#// but after dwelling on the topic for the better half of a year something finally Clicked in my brain last night

[knighteclipsed]

until your eyes are closed.

a drabble: for valter’s dancer mastery. word count: 767 words

Place your hand in its—no, don’t shy away, it is safe to you. Though it is harsh and unyielding to so many around you, you will find no harm will befall you. It is safe. It is safe. Allow it to guide you as you stand, as you walk. One step, then another. You can begin to run now.

Run like the wind does, invigorating your senses and your breath. Walk at your heart’s pace, every beat the tempo to your rhythm. Stand unbending, unbreaking in the face of it all. You have learned to move, to live, to love?

Perhaps not that last one—not that it ever mattered. They say dancing is a communal thing; a thing that is with or for others. You are wiser than that—let it show you to dance: to guide your footsteps, your hands, your weight. One step, then another, until it is all one fluid motion. You have learned to dance now—alone. It suits you.

And what about props? They are not uncommon. If you must dance alone, you may stylize it as you wish. Weapons, though unconventional, work wonders for the task—you have heard of a sword dance, haven’t you? Why not fashion your own with a lance?

Twist like the wind does. (Mind your breathing and keep it steady.) Step at your heart’s pace. (The tempo is even, just follow along.) Pose at appropriate intervals. (This is all a show, after all.) Let your weapon be an extension of yourself and use it to protect yourself, keep your distance from them.

It is by your side, after all—Death, that old friend of yours. Taking your hand and guiding your every step. It is harsh and unyielding, even cruel—to those around you. You are safe from it, so long as you continue to learn.

Death is not a kind teacher, you know. You may suffer one mistake—and it is fatal; you are through. Some lessons are easier to be learned: how to stand, walk, run. Others, you must witness—you must learn from the mistakes of those before you.

Death is not a kind teacher, but it teaches you all the same.  (Twist, step, pose.)

And at last, it releases your hand—you have learned much now, what with your dances. You have learned from Death and so, too, do you now emulate it. It focuses in your eyes, lights dancing in them like upon the tip of a lance. Death is your teacher, and you are its disciple. Were, now you suppose. You are left to fend on your own.

When again you cross paths, that familiar face has not changed—but yours has, worn by years of isolation and contempt. One lesson you learned, however, was to keep fighting for your survival—even against unfavorable odds. Perhaps you were no longer wanted, but if your will died, so, too, would you with it. Step, step—into the next chapter. Tighten your hands ‘till they are naught more than fists.

You see its silhouette again in the eyes of those that you fell: soldiers and knights, common blood and noble. Its tokens are taken gracefully, with all the skill and elegance of an artisan’s dance. You do not face it head-on just yet, however—you only see its traces. (You are untouchable, after all.)

Your final reunion comes upon sandy dunes—the sand is unstable and unfavorable to dancers. Death is a master and is not impeded—it has had much time to learn. You are but a human, and you do not have that same wisdom. You fight for your survival all the same.

Run like the wind does until you are out of breath. Walk at your heart’s pace through the motions—you are growing slower. Stand, if that is possible, but you have grown weary from your dancing. You never quite learned how to take a break, did you?

You may learn that now, first-hand, from an old friend. Place your hand in its—no, don’t shy away. It is futile all the same. (It is harsh and unyielding and would never have spared you.) Allow it to guide you to the after.

One step, another—until your eyes are closed. You do not hear your footsteps, your heartbeat, your breath.

…And then its hand slips away, and you are in a place unfamiliar—to begin the dance anew. Death was not a kind instructor, but it did not lack its own sense of humor. Though it took with it much of what you recalled of dancing, it was not as if you could not relearn it. You can begin to run now, if you so choose.

[alltheficsiwant]

Same Old Hawkins, Or Not | Part Six

PART Six | UTAH

Summary: Finally, the reader tells the things she wanted to forget from the very beginning to the two most important people in her life. Now its up to them if they still wanted to stay or do they want to run... from her.

Warning: Graphic violence, dark themes ( Attempted Rape and Abuse). If you are triggered about these topics. Please read with caution or skip the part with !!! and continue on after the second !!!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Harrington!reader

Words: 4.9k

Note: We are nearing the end! This chapter is like 90% flashback from reader's experience in Utah. Whatever places and events that I wrote doesn't relate to any real life experience. If it does, this is purely coincidence since the story is fictional. Please reblog and tell me what you think about it through the comics. My ask is currently not available. I don't even know why.

PART Four | PART Five | SERIES Masterlist

After you told them those words, Steve and Eddie’s eyes widened and you knew you rendered them speechless. So instead you jumped in telling them what you’ve been trying to forget.

You knew the moment that the phone rang in the middle of the night, you knew it was a call you wouldn’t like. But you answered it anyway and really, you weren’t shocked about your father’s death. You saw it coming.

The moment you and him set foot to Utah, he was a dead man walking. Emotionally and sooner you knew it would manifest physically. It did as you listened to the sympathetic voice of your father’s supervisor in the Utah Labs. 

Though what shocked you was the reason behind. Poisoning? You call bullshit. Your father is a fucking neat freak. Something you picked up on regretfully as the years progressed. He is also a fucking genius chemist. He knows how to fucking mix chemicals even when half asleep. You just knew there was something more. Though, you tried to decide if you would want to dwell on it or not.

You had your suspicions when he insisted on having his “home office” in an apartment building that he never told you where it was. You never asked, you don’t want to deal with it. After all, he doesn’t want to deal with you after what your mother did. You thought that if he kept everything about his work a secret or whatever your father is involved with in his work. He doesn’t want you on it. 

Well, what a twisted way to protect you. Not being present to any life events. Barely even there even when you bought your bike at 16 with the money he always gives you without fail during your birthday.

You knew something did not sit well but you accepted it. You accept the protection your father gave you and for that you are grateful. You loved him, he’s your father after all but you knew he wasn’t a good one to you. 

A few days later, your Uncle Harold flew out alone to help you with the funeral arrangements and everything else. You were hoping Steve would be there. Someone you can find comfort in, but unfortunately, or rather fortunately. He didn’t come. It was for the better.

You just turned 18 that time, making you eligible in handling your finances now that you are in legal age. Your father left a will and left everything of his possession to you. You didn’t think of it until the night before the final day of the funeral. You saw that you also inherited the apartment building where his home office was. You decided not to mention it to anyone. Big mistake though.

The day of the funeral, you were set to move out of Utah to Hawkins three days from the day you buried your father. You wanted to go as soon as possible but your Uncle Harold would have to fly out after the funeral. You had to stay to see to it that your belongings will be shipped to Hawkins the next day then two days later after finishing loose ends. You’ll leave just in time to continue your senior at Hawkins High.

It was a good plan, giving you time to say goodbye to your friends.

So you let the funeral run by and try no to wince every time people looked at you with pity. Yes, your father might have died but there is no reason to pity you. It's still not the end of the world. You also bid goodbye to your Uncle Harold the same day.

Though as soon as he disappeared from your sight, you felt a shiver down your spine. As if your gut sensed something bad is going to happen. You choked it up by burying your father six feet underground. You should have listened.

The next day, you were supposed to meet with the movers but decided to go to the hangout den your friends go to before you met them. You drank with them and played your final D and D game before saying your final goodbyes. You left when they informed you that they are five minutes out.

You thought you could catch up to them, though as you cruised along the road you noticed a black van following you around. You already saw the earlier on thinking it was just coincidence but seeing it again. The familia shiver you felt the day before you came.

You watched horror movies or even thriller action ones. You know what would be the outcome if you try to mislead them but you were hoping you know the streets of Utah more than them. You’re wrong. God, how stupid you were to make decisions back then.

You led them on an unknown tunnel, hoping once you come out, you’ll rev up and speed to the highway then circle back around. You never had the chance to come out of the other side as the last thing you remembered was bright lights on the other side. Then blackness.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were in an unknown room and tied up.

!!!

You panicked a bit as you adjusted looking around the unknown room. You remembered your body is aching. Especially your back as you remembered letting go of your bike and scratching it against the pavement as you fell. You tried to sit up but stumbled back as you realized your hands are tied behind you. 

You groaned at that, before you could do anything else the door opened. You watched as two men entered the room. The two of them are dressed casually and they looked to be the same age as your father. You watched them wearily as they stood there. They were conversing in hushed tones.

“Who are you?” You decided to speak. Your voice cracked a bit. Fuck, how long was you out?

“Ahh, the little girl is awake,” The man with a plaid shirt mused while the other dressed in a tight black shirt turned to you with a smirk. Then he greeted you with your name, making you look at him with wide eyes.

“How do you know me? Who the fuck are you?” you spat at him as you looked around the room. It looked abandoned but judging by the mattress you are currently on and the table with one chair. It was quite lived in. Oddly, you felt like you should know that place but you didn’t.

“Well, it looks like your father never tells you about his officemates huh?” The man in the black shirt said as he moved towards you. He grabbed your arm to make you stand up and you started to fight him. Finally gaining some strength but you are just a tiny human. He was like a solid brick wall and threw you over the chair.

The man in the plaid shirt just leaned on the wall against the door as he watched. Amusement swimming in his eyes.

“It's nice to finally meet you,” The man in the black shirt continued talking as if he didn’t just manhandle you. His eyes darkened as he looked over at your body. “Didn’t know that Nate keeps this pretty thing,”

“Come on now K, we are here to gather information.” The man in the plaid shirt said. Though it was sarcastic, you can tell. You use that tone too many times. The man in the black shirt laughed.

“Yes I know but it's no harm in having fun,” Then he turned back to you. “Now, before we go, have fun. You have to answer a few questions,”

“Before you asked, I don’t fucking know a thing about what my father does,” You told them straight. Now wanting to prolong this experience and also, you know it was hopeless that you would get out of here unscathed. “If you are going to ask anything about it. All I can give you is an apartment number and the address,”

The man in the black shirt raised his brows at you. His eyes told you that he was shocked that you are giving that up so easily. Well, you still didn’t know why your father kept it from you and since you are the owner of the place now. You can do anything to it as it pleases you and if it's going to be that or your life. You choose to give that up.

The man in the plaid shirt laughed. “That’s funny, we do not need to know that. We are already here,”

Your brows furrowed as you looked around. Finally talking about the place in. It was hard given that the lights were dimmed a bit but as you looked around. You noticed that there are marks of furniture being there but now it's not. Marks of cabinets can be seen and when you looked over the table, you noticed cables of where a computer was supposed to be there.

This is the apartment? Well, shit.

“What we need to know—” The man in the black shirt said as he reached out behind him to brandish a knife. Your eyes widened at it as he brought it right in front of your cheeks as he grew closer. He put the blunt end over your cheeks as he stopped inches from your face. “--- is where all the shit in this apartment has gone huh?”

“I-I don’t know,” you told him shakily.

“Tsk, let’s try that again, pretty girl,” the man in the black shirt said as he ran the blunt end of the blade until it landed on the top button of your blouse. You had worn your red long sleeved shirt over your biker jacket. Thank God you are wearing pants and not a skirt at that time or it would be more unbearable. “Tell us where your father kept it?! Tell us!”

