wanted more than just the flowers. They were a olive branch, reaching out for Gregory to take so that he could finally get what he wanted to truly love. Christophe.

#gregstophe #gregstopheweek #south park #gregory #christophe #fanfiction #the mole #ze mole #gregory of yardale #au #alternate universe #flowershop #fanfic

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sryryfm · 3 years

Text

Killing Us Slowly

Pairing: Julius Will Kresnik/Ludger Will Kresnik

Warnings: Incest, Unhealthy Codependency, Praise Kink, Exhibitionism Kink, Voice Kink, Phone Sex, Angst, Canon Divergence

Summary: The fact his brother was apparently keeping tabs on him to this extent should worry him. Or maybe the fact he wasn't bothered at all was more worrying.

Words: 1.8k

AO3

He can’t help blinking at the supposed name his GHS lists as currently calling him. Given how heavily he’s being tracked—well, the both of them really—it seems strange and almost too risky; but even though Jude looks at him inquisitively, Ludger is already making a vague gesture that he’ll be answering it outside.

“You’re alone now I presume?” Julius’ voice came smooth over the receiver and before responding it takes Ludger a second to realize that he wouldn’t see the nod over the phone. It seems like weeks since he last heard his brother’s voice.

“Good. We still can’t talk long, like this, but I’ll call you again; likely if I’m not busy myself when you reach the next inn.”

The fact it’s cryptic isn’t surprising and while he is sick of having everything questionable his brother’s been doing unravel in front of him, being the person he is, he finds himself quietly acquiescing like he always does. At first, Julius asks a series of yes or no questions that seem normal. Ludger’s supposed to be looking for him, yet by the time they reach the end it becomes clear the call was just a means to check on him.

He’d barely spoken or asked the things he wanted to ask, but with the way he had said they would talk like this again, Ludger wonders if he can next time. Julius has always been secretive, but he was worried too; the fact he hadn’t got ask the same kinds of questions back or better yet what was going on was disheartening to say the least.

“Take care of yourself Ludger.”

The call ends and he forces himself to close his GHS before taking a moment turn it off altogether. It was so short and seemingly pointless, but at the same time, the clandestine message underneath his brother’s words was something he was happy to hear. Julius didn’t say it, but there was just a high likelihood he called to hear Ludger’s voice as well as establish in a maybe dubious way that he knew where he was. He remembers hearing people around Trigelph and the few times he’d dropped by the Spirius Corporation building say things like he developed the GHS and that’s why he’s so familiar with its functions. Considering his brother was the one who gave him it to begin with, he wouldn’t doubt he could track it far easier than anyone at Spirius.

The thought has him stop momentarily as he walks back though as he had also heard that they were having trouble tracking Julius down because of that very same fact. Was calling him a risk in that case? Ludger wasn’t too versed on how things like this worked, but it just made his sentiments stronger if it were true.

When he closes the inn door behind him Jude turns and asks him who called. The doctor’s been kind to him thus far and seemed trustworthy, but there was an element to his relationship to Julius and the call itself that he wanted to keep to himself. He settles himself into bed finally facing him and answering with a quiet voice.

“Wrong number.”

He calls again when they arrive back in Aladi Seahaven. They had come back to get Elize and Rowen and he feels a little better about not having to lie to anyone about the call this time. Jude had needed to take care of some things at the lab and Alvin seemed distracted by his own business so they opted to stay behind for the time being. Once he got the call about a fractured dimension, he would call for them, but for now, all he really was doing was trying to deal with his debt.

Well, he would be tomorrow. It was already late when they arrived back and Elle and Elize were asleep. Rowen had mentioned visiting the bar downstairs as he had a few acquaintances in the area and Leia had tagged along to try and get an interview regarding politics. This left Ludger in a comfortable position to answer without worry on who would overhear or potentially ask him questions he both didn’t know the answer to and wouldn’t want to answer.

By this point, he can’t be sure what Julius knows or doesn’t know. It’s likely he knows about Ludger being made to give the disk back as it had been Spirius agents fighting him, but does he know how he’s technically an agent now too?

It leaves him a little uneasy, but in a way if he’s calling he’s glad to see Julius is okay. Something in the back of his mind says he should take these moments of contact with more caution or maybe consider telling someone else, but he can’t bring himself to. No one would understand the true nature of them to begin with.

“Ludger? It seems I caught you at a good time.”

His voice sounds strained and it makes Ludger wonder how injured he really was as the agents made it sound like they just barely were able to obtain the disk. That had been hours ago though hadn’t it?

“I’m truly sorry for all this I never wanted you to know…”

He isn’t sure what Julius is referring to. There are a lot of things he’d learned in the past few hours, but there is so much—far too much—he still doesn’t know. Asking would be pointless as it always is and if his brother hadn’t wanted to share this much than what good would it do to ask further.

“I never wanted to put you in danger. Can you understand and trust that?”

There’s a desperation in Julius’ voice that has Ludger replying instantly, a same urgency filling his rare moments of speech.

“Of course,” he tries to reassure and allows himself to ask at least one worry that had been on his mind. “Are you safe though?”

The laugher that answers him is surprising, but refreshing. It’s enough to bring a smile to his face even though he shouldn’t be having this conversation let alone be happy about it.

“You always were a worrywart huh? Everything will be all right,” He responds but there’s a lingering hesitancy to say more. Obviously, it doesn’t quite answer Ludger’s question and there’s plenty that Julius has neglected to share in general, but for now it’s enough. It’s enough to talk to him beyond the brief conversation they shared a week or so ago.

“Should we… not be doing this?” Ludger wonders out loud deciding to voice his earlier concern about people using this to find Julius.

It comes out far too similar to a different concern he once gave towards other things they used to do and it takes even Julius a moment to figure out what he means.

“It should be safe right now. They won’t get me just yet, I promise.”

The separate question of what Julius really did versus what people say he did is on the tip of his tongue as is every other confusing matter, but he bites it back.

“I miss you,” is all he breathes, quiet and scared. He doesn’t regret meeting all these new people he’d like to call friends, but he can’t deny he wishes he could just go back to the days when it was just him and Julius.

It doesn’t even bother him that there’s a perhaps unhealthy codependency he has on his brother; it should and given how careful they’ve had to be before this he should feel ashamed, but Julius has never made him feel anything but safe.

“I miss you too Ludger. I haven’t had one of your tomato omelettes in a long time.”

This is sick. He’s sick, but he can’t help the quiet labored breaths he gives as he strokes himself while his brother talks of simple things. Cooking for him, when they’d watch things together, the few times they went out together.

“Are your sides still as sensitive as they used to be? You’d always squeal when I tickled you, but you made a similar noise when I’d bite your neck too,” Julius’ voice lowers, as he’d been aware from the beginning of Ludger’s movements. He’d long since trained his ears to listen for the slightest changes in his breathing or tone given how little he actually preferred to talk.

A slight shift crackles across the receiver as Ludger presses the GHS against his shoulder and chin bringing another hand to cover his mouth, but the groan caused from Julius’ words slips through anyway.

“I wish I could touch you, but I’d settle for just being able to see you. You always loved giving me a show, didn’t you?”

His noises though muffled now, still manage to be heard, and he’s trying to slow down, but he wants exactly what Julius is saying.

“You’re such a good boy, always eager to please and listen. I want to reward you for it, open you up and make you come again and again.”

Julius had done it before. He could imagine it so clearly despite it feeling like it’d been years since the last time they were together and alone.

“How badly do you want to come for me Ludger?” Julius’ voice also sounds a bit strange and the change makes Ludger wonder if he’s doing the same thing. The thought only made heat pool further and without hesitating Ludger let him know. Repeated over and over, pushed to not only speak, but be louder.

They shouldn’t be doing this. They especially shouldn’t be doing this, but it doesn’t take long for his responses to move into begging and Ludger isn’t sure whether it was just his voice or the sound of him begging Julius seemed to like more; he never had the strength to ask him.

“Come for me Ludger, I want to hear you,” his brother panted over the line and it was clear he was close too. At his urging it didn’t take long for him to finish and there’s a silent pleasure to be found in hearing Julius follow quickly after. It only invokes a painful longing however as the reality hits him that all he can do is hear, not see or even touch him. That it was unclear when or if they’d ever get to do something like that again.

Nothing but Julius’ breathing comes over the receiver and it’s taking Ludger all he has not to cry.

“I love you, Ludger. Stay safe, I’ll… try to call again,” Julius finally brings himself to say, but hangs up before he can reply. Almost mechanically, he forces himself to sit up more properly and clean up the mess before Rowen turns in for the night.

His dreams are full of Julius, but all he can remember is the one that started this all; his blood staining his brother’s clothes as he lets the other kill him and he wonders if what they have is killing him slowly.

#sryr writes #series: tales of xillia #pairing: kresnikcest #kresnikcest #ludger will kresnik #julius kresnik

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camsthisky · 6 years

Text

Determined Ghosts

Part 1 | Part 2

ao3 | ff.net

Summary: A gala, supposed to be spent by eating cakes and wearing a pretty dress, goes wrong. But honestly? What doesn't in Steph's life? Still, they better figure this out before it's more than just Dick that's hurt.

Stephanie’s eating one of those tiny little cakes that absolutely is not enough in any way whatsoever when Tim walks into her line of sight, head craning this way and that over the crowd of people Bruce has invited into his home for yet another gala-party-thingamajig. And—dear god, the boy is short. He’s on his tip toes.

“Timmy, dearest,” Steph says, only a little bit mockingly, and Tim’s gaze snaps to hers, eyes wide and owlish, like he hadn’t even seen her standing next to the dessert table. Which. That’s not that worrying, considering that Tim works on like, less than two hours of sleep a night.

Maybe Steph can get Cass to arm wrestle Tim into going to sleep instead of patrol tonight. And she can casually suggest a movie night to Dick. Dick will jump on anything that involves family bonding time, and Tim’ll be out cold in no time.

“Steph?” he asks, and now he’s giving her a weird look, like he hadn’t even known she was here at the gala-party-thingamajig. Again, very possible. For a person who’s supposed to be one of the best detectives, Tim can miss the most obvious things. He blinks a couple times, seems to accept that she’s not some sleep deprived hallucination, and walks over to her. “Did you need something?”

“No,” Steph says, shoving the rest of the tiny—tiny. Steph is going to have words with Alfred later—cake into her mouth. She swallows and raises an eyebrow. “Did you need something?”

Tim shrugs, head swiveling to look out over the crowd again. “I’m looking for Dick.”