“I don’t even know what he kept from you!” you told him and the next thing you knew, searing pain came and you looked down to see he nicked you a few inches below your collarbone. 

“You won’t speak. Well, you are going to open that mouth after this!” The man in the black shirt said and then you felt searing pain on your left cheeks. His hand meeting your cheek, the sound echoed harshly inside the room. 

You felt tears start to fall from your eyes as you cried out. He continues to slap you again this time on the other side before grabbing your chin.

“Talk,”

“I’m talking! I don't know where or what it is! I just learned I already owned the apartment but I never came here!” You pleaded but it's as if he didn’t hear you as he brought the knife again this time easily nicked the first button of your blouse and then another not even carefully as he nicked you again. You hissed at that.

“Tell us now or we won’t stop and do worse bitch!” He delivered another slap and that started your thrashing. You trashed to the point that you tilted the chair and landed on the floor. 

“Please let me go! Let me— ah!” You shouted as the man in the plaid shirt joined the fray. When you were able to sit up, he slammed you back down on the floor. You cried out at the pain. The bruises you obtain from the crash are still fresh.

“If you are not going to be useful. We might as well find something to do with you.” The man in the plaid shirt said. Then they turned you over as they watched you struggle. The man in the black shirt, K, you remembered he was called. Cut the rope on your wrist and you took the opportunity to trash more. Though the man in the plaid shirt anticipated it and this time slammed you back down on the floor. You cried as black spots started to appear in your eyes. Fuck you can’t lose consciousness now.

“You fucking stay down,” the man in the plaid shirt said as you tried to wiggle your wrist from his grip but to no avail he has you pinned down. K, straddle your waist and lean down with his knife back on the buttons of your blouse.

“You think you can just tell us you know nothing? Your father treated you like a fucking treasure that no one should touch just like he did with his work back at the office,” He said as he looked over at you. Your skin crawled as he traced you with his eyes. “Good thing we killed him. We can have his work now and you,”

“No! Please! Stop!” You cried out and the two of them just laughed.

“You are a pretty girl, why don’t you give us a show?” K said as he ignored you please. Your mind is racing as you watch helplessly. You got to get the fuck out of here, you fucking must. He was already halfway through your blouse. The knife he was using was sharp as you felt it knick you a couple of times but you remained to struggle. Despite the sharpness of it and the fear of being slashed. Your will to escape is greater.

“Please stop! Let me go! I don’t know anything at all!” 

The man laughed as he continued to cut through your blouse. He is on the last three buttons that lay across your stomach. 

“Look at you! So pretty!” He exclaimed as he stopped and examined you. He ran his knife on your stomach, the blunt side before he leaned down. You looked at the side as tears fell from your eyes. Your hands are pinned down by the other man as he laughed at the scene. 

“We will surely enjoy this! If you won’t talk maybe we can use your mouth for something else,”

Then you felt him move a bit down and felt his crotch touch your knee. You felt his knife going through the last three buttons. 

“You are ours to—” 

!!!!

You didn’t think anymore as you just gathered the strength you have left and slammed your knee against it. K cried out and he accidentally slashed your stomach. You cried too but then the other man unconsciously loosened his grip and as you trashed because of the pain. You snatched your wrist away from him.

As you sat up, you felt him drag you back on the floor. You're back already filled with bruises slammed on it making you cry out. Your hands frantically moved over the floor until you felt the hilt of the knife.

“You fucking—- argh!” The man shouted as you used the knife to slice his hand. You stood up as you held your stomach to stop its bleeding. You kicked the head of the man that held you down as hard as you could with your boots. You didn’t bother to look around as you opened the door.

Before you could even step outside, you felt a hand grab the back of your blouse. It was already opened revealing the plethora of bruises and cuts and it was soaked through by your blood. You got dragged back a bit and you hit a solid chest.

“Where the fuck do you think— fucking hell!” You slammed the knife on his thigh to make you let go. You didn’t bother to get the knife, you just ran out of there. You are met with a living room and went straight towards the main door. As soon as you opened it you just didn’t think and took a left and ran. Your eyes fixed on the fire exit. You heard a shout behind you but you didn’t stop. 

You were able to slip through the door but then a loud gun shot was heard and you hissed as you looked down to see that you were grazed by your waist. 

“Get back here!” You didn’t bother to turn around. You bolted and willed yourself to run faster. Adrenaline probably is what keeps you up and about. The next thing you know, your feet took you to the basement parking lot. You cursed. You just fucking wished they took your bike or else it was another thing—

There! Thank fuck! You saw your scratched bike. They took it and parked it beside an unmarked van. You hurriedly moved towards it hearing the thundering of feet from the stairs. You wasted no time running over it. Your helmet is gone but you can fucking manage. You are already bleeding and you need to get out of there.

You searched for the taped spare key you placed in the bike. You have the tendency to lose it so you always have a spare key taped on the bike itself in which only your tiny hands could get to. You reached under the seat and looked towards the staircase until you felt it. Wasting no time, you took it between your fingers. You were just about to rev up your bike when K and several men burst out of the staircase. 

You wasted no time and took off. Ducking and wincing as you heard gunshots popped and aimed at you. All of them missed as you swerved expertly while you looked around for exit. When you found it, you didn’t hesitate even when you heard tires screeching behind. You just knew you gotta get out of it.

There was a chase you could remember but no gunshots. You could feel your body getting heavier by the minute as you glanced down and saw that apparently, they grazed you again as you bleed just below your breast. You were bleeding all over your bike.

“Shit shit shit,” You can’t help but curse as you zoomed past a stoplight. You heard severe tires screeching at the distance but you didn’t dare to turn around. You just drove and the next thing you knew. You crashed, again but this time right in front of Utah General. You remembered stumbling on the ground as a group of doctors and nurses probably on break tended to you immediately. 

The last thing you remember was you being placed in a stretcher and doctor’s frantically asking you questions. You tried really but all you can feel was the adrenaline running out of you and your body weakening by the loss of blood. Then you blacked out.

You finished your recollection of that night, your eyes closed tight as you will yourself to stop shaking. You didn’t dare to see their expression but they were quiet. Too quiet so you continue to talk.

“There was no major surgery but I had bruised bones and lost a lot of blood. My back was a bit fucked up but it was my front that took a lot of cuts and the grazes from the gun shots. The doctors told me I was lucky and that I was smart to bring myself to the hospital as soon as possible.” You told them. “Though, I was knocked out for three consecutive days. In and out because I was fatigued.”

“When I woke up, the police were there and informed me that the Utah Labs that my father worked at was seized the next day of my alleged crash. An anonymous person gave them my father’s files and everything he worked on to the Utah PD about the company making date rape drugs and they were working with an underground laboratory that do human experiments.” You continued as you felt the two boys not even reacting or saying anything. “They were able to arrest everyone. They told me if what happened to me three days ago is connected to the case. They would need my statement.”

“So I told them everything in the condition that they won’t say my name or my father for the whole duration of the case. That is why it took me a week to finally go back to Hawkins. I had to make the bruises fade a bit enough for the concealer,” You finished. This time you welcomed the silence and hugged yourself closer if that was even possible.

You didn’t know how long the silence had gone and you refused to look at them. Afraid of their expressions. 

Then someone called your name so gently, that if it's not quite you wouldn’t hear it but you did. You weren’t sure who it was but you didn’t comply instead you shook your head.

“Please look at me,” The voice said and as it neared you knew who it was. Steve. Still you refused to do so. You heard a sigh and then slowly you felt a hand hover over your arms. You flinched, not because the touch is unwelcome. You just knew that if one of them touched you. You would crumble. You are barely holding it together.

“You’re safe here. It's okay, just please look at me,” Steve pleaded and finally had enough of it. You forced your eyes open and as you dared to look at Steve. You see his disheveled look. His hair looked to be run through by his fingers too many times and his eyes were brimming with tears. The first time you saw him shed some tears, not even when Nancy dumped him for Jonathan. Though, you expected pity on them just like the first day but no. It wasn’t pity you knew that for sure. 

It wasn't pity. It was– guilt. Why would he be guilty when you are just thankful that he isn’t—

“I knew something was off the moment I saw you,” he spoke softly as he looked over at you as he let his tears fall. “I thought Uncle Nate did things to you and I was angry. So angry but hearing what happened that night. I just wished I insisted on coming. I could have helped. I-I could have prevented—”

“No,” you quickly interjected as you shook your head. “No, Steve. If you were there, they could have done worse on you too. I-I don’t want that.” You cried as you looked back at him. “I already lost my father. I can’t lose you too,”

Steve shook his head. “But still– I could have protected you against Billy. D-dustin told me what happened the night Billy came into the Byers house. The panic attack. I could have protected you—”

“It was just an unfortunate thing to happen Steve. You shouldn’t burden yourself on that.” You told him that. “I was just relieved that you and Uncle Harold were unharm.”

Steve released a breath before he wiped the tears that fell from his cheeks. “Still, forgive me Squirt?”

“There is nothing to forgive, Jerk,” You told him and this time when he reached out for you. You willingly went in his arms. There you let yourself crumble as you cried out against his chest and Steve held you close. You didn’t know how long you stayed there but soon Steve laid a kiss on the top of your head. 

“I-I just need to take a walk though. Need to just let this flow through my system but whatever you need. You can come to me. You know that right,” Steve looked at you as he wiped your tears. You nodded and you let him go. He then looked over at Eddie, you still haven’t looked at him but you saw Steve gave a knowing look then looked over at you. 

With that he offered a small smile as he sniffled and proceeded to walk out of the living room and out of the house. Silence yet again enveloped the house as you remained in your position. Afraid on talking or even—

“Nothing changed,” Eddie suddenly spoke and that made you look at him. Eddie though, you expected that in some way, he would look at you with pity. That’s what everybody did when they learned what happened to you but it was the same expression he gave you when you decided to tell them everything. It didn’t change. Pure Adoration. “It just made me more taken with you,”

“Eddie,” You started. “I-I might not be the best person to have a relationship now. I-I would have issues with somethings–”

“We have time,” Eddie cut you off as he finally closed the distance between the two of you. He dragged himself to sit in front of you. You didn’t move, afraid to touch him too but Eddie didn’t touch you too. Instead he offered his hands, palms up. “I’m a patient man despite popular belief,” He offered a small smile as you looked down at his hands.

“We’ll go at your pace and I would just follow along sweetheart,” He added. 

“Are you sure? You told me that your life is fucked up—”

“Nope, nope! No comparing how my life or others life is fucked up.” Eddie yet again cut you off. “We all have our own battles. I just decided that I want to help you fight yours. Now what say m’lady?” 

He offered this time one of his hands and bowed. You stared at it but instead of taking his hand to hold. You held it and pulled his arms open as you crashed in it. Hugging him like there is not tomorrow. Eddie hugged you back, his arms just like that night, came around you like steel bands. Safe. You feel fucking safe again.