“He was over by Damian earlier,” Steph says. “I think the brat brought his sword, and Bruce refused to deal with it. By default, it was Dick’s problem.”

“No, I know that,” Tim says distractedly. “I was standing right there when Damian started swearing at Dick. It was hilarious.”

“Yeah, you sound like it really changed your world,” Steph snorts.

Tim wrinkles his nose. “That was almost an hour ago, Steph.”

“Mhmm,” Steph says, debating whether it’d be a good idea to stuff the brand new purse that Bruce had gotten her the other day with the entire plate of mini-cakes and how much she’d get yelled at if she was caught. “And?”

“I saw him after that, though,” Tim tells her, following her gaze. He rolls her eyes when he catches on to what she’s planning on doing. “You know you can literally have Alfred make you bigger portions later, right?”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Timmy,” Steph says sweetly.

“It is not.”

“Is, too,” and then Steph finally makes her decision and starts grabbing a few of everything. Because if she’s going to stuff her purse, then she’s going to go all the way. Maybe Cass would be willing to share with her later. If not Cass, then definitely Dick. Speaking of, “Why are you looking for Dick, anyways?”

Tim blows out a heavy breath and sort of deflates, and it has enough umph to it that Steph stops raiding the dessert table to stare at him.

“Um,” she says.

Tim runs a hand down his face. “Sorry. It’s just—He went to go grab something from his room. Said it was important and just left.”

“And?” Steph prompts. “What’s so bad about that?”

“It’s been almost a half hour since I’ve seen him, Steph. And I’ve been around the room twice,” Tim tells her, and he leans back against a nearby pillar. He looks exhausted—well. More exhausted than usual, and Steph has half a mind to find Dick herself and tell him to tell Tim to stop worrying. And when he talks again, his voice is small. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Of course, it just so happens that that’s when the lights go out.

Steph drops her dessert-filled purse and grabs Tim’s hand, pulling him close. People start murmuring and muttering, and Steph has a feeling that Bruce’s gala-party-thingamajig has gone south real fast.

“Should we grab our uniforms?” she wonders, her voice soft enough that she’s sure only Tim hears her.

“No,” Tim says. “We don’t know if this is an attack or—”

The lights flicker. On, off. Someone screams bloody murder, and people start running for the exit as quick as they can. Someone shoulder checks Steph and she stumbles, but Tim tightens his hold on her hand and pulls her upright.

She whirls on him a second later, raising an eyebrow and shouting in order to be heard over the cacophony of panic, “You were saying?!”

“We still don’t—” He stumbles forward as someone bumps into him, too, but he stays on his feet. Pity. It’d have been funny to see him faceplant. Probably not the best time, though. He pulls her closer. “We still don’t know what’s going on!”

“Bruce?”

Tim nods. “Bruce.”

Somehow—holy shit, somehow—they make it through the throng of panicked people crowding the exits to the back of the room and over to where they can see Bruce standing with Damian, Cass, and the Commissioner. By the time they make it to them, most everyone is gone, and the lights are back to normal.

Dick’s nowhere to be found, though, and Tim and Steph share a look.

Bruce is staring at them. Steph knows that there’s no way he didn’t catch that, but he doesn’t comment on it. Yet, at least. Maybe it’s because the Commissioner is still standing there, or maybe it’s because they’ve got bigger things to worry about.

“Are you two alright?” he asks instead.

Tim nods and finally lets go of Steph’s hand, and she shakes it out, flexing it a few times, too. She hadn’t realized how hard Tim had been gripping it until he’d stopped, and she shoots him a concerned look he only grimaces at.

When she realizes that Bruce is still looking at her, waiting for her answer, she makes a face. “I’m fine, you big worrywart. Tim saved me from landing on my face, and I was disappointed by not seeing Tim land on his.”

“Hey!”

“I regret that it did not happen, as well,” Damian says, and he sounds seriously sad about it. Sheesh. Steph had forgotten that the brat had it out for Tim.

“Come at me and you’ll regret it,” Tim says, not a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Like you could take me down,” Damian scoffs.

Tim tenses, but backs off when Bruce clears his throat purposely, his eyes flashing dangerously. It’s so unsubtle and—God, after years, Steph still can’t believe Bruce Wayne can act like he does in public when all he seems to be is a big pile of brood and dad. She can see where Tim gets it from, at least. The brooding and acting part, not the dad part.

Next to Bruce, Jim Gordon sighs. “I’m going to see if I can round up a few of my men, Bruce,” he says. His rake over all of them, before they meet Bruce’s again. “I’ll be back soon, but it’s better that all of you stay together. Just in case.”

Bruce smiles, and Steph wonders if it’s painful for him. It certainly looks painful. “Thank you, Jim.”

And with that, the Commissioner’s gone, Bruce drops the smile, and it’s just the five of them standing there. Nobody says anything for a few seconds, and so Steph steps up. It’s like, her thing by now. She could probably major in it if she wanted to. She’s surrounded by so many emotionally stunted idiots that she’s got enough practical experience, after all.

Except Cass. Cass is great.

“So?” Steph says, folding her arms over her chest and raises her eyebrows. “Whatever’s happening, it better be good. I lost my dessert purse for this.”

Cass giggles, and Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. Tim doesn’t react much, but Damian scowls at her in confusion. It’s great. So many different reactions in so few words. She should get an award.

“I don’t want to know,” Bruce tells her. “Did anyone see anything?”

“Dick disappeared,” Tim says.

Steph elbows Tim. “You don’t know that. All you said was that Dick left to get something from his room. And technically that’s not seeing anything.”

“It’s the lack of seeing something,” Tim argues.

“Grayson is probably playing a prank,” Damian says, a somewhat adorable scowl on his face and—good god, does this child not know how to smile? Did he inherit Bruce’s gene of feeling pain while smiling? Someone needs to teach Damian how to have fun, and soon.

Cass frowns. “I don’t think so.”

Well, Cass’s word is law, after all. At least, it is to Steph. It’s a rare occasion that Cass has been wrong—though, it has happened before, Steph’s sure. She just can’t remember—and Steph doesn’t think now is one of those times.

Damian’s scowl inches closer and closer to a worried frown. “Then where is he?”

“Kidnapped?” Tim suggests weakly.

Steph grimaces. Dick’s a slippery one, especially when it comes to kidnapping. He’s got acrobatic skills he can use in self-defense, curtesy of his circus roots, and it’s an advantage that none of the other kids really have.

Something shatters upstairs, and the five of them freeze. And then, before Steph realizes it, Tim’s darting for the stairs, the rest of them just a beat behind him. They stop at the top of the stairs, and Steph gapes at what she sees.

“I think that I’m going to be sick,” she says, staring in horror at the giant puddle of blood soaking into the carpet. “Like, someone find me a toilet to throw up in, kind of sick.”

“You’re not,” Cass tells her, and Steph sighs.

“I’m not,” she agrees, but she can’t take her eyes off of the puddle. “But that is still disturbing. I sleep here, Tim.”

“Yeah, but you don’t live here,” Tim says, and Steph manages to take her eyes away from the scene in front of her to glance at him. He looks pale, and he’s got that look in his eyes, where his thoughts are racing a mile minute. It’s a little disconcerting, actually.

“I sleep here enough that I basically live here,” Steph says.

“Enough,” Bruce says, his eyes hard and unforgiving. “Cassandra, go get Jim. As of right now, this is a crime scene until we rule out otherwise.”

Cass nods, and she’s just about to leave when Steph hears a voice from down the hall. She frowns because—that was from Dick’s room.

“You guys heard that, right?” Steph asks. “Because if you didn’t, I’m out. Outtie 5000. Good-freaking-bye. Stephanie Brown has left the building and isn’t coming back. All that jazz.”

“I heard it,” Bruce says. And Steph can only watch as he makes his way down the hall towards his son’s room, Damian and Tim not even hesitating—or arguing—before following after him.

Steph shares an uneasy glance with Cass and she bites her lip. “What do you think?”

Cass doesn’t speak for a moment, but then she nods her head in the direction the boys had gone, and Steph can’t help but deflate in disappointment. Just a little. This is a little different than being in uniform, and she’s not happy that she’s doing this in a short sparkly dress Cass had picked out for her.

Cass looks at ease, though, and Steph appreciates it when her best friend holds her hand and squeezes. Steph smiles back.

“Guess we should go watch their backs, huh?”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Cass replies, and Steph’s smile grows a bit more genuine.

“Right, right,” Steph breathes. And then they skirt around the puddle. “Well. Might as well get on with it, right? I can totally use my heels as a weapon, right? That’s somewhat socially acceptable? Actually, don’t answer that. If it comes down to it, I’m doing it anyways. Watch out, thugs, I’m armed and dangerous with heeled shoes, and I can attest that getting hit in the face with one really freaking hurts. So watch out for—”

Steph stutters to a stop, both physically and mentally. She’s standing in the doorway to Dick’s bedroom, but—but.

“What happened?” she whispers to Tim, who looks about as clued in as she does.

His wide eyes flick to her helplessly before they’re back on Bruce, who’s checking Dick’s pulse. Dick, as it turns out, has been passed out on the floor of his bedroom, blood oozing sluggishly from a cut on his forehead. Bruce is trying to gently rouse him, but besides the steady up-down motions of his chest as he breathes, Dick doesn’t move.

He’s dead to the world.

Steph shivers at the mental image that brings up.

Damian scoffs softly, and Steph glances over at him, watches as he watches Dick with worried, but angry eyes.

From somewhere else in the manor, there’s another crash, and the lights flicker again.

Bruce finally looks up, meeting each of their eyes in turn, and says, “There’s someone in the house.”

And yeah. Steph’s done.

#stephanie brown #tim drake #bruce wayne #dc #camryn writes #halloweencontentwar #batfamcontentwar #determined ghosts

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actual-cryptid-leshy · 6 years

Text

You change, I stay the same

Word count 4.5k

A vent fic that has all the things I’m supposed to be good at. Magical realism, repetition, long winding descriptions that tend to run away from me. Angst. A happy ending? Depends. First fic of 2018, cheers.

Read on AO3

The day Jeremy Heere goes missing is so ordinary it’s almost underwhelming.