“Oh my baby, you are so strong and so brave.” Eddie started to mumble against your ear and you didn’t know you needed to hear that. But fuck, Eddie Munson just knows what to say to you. As soon as you heard those words, you crumbled again. This time you quite literally put yourself on his lap. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulder while you buried your face on his neck.

Eddie didn’t mind as he pulled you against him tighter if that was possible. He proceeds to tell you sweet things as he lets you cry. Again, you didn’t know how long you were in his arms though slowly you felt the heaviness on your bones.

Tired for the day and Eddie must have felt it as he carefully shifted you until he could carry you like a bride. You easily molded yourself in his arms but didn’t remove your head on his neck. Sleep started to creep on you. You felt Eddie stand and was about to move when you heard the front door open. 

“Oh, she’s asleep?” Steve asked. You felt Eddie shifted you a bit before he answered.

“Getting there, i’ll go tuck her in for the night. If that’s alright?” Eddie asked.

“I-I can take her—” You clutched onto Eddie a bit tighter. No offense to Steve but you were quite comfortable in Eddie’s arms and you didn’t want the feeling of being safe to leave you. Steve must have noticed before he cut himself off before you heard him sigh. “— do you want me to lead you to her room?”

“Please,”

The next thing you know, you were being laid on your bed. You briefly opened your eyes to look at them sleepily.

“I-I should go—”

“That’s right—”

Before Eddie could move, your hands reached out to hold the sleeve of his leather jacket. Eddie abruptly stopped and looked at you while Steve did the same.

“Can you please stay?” You just asked quietly as you looked over at Steve. “I want Eddie to stay,”

You watched as the two men looked at each other. Steve narrowed his eyes while Eddie just looked back at him. They weren’t moving or speaking but despite your sleep-addled brain you can see the both of them talking. Then Steve sighed.

“Okay, but no funny business,” Steve pointed at the two of you. “And no locking of doors,”

This time you can’t help but snort but Steve just sternly looked at you. You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Yes mom. Can you just leave?” You told him as you tugged Eddie and scooted over your bed. Steve sighed and gave one final look at Eddie.

“I mean it, Munson. No funny business while I’m in the house,” Steve said as he started to walk out. “The walls are thin,” He grumbled to himself.

You cuddle up to Eddie who removed his leather jacket and just laid it on the floor beside the bed. You didn’t see the mischievous look that took place on Eddie’s face after what Steve said. 

“So, if you are not in the house, funny business is on?” Eddie asked and you can’t help but snort at that. The events are still heavy on you but you can’t help but find it funny and comforting to have Steve and Eddie banter.

“Jesus Christ! You are putting images in my head that shouldn’t be there,” Steve said and with that he ran out of there. He slammed the door though but shouted “Do not fucking lock this!” before you heard him stomp back to his room.

Eddie wrapped an arm around you as the both of you settled. You finally started to let sleep take over you but then your eyes abruptly opened as you lifted your head to look at Eddie.

“What is it Sweetheart?” 

You stared at him for a while before talking. “You have to take me to a date first,” 

Eddie smiled at that and pulled you back in his arms. You snuggled against his chest at that, though you didn’t close your eyes yet.

“Oh, don’t worry sweetheart. I intend to take you on the best first date of your life,”

“I’m holding you that Munson,”

To be continued.

[yelena-bellova]

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter One

Chapter One: The Other Wilson Sister - chapter two

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n grew up with Sam and Sarah Wilson in the bayou of Delacroix. During the Blip she stayed with Sarah to help run the family business. With Sam back and trying to save the day, Y/n’s perfect opportunity to confess her long-kept secret to her best friend presents itself.

Warnings: tfatws ep.1 spoilers, language, suicide mention, undertones of racism, lots of Wilson sibling arguments, tragic backstory

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: As I wrote this first chapter out I realized it’s most definitely also a Sam Wilson x platonic fic. Bucky doesn’t come in till next chapter but rest assured, it’s gonna be a wild ride...Also I didn’t know till now how difficult it is to plan out a series in its entirety when the show isn’t completed lol. Hope you enjoy! (I may or may not change the title depending on how I feel about it later today lol)

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Delacroix, LA 2024

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One of the only things I was certain of in life was that blood didn’t make a family.

I had no official tie to Wilson family, I wasn’t a daughter or some distant cousin sent to live with them. We shared no DNA and they had no reason to love me as much as they did. But throughout my life I had known no kinder people than them and I doubted that would change. As I stood on the family boat helping to unload the catch of the day, I thought of how our corner of the Louisiana bayou felt more like home than any place I’d ever been.

“Hey,” Sarah said from the dock, “Head out of the clouds and down here helping me.” “Sorry,” I shook myself out of my thoughts and hopped off the boat, “Not a bad catch if you ask me.”

Sarah sighed as she bent over a large bucket of fish, “It could’ve been better.” I came to stand in front of her and held my hands out for a bucket, “Take the wins where you can get ‘em, Sar. Lord knows we don’t get enough of them.” Sarah Wilson was the only superhero I’d ever aspire to be like. She was a widow who had raised two kids and run a business all by herself with no family for support. The past five years had been challenging with so many people gone and while I had moved in with her to help however I could, I could take no credit. She was one of the strongest women I’d ever known.

“You had that look on your face again,” she said as we worked.

“What look?”

“That look that lets me know you were thinking real hard about something,” Sarah imitated the expression in question by thinning her eyes slightly and furrowing her brows, “Like this.” I laughed heartily at her impression, “So what was it?” I gazed out at the bayou waters before turning to the boat and finally Sarah, “Family.”

She nudged me with her hip, something we’d done when we were young and an affectionate gesture we’d carried into adulthood. A half hour went by with us and the boys unloading and sorting the fish we’d caught. I was too wrapped up in the task to notice the sound of a vehicle approaching until AJ and Cass announced the arrival. 

“Blue for the snapper, orange for the whitefish.”

“Uncle Sam!”

My head shot up upon hearing his name, as did Sarah’s. I used my hand as a visor against to sun to spot the familiar rusted truck parked a few hundred feet away, with my best friend standing outside it hugging his nephews.

“That’s right, Uncle Sam,” Sarah called, “You’re back early.”

I grinned as I shucked my gloves off and made a beeline for him, slamming my body into his for a tight embrace. It had been a few weeks since I’d seen him, having spent the only weekend he was off away, and I’d naturally been worried sick about him. My best friend and un-biological brother may have been an Avenger for years, but after losing him in the Blip I didn’t think I’d ever stop worrying about him.

“Every time I come home, you act like I’ve been gone for five years,” he joked over my shoulder, resulting in me pulling away and slapping his bicep.

“Not even a little funny,” I pointed a finger in his smug face, he slung an arm around my neck as we walked over to Sarah.

“What’s goin’ on? You got Mom’s sneaky look on your face.” “How you gonna try to read me when you know I’m the one that reads you?” Sam smiled, passing by and greeting a long time customer of ours. “That look is permanently glued to his face, Sar,” I chuckled, “I learned that in grade school.” Sam shook his head at me and laughed before making his way up the dock to the Wilson family boat. “You gotta marvel at it, baby’s being held together by duct tape and prayers.” I leaned into Sarah, “Are you telling him or am I?” She took the initiative, “It just needs to float long enough for me to sell it.” “I thought we were gonna discuss if we were selling it,” Sam replied as he helped unload another bucket of fish. “We did, and then you were off fighting Doctor Space Cape or whatever while we,” Sarah gestured between us, “Were holdin’ it together for five long years. Now that the world is going back to normal, this thing’s gotta go.”

Sam looked to me with a look of displeasure, “Were you in on this?” “Don’t drag me into this,” I waved my hands as if wiping my involvement away, “This is a Wilson sibling discussion.” “Uh-uh,” Sam called me out, wagging his finger, “Don’t do that. Dad said every chance he got that you were one of his own, you’ve got a say in this too. What is it?” I scrunched my face up, dreading the argument that was knocking on our door, “It’s dead weight, Sam. The money we could get for it would be enough to keep us comfortable for a little longer without having to worry.” “We grew up on this thing. It’s not just Mom and Dad’s name on it. This thing is a part of our family.”

I sighed as Sarah stepped forward, “You know the situation we’re in. This is why I prefer not to dwell on it in front of everybody.” “Well what if we don’t need to sell it?” Sam said. “Can we talk about this in private?” I suggested, tiring of having to convince Sam that we were in the right when he hadn’t been around to witness our struggles. A long time friend of ours called out to Sam and he willingly took the distraction, opting out of having the inevitable difficult conversation. Sarah and I trudged back, totes of fish in hand and tried to get through the rest of the work day without worrying if we were approaching our last.

————

During golden hour, when the clock had struck five and we’d started packing it up for the day was the only time to get Sam to actually listen. I knew how much the boat meant to him, it meant something to us all, but he wasn’t living in the reality that Sarah and I were.

“Sam, the boat’s gotta go,” Sarah finally said, breaking the silence we were working in on the vessel. “Wait-“ “No, let me finish,” she said, “Y/n and I are doin’ everything I can to keep this business afloat and every day we’re making $5 and spending $10.” Sam looked between the two of us, “So why won’t you let me help?” 

“Sam, don’t…” I winced, knowing Sarah’s reaction would be strong.

“No, don’t start with that. We made a deal before Daddy died,” Sarah carried a few buckets to the center of the deck, “You’re out there, I do things my way here. Y/n agreed to it too when she went off to school.” “Right, but you tangled the house into this when you took those loans,” Sam finished tying off one of the ropes, turning around and giving Sarah the perfect opportunity to punch his chest, “Forgot how hard you hit.” I sighed as I passed him by to follow Sarah, “Low blow, you deserved it.” 

“Sarah, Y/n, c’mon,” he chased after us, “Look, and don’t hit me again…What if you had money to fix it up? Make it nice so you can charter it when you’re not out working the waters?” “Sam, do you think this was an easy decision for us?” I faced him, leaning against the doorway next to him, “I tried every tactic I learned in business school and got nowhere. Anything I thought up, we needed more money to do. This is our only option.” As he always did with the things he cared about, he fought. “We can take a loan and consolidate everything, it’ll take down your monthly,” he looked confused as he watched Sarah laugh, “What?” “You think I didn’t try the banks? They’re in with all that big business now.” I followed them like the little sister I’d always been as they moved their fight towards the cockpit of the boat. Sam blocked another doorway, “Yeah, but now you have me.”

“Don’t, Sam,” Sarah shook her head, “I just got good with this.”

“All right…”

“Maybe it is time for us to move on,” Sarah sighed. “Either way, just let me help,” Sam offered, “I’ll set the appointment. Look, I won’t let you guys down. We can turn this shit around. Trust me.” I peered over at Sarah, wishing I could see the calculations going on in her brain. It seemed pointless, but any shot at changing our luck was an avenue worth pursuing.

“It can’t hurt to try,” I shrugged.

Sarah finally relented, “To the rescue, huh?”

“Always,” Sam smiled, “Now, let’s get some dinner. I’m hungry.” ————

Sarah was taking AJ and Cass back home while Sam and I took his truck to go pick up food.