It starts just like any other day. Just one of many. Jeremy waves goodbye to his dad, exits the house, locks the front door. He heads to the bus, or so his dad assumes he does, once he’s out of view. Because that’s what Jeremy always does on school day mornings. It’s routine. And nothing tells his dad that today, of all days, is going to be an exception to this routine. That’s the last his dad sees of him, though he doesn’t know it yet. The morning is quiet. Idyllic, almost, with the gentle rays of sunshine, the few fluffy clouds on an otherwise perfectly blue sky. Bird song from the open kitchen window. A slightly chill morning breeze rustle the curtains on its way in, brining with it the clear crisp scent of the approaching autumn. The leaves haven’t started turning quite yet, only a few having a distinct yellow edge. Summer has dug it’s claws in and is desperately holding on until he very last moment. It is still a little while until the world will be ablaze with the colors of dying embers. Like one last glorious show of life before winter sweeps it all away. Lets it sleep until spring reawakens the world from its slumber. But that comes later. Mr Heere gets up and closes the window. Ties his robe shut against the chill.

Michael doesn’t notice that Jeremy never makes it to school. Not at first. This semesters schedule had irritatingly enough placed them in different classes most of the morning, but the last period before lunch is free for the both of them. They usually meet up in the library to do whatever. Work, nap, play games. It’s a habit. Something that’s been engrained in them since they started it. Once the bell rings, beeline for the library. Settle in. Wait for the other. Michael is usually the first to arrive, since his class is closer, but sometimes he gets held up for various reasons. Not today though. He makes it there in record time. Settles in. Jeremy never shows, even though Michael keeps waiting for him. It’s not the first time Jeremy’s been late. He shoots off a few texts, not really worried yet, but getting there quickly. Jeremy usually doesn’t leave him hanging like this. Not for this long. It happens, sure. But not often enough that Michael can take it in stride. Even if Jeremy was sick he’d tell Michael. He tells Michael everything. Hell, if Jeremy was sick Michael would probably have been receiving texts throughout the whole day, mostly Jeremy begging him to help cause away the boredom. But his phone stays quiet. The last text message he’d received from Jeremy is from last night. Sweet dreams buddy. Written in all caps. His own message is above that one. Sweet dreams dude. Written in all caps. An odd nightly ritual that he doesn’t remember starting, but cherishes all the same. The bell for lunch rings. Michael waits five more minutes, just in case.

“Have any of you heard from Jeremy?” he asks as he settles down at the cafeteria table. There were two empty seats, now there’s one, and the rest of the gang glance at it as they ponder his question. “Not since yesterday, no.” Jake says, taking another bite of his half eaten sandwich. “What’s up?” Brooke asks, putting down the pocket mirror she’s using to try to blind Rich. “I haven’t seen hm all day, and he won’t answer my texts.” Michael explains, pulling his backpack into his lap to dig out his own lunch. “Have you tried calling him?” she asks next, skillfully dodging Richs flailing arms as he tries to disarm her. “He doesn’t really do phone calls, I’ll try after school if he doesn’t answer I guess.” Michael mumbles, putting his bag back down and opening the wrap he’d bought earlier that day. “I’ll text him too, if we blow up his phone maybe he’ll notice!” Christine suggests, smiling brightly at Michael. He leans into her, resting his shoulder against hers. The others make various agreeing noises and take out their phones to text Jeremy. “Thanks Chrissy.” Michael says, gratefully.

The last bell of the day rings out throughout the school building, and kids flood the hallway in their excitement to get the hell out. Michael couldn’t agree more. He’s been on the edge of his seat all day. Jeremy still hasn’t answered. It’s…unusual. Which is why he’s so messed up over it. This doesn’t happen. His life, their lives, are two intertwining lines that follow the same pattern over and over. Day by day. A continuos predictive path that leads them trough life, a road that has looked so similar for so long that this sudden new development has thrown him for a loop. He doesn’t like it. Change is good, sometimes. Change happens for the better, sometimes. This is not one of those times. This has him feeling unsettled. The oh so familiar road, always safe and predictive, is now unrecognizable. Frightening. He can’t see where the road ahead leads, if it leads back to the safe path he knows or if it strays so far away he might never find his way back. Christine bumps her shoulder into his. When he looks up he’s at his locker. “Earth to Michael, come in space cadet.” she says, hand in front of her mouth like a walkie-talkie. She lowers it slightly, regarding him with her gentle eyes. “Everything alright?” she asks, and he finds it in himself ti smile just a little. “Just doing what I do best, worry.” he tells her earnestly. He knows she can see it on him as clear as day anyway. No reason to lie to her. He doesn’t really want to. “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed a break?” she suggests. And Michael understands what she means, but a quick spike of annoyance surges trough him. Jeremy needed a break from him? And he couldn’t even be bothered to tell Michael even though he knows Michael is a class A worrywart? He stops himself in his tracks. Abandons that train of thought about as quickly as it had arrived. Jeremy must have his reasons. He always does, even if Michael sometimes don’t understand them fully. “Maybe.” he mumbles, more to himself than Christine, but she gives him another radiant smile anyway. It settles his frayed nerves just a little, and for that he is grateful.