“So how was Tunisia?” I asked, sticking my hand out the window and letting it rise and fall with the wind.

“Hot, but the mission went well,” he answered, looking out of the corner of his eyes at me, “And that’s all you need to know.”

I snickered, “C’mon, it’s our thing. I ask you detailed questions about your confidential missions, you tell me you can’t reveal anything, I keep asking…You’ve gotta honor tradition.” “I flew, I fought, I rescued. Boom, mission explained.” “Ugh, you’re impossible, Wilson,” I waved him off, “How was the museum dedication?” The atmosphere changed as the subject of conversation changed from easy to complicated. “It was nice to see Steve’s accomplishments celebrated. Got to see Rhodes which was nice…” “You’re avoiding a red white and blue topic,” I said, trying to coax his true feelings out of their shells, “Seriously, are you really okay with this? Giving up the shield?” Sam inhaled deeply and exhaled, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t think it was ever meant to end up in my hands. I did the right thing, it belongs with Steve and the museum is the closest to Steve I can get.” I respected my friend’s choice but I knew there was so much more to his decision and I wished he would just say it. He had an enormous amount of respect for Steve Rogers and what the shield represented, but Steve Rogers never had to face the issues that Sam Wilson did. Steve Rogers could follow a government and be respected in return with no problems whatsoever. Sam Wilson couldn’t, not always. There was an elephant in the room and if neither of us wanted to talk about it, I wouldn’t push it.

“You’d have looked good in that uniform though,” I smiled as we turned into the take out place’s parking lot.

“Damn right,” Sam waggled his eyebrows and unbuckled his seatbelt. Laughter rang out in the truck sending me on waves of nostalgia. The memories that me and him had in this truck still were infamous between us. As proud as I was of the Falcon’s heroics, I was prouder to call Sam Wilson my best friend.

————

Just as he’d promised, Sam made the appointment with the banker. He and Sarah were already on their way as I made the hour long drive in the opposite direction to New Orleans. I’d told them I’d be back in the evening to discuss how it went, but I had my own appointment to keep.

Sam and I had met back when we were just a couple of first graders. I’d always struggled with making friends as a kid, but Sam never had an issue when it came to connecting with others. It was one of his strongest qualities. And so he used his gift on his desk neighbor, the loneliest kid in class, and pulled her out of herself. We were inseparable until college and adulthood forced us apart, but we’d never lost our bond. Even when he was a pararescue, he wrote to me as often as his work allowed him.

All the Wilsons had taken a liking to me after Sam brought me home one day after school to watch cartoons. Darlene had told me I was welcome to come over any time I wanted, an offer Sam and I accepted till I became a permanent fixture in their house. Paul and his wife had frequently tried to get the rest of my family over for a crawfish boil or a barbecue. They’d send me every few weeks with a verbal invitation to my parents and the next day I’d always come back with a polite decline and excuse as to why we couldn’t make it. Mom was busy with spring cleaning, Melanie had a recital, Dad was feeling under the weather…

The only one that had ever been true was about my dad not feeling well. He was never well. But as a child, how do you explain that your father is a ghost around his own home who drinks himself to sleep and wakes up each night screaming from nightmares? There was no polite way to phrase circumstances that dark. Sometimes I felt like my dad had never returned from the military and though there hadn’t been a war at the time of his service, he still came back with his share of trauma. Mom did everything she could to try and help him. She found support groups for veterans, she took him to the best psychiatrists, she created a safe space for him within our home to retreat to. There was no amount of help that could kill my father’s demons and that was proven the night he’d said we were out of milk and he was going to the store. A few hours later, with my sister and I fast asleep upstairs, my worried mother answered the door and was informed by the police that my father had crashed his car and was dead. After speaking to Mom about what his mood had been like before he’d left and if he suffered from any mental illnesses, it was ruled as an undoubtable suicide.

My mother didn’t get much time to mourn after the funeral, she had two children to provide for. She took three jobs just to earn enough to move us from our house in New Orleans to a dingy apartment in Delacroix by the bayou. When the Wilsons heard that Mom needed to scrape enough money in the budget to hire a baby-sitter for me and Melanie, they put a stop to her efforts immediately. The insisted that Mel and I would be happier spending the time my mom was working with them and their kids rather than a stranger. That was how the Wilsons and the Y/l/ns had ended up so tightly knit. While Sarah and Melanie had bonded as the older sisters and were often off doing their own thing, Sam and I caused havoc of our own in classic younger sibling fashion. By the time we were in high school, both parents called the other’s children their own.

When Paul and Darlene passed away, it was incredibly hard on all of us and it was equal when Mom had a fall and the doctors suggested she move into a facility. Sam, Sarah and I had worked hard to get her into one of the best nursing homes in the city and she hadn’t stopped raving about how much she loved it. Pulling into the parking lot was like muscle memory now, I never missed a weekend visit with her. This one was special because Melanie, her husband and brood of children had come too. I grabbed my visitor’s sticker at the front desk and made my way down the familiar hallways. The sound of laughter and cooing echoed out of my mom’s room, bringing a smile to my face.

I knocked on the door and heads turned, my nieces and nephews being the quickest. “Aunt Y/n!” I embraced Sophia and Max tightly, “The twin tornados! I missed you guys,” separating from them was difficult as they clung to me but I made it to Stephan, giving him a kiss on the cheek and doing the same to Mel, “You look hot, mama.” “I certainly don’t feel it,” she remarked as she cradled their newest addition, baby Alexandra, close to her chest, “I spend more hours of the day covered in glitter glue and spit up than you could imagine.” “You wear it all well,” I patted her shoulder before coming to my mother’s bedside and hugging her, “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she kissed both of my cheeks and looked to the door, “Sarah and Sam couldn’t come?” “No, but they send their love. They had an appointment at the bank,” I set down my purse and pulled up a chair, “We’re trying to get approved for a small business loan.”

Glen took Alexandra from Mel so she could tend to the twins, “I wish we could help out, Y/n. I’ve looked at the budget over and-“ It warmed my heart that my brother-in-law cared so much about a problem that wasn’t his to bear. “Glen,” I held up a hand, “You guys are stretched thin enough. This isn’t me asking for charity, it’s our problem and Sam’s confidant we’ll find a fix.” “How does he have enough time to be a member of the Air Force, an Avenger and save the family business?” Mel asked.

“Well, the Avengers are kind of off doing their own thing right now from what I understand and he’s home for a little while from the Air Force,” I explained, “So his main job at the moment is to get us our funding and annoy the snot out of me while doing it.” After earning some giggles from Sophia and Max at the expression, Glen announced that they were going to go and grab lunch for everybody. My mom took my hand once it was just the two of us and I settled into my seat, “How are you, sweetheart?”

“Hanging in there,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair, “Tired, stressed, I smell like fish most of the time…We need this loan or else we’re going to have to sell the boat. You should’ve seen Sam’s face when Sarah told him…”

“I’m sorry, I know how much that boat means to you kids. I could’ve offered you the moon and stars and it still wouldn’t have been enough to get you off it.” I smiled at the memories of summer nights spent laying on the deck stargazing, dance parties on the stern and early mornings spent with Mr. Wilson teaching us how to fish. A childhood with so much sadness had also contained so many joys. To part with a tangible one killed me more than I’d let on to Sam.

Sensing that the topic was making me emotional, my mother was kind enough to change it. “How are things otherwise? Have you been getting out there?” I dropped my head back dramatically and groaned, “Mom…” “I’m just saying,” she dropped my hand and held up hers in surrender, “You should get out there, meet someone. There’s no shame in trying those online dating services. What’s the one…the…Tinder?” “Oh my gosh, Mom,” I buried my face in my hands and moved my fingers so she could only see my eyes, “Please stop talking.” “You know who I ran into the other day? Jack’s mom, from high school. She lives just down the next hallway, she says that he’s still single. You could get in touch with him.” “Y’know, for a woman who advocated for her daughters to lead such independent lives, you’re sure quick to try and marry us off,” I chuckled, “The second Mel started dating Glen you were practically booking the church.” “And I’m very proud of both my girls for being such strong young women,” she smiled proudly, “But finding love doesn’t mean losing your independence so long as you’re with the right man. I love that you’ve been helping out Sarah these last few years but honey…I see how lonely you are. In those big y/e/c eyes you think I still can’t read after all these years.” The y/e/c eyes in question started to fill with sadness at hearing my pain verbalized. It was true, I was lonely. More so than I would ever let on to anybody. I was a shy enough kid who only withdrew further after Dad passed away, that kind of introversion wasn’t one that you outgrew. But I’d given up the idea of finding someone to spend my life with a long time ago for a bevy of reasons.

“Sometimes it’s better to be alone, Mama,” I nodded as if to force myself to agree with my statement, “No chances of getting hurt…or hurting somebody.” “You couldn’t hurt somebody even if you tried,” my mom argued sweetly, “You couldn’t even kill spiders when you were a kid.” “And now there’s a Spiderman out there so I’m glad I didn’t,” I shot back with a laugh.

“I’m serious, honey,” she took my hand once again, “Don’t let your heart’s wounds keep you from finding someone who could help soothe them.” 

I was convinced my mother was both a poet and a therapist at some point in her life, she gave advice in the most beautifully phrased way. And while I’d loved to have taken her words to heart, tell Mel to fix me up with one of Glen’s friends and put an end to my loneliness, I feared that I was just too broken to give love to someone.

————

I arrived back home late, shedding my boots and bag at the doors. I’d expected to hear a triumphant chorus of Sam shouting ‘WHO DA MAN?’ as he typically would when heroically proving me and Sarah wrong, but there was only silence. When I walked into the kitchen and saw their glum faces, it wasn’t hard to guess the outcome of the meeting. “You’re kidding me…” “Said that things had tightened up,” Sam said, leaning against one side of the island and taking a swig of his beer, “Had the balls to ask me for a picture afterwards.” I groaned and grabbed the beer bottle Sarah had extended to me, “Okay, we’re out of options. It’s time to move forward-“ “Don’t say it…” Sam tiredly warned.

“Someone has to, Sam. We can’t keep searching for solutions when the right one is sitting out on our dock,” I gestured to the window that looked out on the road we took each day to work.

Sarah set her beer down and held her hands up in surrender, “I’m not having this argument again tonight, I’m going to bed. If you’re gonna kill each other, do it quietly.” She left as me and Sam silently stared each other down, waiting for the other to speak. I was too frustrated to play the game, “What’s this really about?” “It’s about the damn boat and that you and Sarah are throwing in the towel too-“ “What,” I elongated the single syllable word, “Is this really about?” Sam set his drink down and rubbed his hands over his head before looking back up at me helplessly, “You guys were on your own for five years and you’ve done an amazing job. But now nothing’s working and I just…I just want to help because I couldn’t for so long.” It all clicked as to why Sam was being so insistent on trying to eliminate the whole matter. He was used to saving the day and finally meeting one that he couldn’t save was a wall he thought he could still find a way to run through. He’d been like that ever since we were kids, always trying to help the people he loved even when it was impossible. He had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever met.

“I love you,” I set down my bottle and crossed the island to come next to him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, “But this may be one problem that the Falcon can’t swoop in and fix. The Avengers work hard, but a business graduate helping to run a struggling seafood business works harder,” I succeeded in getting him to crack a smile, “Believe me, I’ve run all the numbers and consulted with anyone who would listen. The boat’s gotta go.”

“Yeah, well, humor me and give me a little while longer.”

“Fine, a couple more days,” I grabbed my beer once again and clinked it against his, “But it’s not my fault if Sarah smacks you again.” Sam laughed, slung an arm around my neck and kissed my temple. “You coming up soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a few minutes,” I answered, watching as he finished his drink before leaving the kitchen and heading upstairs. Once I’d heard his bedroom door open and close, I exited out to the back porch. I took in the late night sounds of the bayou, the crickets chirping and the wind rustling trees had always soothed me. I wished they could touch what I was feeling right now, but the noise didn’t do a thing to drown out my worry. For the business I feared we may lose, for Sam as he ran himself ragged trying to help and for myself and what him and Sarah would think of me once I confessed the secret I’d kept from them for so long.

I held out my hand and watched as the blue energy flowed from my fingertips. Would Sam ever forgive me for not telling him I had powers? They had manifested when I was young, my parents said. I couldn’t remember a day where my body hadn’t produced a magical energy that when harnessed incorrectly could be destructive. It had been a sad day for my mother’s garden when I’d discovered that bit…According to her, she’d wanted to take me to a school for people like me run by a man named Charles Xavier but my father had said no immediately. He’d been so insistent on keeping my powers a secret that my mother said she’d only seen that type of fear in his eyes when he had a war flashback. So I was instructed to never show my powers to anyone under any circumstances and I’d done just that. I’d thought about revealing them in 2012 after the Battle of New York, but my dad’s fear rang in my ears. Three years later when Sam became an Avenger was when I began to feel guilty that I was keeping a secret from him. I’d wanted to join him and find somewhere where I didn’t feel so out of place, but I’d decided against it again. Now with their team so broken and Sam off with the Air Force, I’d finally gathered the courage to confide in him and Sarah. I should have done it six months ago, but I’d chickened out too many times. Tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow was the day. But would they still see me the same way once I showed them? ————

The next morning, after dressing and running over what I wanted to say three times, I hesitantly headed downstairs to face the music. With there being nobody in the kitchen, I followed the sounds of the television to find Sarah and Sam staring at the screen intently. I stood to the side of the room and watched a suited man give a speech out front of a government building. “We need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So, on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero. Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.”

My jaw slackened as a man marched out in front of the gathered press, dressed in a variation of Steve Rogers’ patriotic uniform and carrying the iconic shield. The shield that had only weeks ago sat upstairs in Sam’s bedroom in a case. I dragged my gaze away from the screen to look at my best friend, hunched over in his seat with his eyes shut in sorrow. Sarah looked just as distraught, her eyes trained on her brother as well. We waited in silence until the breaking news broadcast switch back to regularly scheduled programming before Sarah switched the box off.

“I thought you said it was going to stay in the museum,” I finally spoke, my voice choked with emotion.

“It was supposed to,” Sam ground out, his grip on his own hands tightening. Without any warning, he rose from his seat and left the room. My instinct was to follow him and try to comfort him, but there was nothing I could say to ease the deep pain he was feeling. I wasn’t even sure I could form words that weren’t doused in raw shock. The two things I was sure of were that a) the government had fucked up royally and b) now was definitely not the time to tell Sam about my powers.

————

It was a few days later and Sam still hadn’t spoken much to Sarah and I about the situation. It was unnatural for Sam to suffer in silence especially around us, but we both gave him the space he needed. 

I was taking laundry to AJ and Cass’ room and had to pass by Sam’s, surprised to see him packing a bag. “Thought you were sticking around.” “Something big came up,” he replied as he set a stack of t-shirts in his duffle bag, “I need to go check it out.” I leaned against his doorway, “Air Force big or Avengers big?” “The second one.” “And you’re going by yourself?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

Sam looked over his shoulder at me finally, “Don’t have anybody to else to call. Besides, I can handle myself.” I hummed in response before setting down the stack of laundry, an idea forming in my head that could solve both of our problems. I folded my hands together and dug my feet into the carpet, “What if you didn’t have to go by yourself?” He looked confused, “What are you talking about?” My folded hands began to make circles in the air as I struggled for the right words, “What if I came with you?” “What, like take your family to work day something?” Sam scoffed, “That’d be fun.” “I’m serious.” “Are you crazy? Of course you can’t come.” “Hear me out,” I looked to his bag and the pair of jeans he had next to fold, “Actually watch.” He folded his arms and waited for my demonstration. I took a deep breath and extended my hand, forcing my energy outwards to levitate the jeans. “Whoa!” Sam exclaimed as he watched me maneuver the clothing inside his duffle, “W-w-what…What was that?” I shrugged and pulled my hand back to my side, “The reason why you should take me.”

“How long have you been able to do that?” “Since I was a kid,” I moved out of the doorway and closed the door, the last thing I needed was AJ and Cass knowing their aunt could move things with her mind, “My parents told me never to tell anybody. I’ve thought about telling you for years since you’re used to this kind of thing but I was scared…Then you were gone and when you came back, life was moving non-stop and I lost my courage. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Sam stood with his jaw hung for a few seconds before shaking his head back into reality, “Why are you apologizing? You never had to tell me, but I’m glad you did,” he pointed a finger towards me, “But you’re still not going.” “What are you talking about? I’d be an asset to whatever it is you’re fighting! And I love you but c’mon bird boy, you may be able to fly but I can do it without any tech.” “Oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” Sam gestured between the two of us, “You think insulting me is the way to get me to let you come?” “Come on,” I moved to sit on his bed, “Tell me what the problem is and I’ll prove that I can help.” “Alright, alright,” Sam took a stance in front of me, “You wanted to hear the tea on my missions, I’ll spill it. There’s an online group called the Flag Smashers, their MO is to get the world back to the way it was during the last five years. My military contact, Torres, went undercover in Switzerland when they robbed a bank. Knocked him unconscious when he tried to fight back.” I balanced my elbows on my knees and tapped a finger against my lip, “So kind of a Robin Hood deal, right? Stealing things from the rich and giving it to the poor. In this case, the poor being those who never disappeared.” “Exactly, except the guy that knocked Torres out was strong. Too strong. I’m thinking they could be a part of-“ “The big three.” Sam’s neck snapped back, “How do you know about the big three?” I shrugged nonchalantly, “The little you do tell me about your avenging always ties back to either androids, aliens or wizards. Though I think you’re being a little dramatic with the term ‘wizard.’”

“Are you seriously gonna correct the guy who’s actually there doing the fighting?” “Are you seriously gonna deny yourself valuable help against either an alien or an android?”

Sam sighed, I was successfully backing him into a corner. “Can you even fight?”

Extending one hand, I levitated Sam and gently slammed his back into the ceiling before reversing course and lowering him onto the carpet. He moaned as he rolled over to face me, “Could’ve given me a concussion.” “Maybe that would knock some sense into your head,” I stood and gave him my hand to pull him up, “Sam, I know that I don’t have any experience but I am more than capable of defending myself. I want to actually do something with these powers instead of sitting on my ass. I’d rather do it with you than on my own. Please?” I watched the cogs in his mind turn through his eyes, I knew he was only fighting this hard because he wanted to keep me safe. But he was in way over his head if he thought it wasn’t worth taking me with. He accepted my hand and stood to his full height, “Pack a bag, we’re leaving for the air base in an hour.” I smiled and threw my arms around him, “Thank you, you won’t regret this.” “I’d better not,” he warned, his arms stayed straightened in displeasure of my enthusiasm, “If you take some stupid risk and put yourself in jeopardy, I’m putting your ass on a plane home.” Quick footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway until the door opened to reveal Sarah, “What was all that noise? It sounded like you were throwing each other into walls.” “Busy,” I quickly dismissed her, using my energy to shut the door in Sarah’s face from a distance.

“Um,” her muffled voice rang through, “What the hell was that?!”

--------

Taglist: (open)

[stressed-chaos]

Memories - Part 9

So I finally decided to post parts with the gap of a day and will try my best to keep that schedule. Here is the afternath of Ben spilling the truth.

Hope you all will enjoy this chapter!

Warnings: Mention of blood, pain, a most likely incorrect reference, anxiety attack

She froze, as if somebody dumped an ice bucket on her, honestly, the bucket dumped would have been better than what Ben revealed. Her arms and legs felt limp and she heard the breaking of something—a plate—probably the brownies she was holding fell down. She lost the sensation in her ears and just before her body was about to make contact with the white coloured marble of her house, she felt two arms wrap around her. Still, she didn’t make any effort to move, basically sitting in his lap on the floor, too shocked to do anything.

Ben wasn’t looking at her when he dropped the bomb, too scared for her reaction, but as soon as her heard the breaking of a utensil, his eyes grew wide and knew that shit had gone serious, his feet immediately running to the kitchen. He reached just in time to hold his wife, who was about to fall flat on the floor, up from doing the same and damaging her head. Ben’s heart was shattering seeing her state, which was eyes wide, frozen as if she hadn’t moved in over 70 years, jaw hanging open like she had seen people turn to dust right in front of her, but he knew it wasn’t the time to dwell on that. Not that he can take his words back.

He missed her. Missed the calming feeling he got while gliding his hands through her hair, and her soft protesting about messing up her hair. (Though they both knew she loved it as much as Ben, if not more). He missed how they tried to cook, even if ended up in a food fight most of the times, and hell he would give anything to eat whatever new she attempts to make, no matter how bad. (Not that he did anyway).

He held her gently in his arms and didn’t even try to adjust himself when he felt his leg rest on something sharp, maybe the broken pieces. He wondered if the pieces of his broken heart were there too, but it wasn’t just the time to be dramatic. Gently cooing to calm her down like you do to a baby, he held her close to his chest repeating, “Come back. Come back to me,” in her ear. It worked to bring her out of nightmares, maybe it may work in this case too. Feeling something wet drop on his arm, he realized it was a tear, surely his. If this is the effect of her knowing about their marriage, then what if something worse happened? Thankfully, he was brought out of his panic session when he felt Y/N move.

“Th— thank you.” He just nodded.

He just now realized the shards breaking his skin, too filled with adrenaline to notice before, and let out a little wince. Y/N immediately tore himself apart from him and saw some little drops of blood near his leg. She helped him move to the bathroom and picked up the first aid kit, dressing his wounds carefully. She wasn’t a nurse, but her own injuries during the first months of her living here had taught her a lot about wounds. 

Despite whatever happened, Ben just looked down at his other half lovingly, it automatically helped him forget the pain. He noticed her furrowed eyebrows trying to concentrate, along with the little of her tongue sticking out from between her plump lips. He felt relieved seeing her again like this after long and didn’t have the heart to bring up the topic that caused all this. Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

“So…we’re married huh?” She asked looking up to him.

He let out another slow nod.

“How long?”