Michaels phone rings later that evening, and he picks it up without even looking. Already convinced he knows who it is. “He-” the greeting isn’t even fully out of his mouth before ehe gets cut off. “Michael, is Jeremy at your place?” Mr Heere asks on the other end. The path goes off a cliff and Michaels stomach follows after it. He goes cold in an instant and the worry in Mr Heeres voice only adds to his own. “No, he’s not at home?” Michael asks back, and he can feel himself forming the words, but someone else actually says them. It doesn’t sound like him. Nothing feels quite right. “I haven’t seen him since he went to school this morning.” Mr Heere says, and Michaels world stops turning. He wants to throw up. “He…Jeremy wasn’t at school today.” he feels himself say, but he doesn’t want to. This isn’t real. Can’t be happening. This happens in movies. This happens to other people. His best friend isn’t missing. He can’t be. He can faintly hear the sound of Mr Heeres labored breathing on the other end. He wants to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. His mind has stopped. His room is quiet, the air seems to stand still around him as he grips his phone. “I-oh god. I need to call the police.” Mr Heere says, distantly. As if he also isn’t the one speaking on the phone. The line goes quiet, and it takes Michael a moment to realize that Mr Heere had hung up on him. He moves the phone from his ear slowly. Turns his head to look at it. Everything is too slow and too fast al at once. Nothing feels real. Then reality hits him like a freight train. He’s up and out of his desk chair in a second, sprinting out the door and down the stairs in two. “Mom!” he shouts, panic in his voice and desperation in his head and fear churning all around inside him so fiercely his legs feel as though they might give out. “Michael?” his mom says from the living room. She’s sat in her chair, reading. He stands frozen in the doorway, the words stuck behind hid teeth. The truth tastes like bile. “Jeremy’s missing.” he whispers, but she hears him.

They drive to the Heere house, reaching it before the police. His mother tries to console a panicked Mr Heere as they wait. She also calls his other mom, to let her know where they are. She comes there straight after work, and the police finally show up about half an hour after her. “Mr Heere, a lot of the time when things like this happen, the kid’s just blowing off steam. He’ll be back before nightfall.” the man assures him, and Michael has never hated someone as intensely and as quickly as he hates him in that moment. “No, Jeremy doesn’t do that. He’s too anxious. He’d get scared fast, and come home practically before I knew he was missing.” Mr Heere explains, pleads, but the cop doesn’t seem to listen. His partner, however, raises a brow. Michael notices. “It’s true. Jeremy’s talked about it before. Like, he was joking, when he said he would probably get scared and come home before anyone realized he was gone if he ever tried to run away from home, but it’s still true. He wouldn’t just leave.” Michael says, looking at the other policeman. “He wouldn’t leave without telling me.” he settles, because this, above all else, is true. Jeremy tells him everything. That’s how they work. “We’ll get a search party going, he might have gotten lost somewhere.” the other one says, and it feels important, like they’ve started down the right road to getting Jeremy home. The search party is gathered and spread throughout town within a couple of hours. They look everywhere a kid might end up getting lost. Along the roads, downtown, in the forest. They check the lake at the park and at gas stations. Come morning they’re exhausted and empty handed. Mr Heere files a missing persons report.

At first, it’s something temporary. Something Michael just has to live with for a little while, but with the assurance it’ll go back to normal soon. How soon is soon anyway? A month passes. Jeremys absence still stings like a newly scabbed over wound. It runs deep and is ever present. Noticeable. He asks his moms if they’ll find him. Nothing’s turned up yet, and no news is good news, right? The two share a look and assure him. Soon, they say. How soon is soon? Three months and Michael watches the empty path beside him, the lack of something is so stark against such a bleak backdrop. Like a splash of color is gone from the grey. This path is lonely, but he has to walk it. He cannot see the road ahead. Some days he bleeds, some days he cries and cries and all he wants is for his best friend to be okay. No news is good news. It means there’s still a possibility. They’ll find him. Soon. Five months and Michael feels dried up, shriveled. Jeremy is a phantom limb at his side, aching for the fact that it isn’t there. His friends can see him walking down his path. Down down down, like a spiral. They do their best to pull him along, but he plants his heels in the dirt and stays. He needs to stay, otherwise how will Jeremy know where they’ve gone? He can’t go too far without him, or he’ll get lost. Jeremy is lost. He’ll be found soon. Eight months. Michael needs to find him. He’s out there, somewhere. No news. He has to be somewhere. How far away can one get in eight months? Should they check elsewhere? How soon is soon, anyways? Eleven months and Michael is lost. He’s turned himself around so badly he can’t find the right way anymore. Which way is forward? Where did everyone else go? Did they move on while he wasn’t looking. The path beside him is grown over, forgotten. How did that happen? When he looks up the path is nothing like he remembers it. He has to find his way, soon. How soon?

It’s a year, to the day, and Michael hasn’t been able to breathe since he woke up. Something tore it’s way trough skin and scar tissue and he can’t seem to stem the flow of hurt that washes over him. The other act as if they’re walking on eggshells around him, but it only worsens his mood. He isn't some fragile kid. “Mr Heere said we could come by today, if we wanted to.” Christine tells him as he joins them for lunch. “Yeah, okay.” he says, and says nothing more. If he says too much he’ll choke on the lack of air. He eats his lunch in silence. The empty chair besides him stays empty. The empty space beside him stays empty. His empty heart. Stays empty. At the end of the day he finds himself outside the Heere house, at the back of the group. He avoids visiting, beaches half his childhood was spent here, but half of his childhood is tinged in blue, red curls and green eyes. Half his childhood is missing. And he won’t find it here, no matter what kind of ghosts haunt the hallways. Mr Heere opens the door in his bathrobe. He lets them in, glances at Michael, then at the others. They head for the living room. “How are you guys?” he asks as he settles into the armchair. He picks up the coffee cup from he small side table. Frowns as he finds it’s gone cold. “Good. We’re…good.” Christine says. Even her talkativeness ebbs away in this house. The conversation keeps going in this direction. Pointless smalltalk. Michael can’t bring himself to pay any attention to it. His gaze wanders, instead. He finds an echo of his life looking back at him, an odd void where there used to be something. There are shadows of photoframes on the walls, more than before. The house has seemingly doubled in size.