“This year would make it 3.”

“Wait…you mean we got married at 25?”

Another nod.

“But that’s too young.”

“Well you were the one who proposed. Plus at that point we had already been together for 7 years.”

“That does sound like something I would do. And holy shit, 7 years?”

One more nod.

“You’re nodding a lot you know.”

Another. “And you’re taking this news better than I thought you would.”

“Well…since I have lost my memories, I would almost believe anything at this point. And believe me, I am having the biggest freak out-panic attack session inside me right now, but I guess your presence’s helping. Also it explains the ring.”

“The ring?”

She motioned for him to lean his head towards her, indicating she wanted to tell a secret. She looked around to check for any prying ears, and whispered in a deep voice, trying to mimic someone, in his ear, “I am Gollum in disguise and I have the ring to rule them all.”

Ben shook his head, laughing. Y/N joined soon after. 

“The wedding ring. I had it on my finger when I woke up but of course didn’t know what it was for. Guess that clears it up. And If that doesn’t, then nothing will.”

He just nodded again, too shocked to say anything. 

She took out the ring she had made into a locket from around her neck. “You had it this whole time?” Ben was shocked how he didn’t notice that before.

She just shrugged. “And you didn’t think of asking about it? And what about the ‘no partners’ thing?”

“I wanted to, I really wanted to, but we got interrupted a lot of times today if you didn’t notice. Then it maybe got pushed to the back of my mind. And that ring could’ve very well been a promise ring, or just something I bought for myself someday. It doesn’t necessarily mean that I had— have a partner.”

Ben let out an apology.

“You apologize too much.”

“Uh, sorry about that.”

She just smiled at his awkwardness. Y/N could totally understand that she must have fallen for this literal, lovable dork. It wasn’t too hard. She already found herself doing it and they hadn’t  even known each other for a full day, at least in her mind. 

“Okay, even though this news explains a lot, it will take me some time to get used to. So…I’m sorry I can’t be of assistance in the love department.”

He frantically held her hands in his. To be honest, he loved the feelings of their hands intertwined together, just like they belonged. “Hey it’s completely alright. I understand. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, just don’t pressure yourself into anything you feel uncomfortable with. I’ll be there supporting you in whatever step you decide to make, even if you decide to divorce me…okay…maybe not fully in that. Let’s just—let’s just hope it doesn’t happen. I have already waited for you for more than a year, which felt like forever without you. And I’m willing to wait for as long as it takes, because you’re worth it. Every time. I love you...you don’t have to say it back. I just waited so long to say it and just wanted to say it. Even if you decide you don’t love me back one day, I’ll be there, waiting, hoping you will. I’m stuck and not getting out of there, ever.”

She felt tears brimming at the corner of her eyes and this time, she let them flow. “Thank you. Thank you Ben. I promise I’ll try my best. I will remember you, remember us, as soon as possible. I will say those words back, one day and after that I will keep loving you more than I did the previous day and we will never look back from there. And I’ll never leave you again. Ever. Even if you get sick of me one day or when we turn fat and old. You’re stuck with me Benjamin Thomas Barnes, for the rest of your life. I’ll never leave you.”

Silence fell upon the room, until Ben remembered something.

“You know…this might not be the best time to mention that I still want to eat those brownies.”

She just chuckled, playfully hitting his chest and throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him like her life depended on it, still crying. Muttering Dork over and over again. 

“Only for you my love. Only for you,” he replied while hugging her back just as tightly, kissing her temple from time to time, soft tears flowing from his eyes too.

After the heart to heart talk, they both cleaned the kitchen, Ben insisting he helps, despite his injury. He was trying to impress her by showing it doesn’t hurt, but she didn’t need it. She thought men did not have to express their manliness, or impress someone by faking that they don’t get hurt. In her opinion, that was utter shit. Still, for his satisfaction she let him help. After picking up brownies again, they both sat and began talking. Y/N asking and Ben answering the best he could. She felt like a little kid discovering a lot of stuff at once and Ben, being the parent, answering her curiosities.

“What were we like as kids?”

“Oh oh, what’s your favorite movie?”

“Do you think Sebastian Stan remembers me?”

“Did we ever prank people?” He nodded excitedly, a shit eating grin on his face. “A lot in fact. Most of the targets were our brothers and friends.”

“Speaking of that, how was my relationship with my brother? Like parents? Or...?”

Ben pretended to think, and in his acting state, he noticed Y/N’s hopeful eyes. Just like a little kid has. He was happy that she got her childishness back and he was partly the cause of that. He did not have the strength to break it once again and lucky for him, he did not have to.

“It was good…you guys got along, despite the age difference. There were the little sibling fights many times, sometimes one every day, maybe due to the age gap. Since he kind of, in his book, grew up when you were still a kid you guys kind of fought on that. You guys were still close, until he moved away. A little drifting apart happened, but that was fixed.”

Ben was skipping around his house, full of life and joy, humming some tune. How could he not be happy? Y/N agreed to be his girlfriend. He was so nervous, which was new, but he finally gathered his guts and asked her. Coincidentally, it was the same moment she was about to ask him to be her boyfriend, cause well, fuck gender norms. And all of Ben’s anxiety vanished away. Too lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the knocks on his door but as they got louder, he, still happy, went on to open the door. He just felt on top of the world today and there was apparently nothing that could bring that down.

The door opened to reveal Y/N’s brother, Aiden in the flesh glaring at him as if to send him six feet under the ground. Ben suddenly sobered up from his drunk-in-happiness state and gulped nervously. He had absolutely no idea why he was there, ready to kill him, but he felt it had something to do with today.

Aiden and Ben were…friends. I mean they greeted each other while passing by and talked sometimes. But Ben did not know what he did to piss Y/N’s brother— right Y/N. Ben was sure it had to do something with her. Before he could dwell anymore in his thoughts, Aiden spoke up.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah…sure,” Ben replied while moving out and closing the door behind him.

“Y/N told me what happened. We need to have a talk about that.”

Aha. He was going in the right direction. He totally forgot about the protective sibling talk that comes when you start dating someone. Now that he thought about it, Jack also went somewhere after he told him the news. He was too dazed to ask anything about it. It must be for the same thing.

“Y/N is my sister. My only sister. Even though she tries to keep it to herself, I know when she is hurt. I am not really with the idea of you two dating, well…actually I’m not with the idea of her dating anyone. But you seem like the closest choice for her due to everything. Still, if you hurt her, even a pinch, I will tear you apart limb by limb. If you ever even think about breaking her heart, I do know how to hide a body.”

His words were simple, but the glare and the tone wasn’t helping. Even though he was scared, he knew he was too much in love with Y/N to even think about hurting her. Plus, it’s not like Y/N can’t deal with his sorry ass. 

“I think if I ever think about doing that, she herself would deal with me pretty nicely.”

Aiden nodded. “And then you’ll deal with me.”

“Don’t worry, he will have to deal with me too if he breaks her heart,” a new voice spoke up.

“Jack, where were you?”

“Doing the same thing as Aiden. She’s like a sister to me Ben, hurt her once and you’re dying thrice.”

“You missed Sebastian. Why do you both think I will hurt her for sure? She’s the love of my life, I did not wait 3 years just for her to trust me with it and for me to treat it like shit.”

“Mate, we don’t think you will hurt her. And if you don’t remember, we both talked to Y/N also,” Aiden reasoned.

“It’s just customary, plus it did feel good to say it. With all the pining up you two were doing since forever, we never thought we would get the chance. We’re just taking the advantage,” Jack added.

This earned him an eye roll. “Don’t forget that you’re the younger brother. Get a girlfriend, then we’ll also talk.”

“It’s not the best time to mention I have one, then?”

Both of them had pure shock on their faces. Jack couldn’t hold it anymore and burst out laughing, “Don’t get your boxers in a twist. You still have some time to prepare for your speech.”

Phew.

“Apparently I will have to deal with Harry too this time. Seriously outnumbered. Not that I was planning on doing anything anyway.”

Y/N also burst out laughing at this flashback. She agreed with all of the things in this. The kicking-ass part. The look of horror. And the jokes. If their brother’s were like that, she was delighted.

[slytherinnbitch]

Day 26: Accident

when harry woke up in a hospital bed for the millionth time, his first thought was hermione is going to kill me. and it was true because hermione had threatened to do exactly that if he landed himself in the hospital yet again. 

but when he finally opened his eyes, there’s no red or bushy brown hair in sight. just the pale blond one which belonged to the prat he hated the most. Draco Fucking Malfoy. and for some reason he looked relieved to see Harry. that couldn’t possibly be right. because draco hated harry with passion and he would have been happy if he died-

“Merlin, Harry, gave me a right scare. can’t you play one game without getting injured or is that too fucking much for you?” draco asked, and while the words and the tone of his voice were in perfect contradiction; one thing was clear. Malfoy was concerned about Harry. but that was something he would focus upon on some another moment when his mind wasn’t full of some half a billion questions. starting with what in merlin’s name was malfoy doing here?

“Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing here? he asked, annoyance clear in his voice. and because he couldn’t help himself he asked the other question which was burning a hole in his brain, “what game are you talking about?”

as far as harry was concerned, he had last played in hogwarts, although he did still participate in some of the impromptu Weasley weekly sunday matches but he doesn’t think Draco knew about that. harry’s words seemed to stop malfoy in his tracks. he frowned at harry, then he stared into his eyes for a long time before harry looked away. 

“uhm, okay. Ha-Potter, could you tell me what year this is?” malfoy asked, did he really think harry to be so dumbheaded that he would forget the year. 

“malfoy, do you really be asking me that? don’t you have better work to do? or did your small brain forget the date?” harry scoffed. malfoy was undetered, he asked harry the same question again, as if he hadn’t even heard harry’s words.

“ugh, you’re so annoying. its January 2001, unless i was unconsious for more than two weeks, then it would be february 2001.” harry replied, and the fuck was he alone? that too with malfoy to keep him company. he was about to ask just that when malfoy said-

“i’ll contact hermione and ron. just- sit here and try not to break anything or get out of bed.”

“and who would you be to comand me that?” harry challenged, like seriously what right did the poncy git have?

“as your appointed healer, if nothing else.” malfoy replied before leaving his private hospital room. 

.

"okay so it's 2011 and I have somehow forgotten ten years of my life. So what's up with me right now then? Senior Auror? Please don't tell me I went for Minister!" Harry tried to joke, it wouldn't do good to panic now afterall. "and however did I end up here? Malfoy mentioned something of a game?"

Ron and Hermione share a look. Harry always hated when they did that, especially after they got together.

"and why did you both allow Malfoy to be my healer? What were you both even thinking?" he added because he can't help but feel slightly betrayed by his friends. Malfoy entered at that exact moment, nosy git that he is, can't let people have some privacy.

"so does he know then? Doesn't look like it," Malfoy claimed, and Harry wanted to strangle him because he was aware that the he was him.

"harry was just asking about his job, and ... other prospects of life." Ron said, looking back and forth between Harry and Malfoy.

"well, I would be going really blunt now because reg would be wanting answers soon." Malfoy motioned his hands around as if whatever he said made sense and who was this reg person even?

even if Malfoy had appeared confident just a moment ago, he took a deep breath before he started, looking determinant, "you're a professional quidditch player. You resigned from the aurors about nine years ago and have been persued by various teams, and have changed teams twice. You now are the main seeker for Puddlemere United. You got hit pretty hard by a bulger before losing consciousness. And then here we are two days later. Does that answer your questions?" Malfoy asked calmy, it's a lot to take in. Well, Harry never fancied being a Auror all that much after defeating that noseless bastard so it's a good decision on his part. He wondered how he came to the decision.

But more importantly, he still had plenty questions let, "who are you? I know your name, malfoy. I am curious to your status in my life." Harry asked and by the look on Hermione and Ron's face and pain reflecting on Malfoy's, he wondered what was so wrong about it.

"Harry, I must have forgotten to tell you. I'm the Minister now. And Ron became head auror just six months back! don't you think that's incredible?" Hermione asked but Harry knew when a topic was being changed pretty well.

"it's no use stopping the inevitable, Mione. He would know eventually and I rather face it myself firsthand. Would be the best route for my heart, you know?" Malfoy said sadly. As if he had something to be sad about, Harry scoffed mentally at that. And what ths fuck? Mione? Not only was Malfoy on first name basis but he also called his best friend by their nicknames? What had the world turned to?

"We are married, Potter. And no, I haven't used any illegal or inauthentic means to achieve it. We have been together for the almost nine years now. And married for the past six." Malfoy said in one breath and what the actual motherfucking fuck?

"Yeah, right. So what's the real shit?" Harry snorted because malfoy might have a humor but this was so fucking far from the truth that it was downright ridiculous.

"Draco is telling the truth, Harry. You both are married." Ron said, and are these people alright? Harry was getting worried.

"what did he do to the two of you as well? What kind of potion did you use? Or is it a spell? Tell me, Malfoy. How have you been doing it for what did you say? Nine years, yeah?" Harry sneered. Malfoy's face shattered, as it should. He had been caught afterall.

"Draco..." Hermione started but Malfoy quickly put up his hand.

"I can't, not right now. It's fine, Mione. Don't worry about me." Malfoy said with a broken voice. Harry had never seen Malfoy showing this kind of emotion publicly before, but Harry didn't care.

"oh, and if we are actually married. I would like a divorce, immediately if possible. You can take whatever you want from my vaults if you want, if money is what you have been after. Reckon you wouldn't need much, what with your family fortune but I guess some people are never satisfied." Harry taunted because that's what he knew best, even if Malfoy looked like he was on the verge of crying.

"are you sure you want that? You won't regret it when you get your memories back?" Malfoy asked slowly.

"oh, absolutely. I think my actual self would be actually thankful. And please do this as soon as possible." Harry requested, although his tone showed anything but.

"very well, Potter. If that's what you wish for, then that's what you get. Don't say I didn't warn you," Malfoy said one last time. Harry just snorted at that.

Ron looked torn between shocked and upset and Hermione was actually crying. She started protesting but Draco just shook his head and smiled at her.

"I always knew this dream would break, mione. I'll be fine. I have reg." Draco sighed before he came to stnd directly infront of Harry.

"break the bonds then, the certificate would already be produced after we do that. I'll contact the advocate right after." Draco put forward his hand and Harry hesitated for a bit before putting their hands together. The touch was familiar, the skin soft and tender. Harry didn't even dwell on that for more than a second.

Malfoy spoke a foreign language, although Harry did catch a few Latin words in there as well. He didn't really care, but when Malfoy finally extracted his hand. Harry gasped loudly, his heart felt lighter and there was a whole comfortable weight on his shoulders that was gone. He didn't like that feeling even one bit.

Malfoy silently wiped the tears in his eyes, as if that was insignificant. He stared at Harry for a long time, to the point that Harry started feeling uncomfortable.

"well, goodbye Potter." Draco said atlast and Harry just lifted an eyebrow and sneered at him. He gave a sad smile to Harry's bestfriends as well. Then, malfoy actually hugged both of them, together.

When they pulled apart, he said, "don't worry, you both. He is not my Harry anyway. I'll be fine." Malfoy didn't look fine and even Harry could tell that.

"what about reg?" Hermione asked. Seriously, who was this reg?

"I'll be taking him with me. Or since ha-potter is the one who is leaving. Reg would be staying with me."

Draco then smiled, Harry didn't like that look one bit, he looked at Harry through his red eyes and said, "i must have forgotten to mention but I'll make sure Regulus stays with me. What with you being unable to even remember him. I'm sure I would have no problem at all. And don't even try otherwise. Consequences would be deadly." Harry shivered at the words but still, didn't understand who Regulus was. The only Regulus he knew was Sirius's brother and he was long dead.

"Potter, Regulus is, Regulus Malfoy-Potter is our son. Or I should say my son." malfoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "and don't even try contacting him by anymeans before- no even after you have gained your memory back. Because trust me it will, and it won't be pretty. I don't want my child to go through anything that would cause him trauma, and trust me when your own dad can't remember you, that's going to fuck up anyone's mind real bad, especially for a one and half year old." Malfoy spat out.

Harry could still hear some words ringing in his mind. Child? He had a child? He was a dad? He had to-

"Your rings, Potter." Malfoy out forward his hand, Harry frowned at it.

Malfoy finally gestured at his left hand and he say it, a solid but thin band of gold with small diamonds encrusted. It looked perfect. Just what Harry would have wanted for himself. Did he choose the ring himself then? Not detered, he slid the ring out of his finger. It was with some struggle but it came out atlast. But malfoy was still standing with his hand open.

"what now?" Harry asked, irritatedly.

"the family ring." Malfoy coldly stated. Oh, he then noticed the Malfoy family ring on his tiny finger of his right hand. He practically threw that into Malfoy's hands. Who wanted to be even near that thing?

Malfoy's hand pulled into a tight fist and Harry noticed that he still had a wedding band. So of course, Harry asked, "what about the ones you are wearing?"

"what about them?" Malfoy inquired and Hermione asked at the same time Hermione cried out, "harry, can you please not?"

Harry ignored her and lifted his eyebrows at malfoy again, "well if you take away the ones I had. It's only fair, I get those back."

Malfoy's eyes flashed angrily before the icy facade was back on, "i didn't want dissolve the marriage. I have no obligation to return the rings. And even if I did, I won't. My Harry gave them to me afterall." Malfoy said coldly, but his voice broke at the end.

"and the child-"

"nothing of it. Regulus is my son and he'll be known as such from now on. I would like to see you try otherwise." Malfoy basically growled. Then he gave one mock salute to Harry and turned his back to them and strode out of the room.

The three of them sat in silence for thirty more seconds before Hermione got up, mumbled something about Draco and left the room hurriedly. Ron took off soon after.

He patted Harry on his shoulder and said, "mate that wasn't good. You're going to regret it." Ron had said it with such conviction that it had Harry frowning for several minutes.

In the empty hospital room, with no one but himself to provide company, he felt a strange sensation of dread creep up. He looked down on his ring finger and the slightly lighter skin tone seemed to taunt him.

Harry felt extremely lost, again.

Day 25: Battle || Day 27: Babysitting

Part 2

[crankynewt]

Chapter Three - You Said Forever

Another Love Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Regulus Black x Fem!Reader, Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Song: driver’s license - Olivia Rodrigo

Warnings: Angst, shoddy timeline, swearing, (I think that’s it??).

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist

Author’s Note: I made an angst series using sad songs, ofc I had to use driver’s license eventually! Also, although the characters have gotten a bit older, I’m still using Andrew Garfield and Timmy Chalamet as the face claims! I hope y’all enjoy this chapter, it’s a big one!!

(Neither gif is mine, all credit to the creators!)

If the decrepit walls of 12 Grimmauld Place could talk, they would tell the tales of misery and anguish. The house had not seen much happiness since it’s construction, especially during the period Walburga, Orion, and their children inhabited it. It was only following the deaths of all of Sirius’ family that he took up residence there with you when the anguish was displaced with joy, if only for a short period. It’s no wonder that you moved to a cabin in the middle of nowhere with Remus following the events of October 31st.

Standing in the front entry once more, the ghosts haunting the dwelling seemed to be whispering unintelligible warnings against proceeding further into the house. You could hear the shrieking of Walburga’s painting upstairs, a familiar nuisance that had your blood boiling in an instant. Your husband’s arm draped protectively across shoulders as he rubbed soothing circles with his thumb was the only thing keeping you sane at that moment in time. 

Through the open door at the end of the hall you could see the face of Sirius Black, the light in his eyes slowly returning as he spots two of his favourite people in the world. He quickly stood, rushing out the door to embrace you both in a warm hug as you dropped your trunks to the floor. He held the both of you close and tight, afraid that should he let go, he would wake up alone in his cell once more. 

The Order reuniting was the perfect distraction for both you and your husband, your recent unemployment resulting in a sense of unease in both your minds. Luckily, both Sirius and yourself had inherited enough money that you needn’t worry about working, but the void that your children left when they returned to Hogwarts the following year was certainly hard to fill. Summer break couldn’t come soon enough for any of you. 

Towards the end of that summer the Weasleys came to stay, Molly and Arthur bringing their four youngest, meaning that mischief lay just around every corner. About a week after their arrival was when Hermione showed up, the same day that Moody had taken a small group to retrieve Harry from the Dursleys.

Hearing the opening door, you rushed from the kitchen where the meeting had been taking place to see that Arthur had returned with the young girl who he’d picked up from her muggle household.

“ Professor (Y/L/N)!” She smiled, lugging her cart behind her with one hand while the other cradled her ginger cat. 

“Oh please, Hermione, I’m not your teacher anymore.” You said. “(Y/N) is fine.” You knew the girl had seen you as a role model, both academically as a skilled teacher but also following the story Harry had detailed to her about how you’d worked for the Order to relay Death Eater secrets to them. You can still remember the slap across the head she’d given Ron after he let her secret slip during class, the young girl embarrassed that you knew how she idolized you.

“The rest of the kids are just upstairs if you want to join them, Ginny will show you to the room you’re sharing.  Harry should be getting here in about half an hour, and dinner will be at six-thirty!” You explained, the girl smiling as she carefully let Crookshanks down to the floor before she dragged her case up the stairs behind her.

Returning to the table, you sat in the seat across from your husband as you shared a tight-lipped smile. The two of you had decided that it was probably best to maintain a level of professionalism around your fellow Order members, the pair of you keeping all talk of your relationship outside of the meetings. These gatherings, however, continued to consist of endless bickering over the topics of Harry and Voldemort, the only subtle comfort you’d found during the evening had been Crookshanks crawling upon your lap for a snooze.

“I’m just saying that we can’t risk telling Harry about this, it’ll just be putting him in more danger and we never know who’s listening.” You said. “I mean, look at Pettigrew! He hid in your house for years without anyone knowing! Who knows what he’s shared with ‘You Know Who’!”