“I miss him.” Brooke says. It’s the first direct mention of something that has been deemed unmentionable and it strikes Michael like an arrow to the heart. The haze is replaced with hyper focus and it’s all too much. “Yeah, me too.” Jake agrees, breaking the fragile peace even further. Something builds in Michaels chest. “It seems like forever ago and yesterday at the same time.” Rich says, and Michael can’t keep quiet. “He’s not dead!” he yells, and it feels like he’s shattering himself but it doesn’t matter. He needs to make sure they know. “Michael-” Christine starts but he can’t let her finish. It might just kill him. “No! You’re all sitting around acting as if he’s buried in the ground but he’s not! He’s out there,” Michael says, argues, he1s not sure who he’s arguing with but he can’t stop now. “He’s out there and we need to find him.” he says, sounding like an echo of himself, months and months ago. “Michael, don’t do this.” Jenna warns, her eyes are on Mr Heere but Michael doesn’t notice. Doesn’t care. “No! We-we need to-” he tries again, “He’s dead, Michael.” Mr Heere snaps, voice breaking but firm. That shuts him up. Every word he might have had building in his chest fizzle out into nothing. Steals his breath away. Makes his heart stop. He freezes over, cold dread washing over him in waves. Pulling him under. He can’t catch his breath and the water is overflowing. Running down his cheeks. Silently. Still surface, troubled waters. He can’t take it anymore. He leaves. Says nothing, only turns around and heads for the door. Still so silent. He watches himself go but can’t feel it happening. “Michael.” Mr Heere calls, sounding small and lost, but it makes no difference. Mr Heere opens his mouth as if to say something more but Michael closes the front door. Outside The Sun still shines on brightly. The world is lush and green still, even as the threat of autumn hangs in the air. The cold morning has given way to a warm afternoon. Almost as if it’s summer again. Michael watches the few clouds, stretched thin across the sky. He walks off the porch and to his car, opens the door. “Michael.” someone says. He turns around half way to see who. Christine is standing on the porch, open door behind her. She looks sad. He gets in the car and backs out of the driveway.

For the first five minutes he does nothing but drive. Taking random turns and just looking for a way out from the oppressing buildings. He wants open space. Somewhere to breathe. The silence in the car is muffled, and his own head is empty save for his view of Mr Heere repeating those words. The dam breaks and the anger floods back in, filling him to the breaking point. He grips the steering wheel, the faux leather creaking under his paling knuckles. He grits his teeth, tries to keep at bay ever sound tearing him up from the inside. He’s made it onto a small side road, leading trough a forested area. There aren’t any other cars within view and the isolation feels freeing. He screams. Loud and ragged and long. Until his throat is raw. Agonizing. He pulls over, breathing heavily. The car is suddenly far too small. Michale slams the car door shut. Hard. The sound is deafening in the otherwise tranquil quiet of the roadside. He feels wound up, restless. Like an impending explosion with no outlet. He walks to the other side of the car, to get away from the road. He paces back and forth along his car, a few steps each way, not really knowing what he’s supposed to do with himself. He wants, he needs, to do something. He pulls at his hoodie, pulls at his hair, chews his lip and kicks the soft earth at the top of the ditch separating the road and the forest. Then the fight leaves him, as if all the pressure suddenly erupted. But no explosion has rocked his world, so he lets out a deep sigh and slumps against the side of his car in defeat. He hangs his head, pushes his glasses back up his nose so that they don’t slip off his face. The stinging is back behind his eyes, threatening to spill over into sobs. The anger is gone. All that’s left is sadness. Loneliness. He feels lost. Like Jeremy must. As soon as he thinks the name, a twig snaps within the forest in front of him. He whips his head up at the sound. His eyes catch movement before the forest stills again. The momentary life ebbing always as it regains the air of stillness the warm autumn air instills. Maybe it’s the pent up energy in him. Maybe it’s because of what his mind is full of. Maybe he’s just plain desperate. He moves forward without really thinking about it. He skids down the side of the shallow ditch, climbs up the other side in three long strides. And then he runs. Chasing something he can’t see or hear. But he knows it’s there.

He stumbles over a root, his foot sinking trough the soft moss, knee bending to catch himself. He can feel his pant leg getting wet, and as he looks down to inspect the situation, someone approaches. “Michael.” says that someone, in a far too familiar voice. One he hasn’t heard in far too long. He looks up. “Jeremy?” He whispers. Disbelief on his face. Because yes, that is Jeremy. Standing in front of him, hand outstretched to help pull him from the moss. His eyes are large and brilliant green. Michael can’t look away. He looks as if he never left. Like he leapt out of Michaels memories, not a single scratch. Pristine clothes. His hair is even the same length. He smells like a graveyard, newly turned wet soil and burning candles. “Hi.” Jeremy says, a smile stretching across his face. As if he’s so overjoyed seeing Michael again. Michael can’t help but match it with one of his own. “Hey!” He practically shouts, glee in his voice. Leg forgotten. Jeremy chuckles at him, eyes crinkling and the sun illuminating his red hair. The reality of the situation slams into Michael like a lightning strike. “Where have you been?” He demands, still not reaching for the offered hand. Still one foot stuck in the moss, leaning on his knee. He can feel the cold sleeping trough the fabric. “What do you mean?” Jeremy asks, innocent. Michael feels the rage building back up. “You’ve been gone for a year! Where were you! We were so worried.” he tells Jeremy. He wants to shout the words but the stillness of the forest around him hals him, his voice coming softer than he intends to. “I’ve been looking for you.” he adds on, a desperate tone to his voice. Jeremy cocks his head to the side, smile gone, but eyes still bright with so much life Michael could cry. “I’ve been right here.” he says. Michael could scream if there weren’t so many different words stuck in his throat. If the silence of the forest wasn’t so deafening, so all encompassing. “Here?” he manages to choke out anyway. Jeremy giggles a little. “That’s what I said.” he says, nodding a little. His hand is still outstretched. “What does that-? No, you know what, whatever. Just…Jeremy, let’s go home.” he says, softly. Begging. He’s even on his knee. He could laugh if he wasn’t so focused on the boy in front of him. Jeremys smile falls away completely for the first time, a small frown gracing his features. His eyes dim just a little. Michael takes his hand. “Please.” he begs. He gazes into those bright green eyes. Not knowing what he’s looking for. Deep down already knowing he won’t find it anyway. “It’s so quiet here. So peaceful.” Jeremy says, sounding far away. His hand in Michaels is warm, and dry. Soft smooth skin, and just underneath Michael can feel the faintest heartbeat. He feels his own beat in time with that rhythm, gets lost in it, until Jeremy says, “Stay.” Michael stares at him. It’s a simple word, implying a simple request. “W-what?” Michael manages to stutter out, caught off guard as he is. Jeremy is smiling again, beaming really. Michael has missed this, he has, but something holds him back. “You should stay here, with me.” Jeremy explains, even though it was clear what he meant from the start. Th request is still an odd one. “I-” Michael begins, then stops, lost for words. How can he answer to such a request? It sounds so simple but it’s so complicated and nothing makes sense anymore. The forest is so still, the trees seem to go on forever, Michael can’t make out the canopy above, but the light breaking trough the leaves in fragments is warm, like summer. The air is sweet with the scent of wildflowers. “Everything just, stops. It’s quiet here, and calm You just, stop, for a while. And everything is good. And you don’t have to worry.” Jeremy says, persuades, tempts him. It sounds like heaven, in some odd way. It sounds like what Jeremy had wanted. Was it god enough to leave behind everything for. “Jere.” Michael says, because he has nothing else left to say. Just a name, just his name, the beginning and the end of everything he knows in this moment. “Stay with me.” Jeremy repeats, placing his other hand on top of Michaels, effectively cradling his hand. He feels the beat more prominently now. Steady. Calm. Michael stares at their hands, then he looks back up into Jeremys eyes. The sunshine spins golden threads trough his hair, and Michael has never seen anything as beautiful as him. “Alright.” Michael whispers. Jeremys smile softens, and he sinks to his knees in front of Michael, into that soft damp moss. The scent of earth grows stronger. Jeremy takes Michaels other hand too, laces their fingers together. Michael can’t take his eyes away from him. The dampness creeps further up his pant leg. Jeremy leans in, as if he’s about to whisper a secret into Michaels ear. “I’m so glad you found me.” he admits, indeed sounding pleased. It makes Michael smile. “I never gave up.” he promises, Jeremy nods. The scent of earth overpowers the scent of smoke, the moss creeps ever upward. “I believe you.” Jeremy promises back. Then he raises his right hand, bringing Michaels left hand up with it. He untangles their fingers one by one until only their little fingers are hooked together. “I’ll never get lost again.” he swears. “I’ll find you anyway.” Michael swear back. Jeremy smiles, then giggles. Michael can’t stifle a giggle of his own. He feels tired, exhausted really. His legs have gone numb, but they’re warm. He blinks once, slowly. Struggling to open his eyes again once they’ve closed. He leans his elbows on the moss, gently. “Are you tired?” Jeremy asks him. Michael only nods, feeling the warmth envelope his shoulders. “Don’t worry, you can sleep soon.” Jeremy consoles. He leans forward, places a gentle kiss on Michaels forehead. Black is creeping into Michaels vision. He’s so warm, so comfortable. He leans his cheek on the moss. It smells fresh. He yawns, breathing in long and deep, and then the dark and the warmth surrounds him. He can feel Jeremy right in front of him in the darkness. Their knees knock against each other. Jeremy pulls at their joined hands until Michael is laying down, and then Jeremy lays down too. He scoots closer, closer, until Michael can wrap his arms around him. Pull him close. “Sleep?” Michael asks, trough the comfortable haze. “Now we sleep.” Jeremy reassures him, nuzzling his face into Michael chest. Clinging onto the fabric of his hoodie. “And when we wake up?” Michael asks, voice quiet, but still it echoes slightly. “We do whatever we want.” Jeremy tells him, and Michael nods, burying his nose in those red curls. He falls asleep.

#my fics #bmc fic #jeremy heere #michael mell #boyf riends

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