“Yes, but there aren’t exactly unregistered animagi running around everywhere, (Y/N).” Sirius remarked. 

“Says the unregistered animagus to the other unregistered animagus.” You snapped, glaring at your in-law from across the table.

You forced your mouth shut after that, not wanting to continue bickering with your friends, letting your thoughts wander until Sirius’ comment forced it’s way back to the front of your mind. You weren’t exactly sure as to why it was bothering you so much. Even after the meeting had concluded and you were the last one in the kitchen, baking cookies for the teens to snack on the following days, you couldn’t shake an odd feeling. As if there was something that your subconscious had registered that your conscious mind hadn’t yet comprehended. 

It was only when you turned to grab the tinfoil from the cupboard behind you that a cold sweat found your body, your mind finally registering what you’d missed when something caught the corner of your eye. Maybe you hadn’t noticed it because you didn’t want to believe it, or maybe it was that part of you realized just how long it would take for this shock to fully register.

“You must think I’m stupid,” You began, refusing to turn away from the dough you were scooping onto the cookie sheet, “or maybe you’re still just as arrogant as you were in school.”

You didn’t receive a response right away, causing both a wave of relief and disappointment to wash over you at your incorrect suspicion. But that all went away when you heard a shifting sound and the screeching of a chair.

“What gave me away?” A voice called from behind you in a smug tone you’d heard countless times many years ago.

“Oh please, Regulus.” You said, finally working up the courage to turn around as you fought desperately to conceal your emotions. He was older now, crinkles reaching the corners of his eyes, and his previously neat clothes were now battered, torn, and bloodstained, but apart from that he looked just as he did when he walked out the door years ago. “We were married - I know you better than you know yourself.”

He gave a silent chuckle as his smirk became a tiny smile and he looked towards the floor. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as a strong, unnamable tension continued to grow between you. While you expected an explanation, Regulus seemed to have anticipated a much happier reaction from you. 

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” Regulus commented, his confusion continuing to build at your indifference to his sudden appearance. “I’m still your husband, you can’t spare me a smile, at the very least?”

That’s when it hit you - he doesn’t know. Regulus, or Crookshanks, rather, hadn’t heard anybody mention that you’d moved on. It must have been some luck or twisted fate that he’d never been in the room when your relationship had been mentioned, which means he also doesn’t know about Teddy. But does he know about Archie and Cassie? Surely he would’ve asked about them immediately if he was aware.

“You’ve been gone for a very long time.” You said, your bitter tone contrasting the quietness of your voice, yet your volume grew with each word until you were shouting. “You abandoned me, how dare you show up now and expect me to welcome you back into my life with open arms. Do you have any idea what I have been through the past sixteen years?! You have no fucking clue exactly what you left me to deal with! And now you sit here with that smug expression, daring to call yourself my husband and expecting me to forgive you for the hell you put me through?!”

Regulus sat there with his mouth opening and closing, the first time you’d ever seen the quick-witted boy speechless. You could see the hurt in his emerald eyes as his mind desperately searching for something, anything to say. But you never got the chance, as the door opening as a third voice filled the room.

“Honey, it’s starting to get late, I think you should come to - dear god.” 

Both your and Regulus’ heads snapped towards the over of the voice, only for your eyes to meet your other husband. It didn’t take long for Regulus to process why Lupin was calling you “honey” and exactly where his comment was going, his eyes darting between the two of you over and over again, before a sigh escaped him.

“So that’s why.” He said, leaning further back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “How long was I gone before you and the werewolf started -”

“Don’t!” You bit, probably a bit too loud because that was what finally caught the attention of two sets of ears upstairs. In the long, dark hall, two doors opened and two sets of eyes stared at each other from across the way. The eldest and youngest of the Black men eventually made their way down the stairs together, careful to be quiet as they attempted to discern what the voices in the kitchen were arguing about.

“There is a lot more going on than you realize, you can’t just expect everything to go back to normal after so long. Now if the two of you would stop bickering like children we can discuss everything like adults.” They could hear Remus say, presumably attempting to diffuse the situation considering how level-headed the man typically is. 

There was no sound as Sirius slowly peeked his head through the already open door, utterly disbelieving the sight before his eyes as his shocked exclamation broke the eerie silence.

“Holy shit!” 

“What?!” Archie gasped from behind him, squeezing into the room behind Sirius and peering over his shoulder to see a face that he’d only ever seen in photos before.

Regulus’ eyes widened at the sight of the young Black, clearly seeing so much of himself in the fifteen year-old boy. You being pregnant when he left definitely wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities, you were married after all, and suddenly a lot of your anger towards him seemed justified. 

“Is that my… Were you…”  He trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted to say as his mind still processed this new information.

Remus suddenly covered his shaking head with the palm of his hand, quickly exiting the room and heading out the front door to get some air. He didn’t want to watch Regulus steal his wife and his kids away from him - he just couldn’t.

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, holding your own head in your hands as you attempted to make sense of the insanity around you. “Archie, go back upstairs, I’ll be up in just a minute.”

“But-” Your son didn’t get to finish his protest, the look in your eyes when your head shot up to look at him scared him into compliance. In his entire life, he’s never seen that look of utter fury, especially not from you. He quickly left the room, anxious to fill his sister in on everything that had just gone down.

“Sirius, please deal with your brother while I go find my husband.” You breathed, not sticking around to hear a response as you made your way down the hall.

“Now where,” Sirius began, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and quickly sinking into it, “have you been?”

“I was the cat.” Regulus stated simply, the smirk he typically wore working its way back onto his face.

“You were Hermione’s cat?!” Sirius laughed, finding the irony of another “dead” person in his life winding up as being one of the trio’s pets. “Maybe we need to take a look at Harry’s owl.”

But the humour of the situation didn’t last very long, both their faces quickly falling as reality gained their attention once more. 

“I can’t believe I have a son…” Regulus trailed off, still in utter disbelief about the existence of the boy who looks exactly like him.

“And a daughter.” Sirius added, his brother’s eyes widening to saucers once more. “Twins, to be exact. Arcturus and Cassiopeia.”

“What’re they like?” He asked, desperate to learn more about the children he’d never known existed. Of all the things Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked about around him, they couldn’t have mentioned his children at least once?

“They’re perfect - don’t know where they get it from, probably somewhere on (Y/N)’s side.” Sirius said, a small smile forming as he talked about the kids he adored so much. “They’re both in Slytherin, just about to go into their sixth year. Archie is the quieter one, just like you were, while Cassie is a lot more extroverted and even joined the quidditch team her first year.”

“And (Y/N)...” Regulus suddenly grew solemn again, letting out a disappointed breath as he looked away to a random point in the room. “I need to win her back.”

“Regulus, I- I don’t think you can.” Sirius said, causing his brother’s head to whip back around to him, fury written all over his face. “Remus and her have been together for years, that’s not something that’ll just go away. He raised your children with her and they also have another son together, Teddy.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Just give up?!” He snapped, a sinking feeling beginning to set in as he began to realize just how difficult getting you back to himself will end up being. 

“What’re you supposed to do? You’re supposed to get to know and form a relationship with the children who’ve thought you were dead their entire lives!” Sirius said. “And maybe you’ll establish a new relationship with (Y/N) again, one as co-parents. But her and Remus have both been to hell and back, so please, just promise me you won’t go about trying to sabotage their marriage.”

“But what about our marriage?”

Remus couldn’t hear any of the typical sounds of busy London that night, he was too anxious and all that he could pick up were the sounds of his heavy breathing. He was so distracted, in fact, that he didn’t notice you quietly slipping through the front door or sitting down beside him until you leaned your head on his shoulder. 

“How’d he come back?” Remus asked, wondering just what had happened to tear his life apart. 

“He was Hermione’s cat.” You said, your voice soft and sorrowful. “Turns out the Marauders weren’t the only unregistered animagi at Hogwarts. I’m just embarrassed it took me so long to figure it out, I knew it was his patronus but I guess I just didn’t want it to be true.”

“What does this mean for us?” Remus asked the dreaded question looming in his mind.

“What do you mean ‘what does this mean for us?’ Why would this change anything?” You asked in disbelief, raising your head from his shoulder to look at him.

“But he’s Archie’s and Cassie’s father-”

“So are you! You’re also Teddy’s dad.”

“And you were married. He was your husband first.” Remus added, gazing at you with a look of nothing but misery. “We were at Hogwarts together, I saw how utterly obsessed the both of you were with each other for years. You never even spared me a second glance, the only reason you even knew I existed was because I was friends with his brother… I’m not even mad about it, you should be with whoever you want to be with, and that’s Regulus. You’ve always deserved someone better than me-���

“Now you listen to me Remus John Lupin.” You began, your husband flinching at the use of his full name, something that you only did when you were angry. “You are who I want to be with, not Regulus; there’s no one better than you. If anything, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. Yes, we were married first, but that was for less than a year and happened seventeen years ago! We’ve been together for fourteen years, Remus, you’re my life now. I loved him in the past but he abandoned his family, you’re my life now and the one I want to grow old with. He might be Archie and Cassie’s father, but you’ll always be their dad.”

None of your eyes were dry by the end of your confession and you both spent the next several minutes just holding each other, relishing in the fact that the both of you were going to be okay. 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” You said, Remus nodding in response as the pair of you stood up. “We can deal with the rest tomorrow, Sirius can handle it for now.”

A/N: Okay, so I don’t personally believe the theory that Regulus never died and was actually Crookshanks, but it was what worked for this story so that’s what we’re going with! I’m so grateful for all the support this series has gotten, you guys are the best!

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[forevfangirlwrites]

Okay so either a teacher AU, secret relationship AU, more actress Annabeth, or cheerleader Annabeth? I love all of your writing so really anything is amazing

Betting is not encouraged at Jupiter High but that doesn’t stop half the students from forming a pool.

“They hate each other,” Katie asserts, rolling her eyes at the Stolls’ nonsense.

“Or, and hear me out,” Travis holds up his hands, “they’re actually flirting with each other.”

“Who flirts by being mean? That’s ridiculous.”

Travis, looking taken aback by her outburst, rubs the back of his neck meekly. “Some people do…”

Katie rolls her eyes again and turns back to the math homework incidentally assigned by the subject of conversation.

Ms. Chase was one of the hardest teachers at the school, but damned if everyone that entered didn’t walk out with a comprehensive understanding of mathematics.

Silena Beauguard, a senior, who had hated every moment of the class the year before, now sang praises of Ms. Chase and just how easy Calc was now. The girl had even decided to get a math minor.

Katie’s not quite at that level yet, but there’s no time to dwell on it as the bell rings.  

“I’m telling ya, you should get in on this,” Connor says. “Will bet twenty that they don’t actually hate each other but aren’t flirting either.”

“What kind of bet is that?”

Connor shrugs. “Don’t know, but it’s easy money.”

Shaking her head, she looks around in search of the other Stoll. Travis is lagging behind, suspiciously quiet, which usually means he’s planning some obnoxious prank on her.

“Travis, hurry up, we’re going to be late,” she urges against her better judgement.

Surprisingly though, he complies, and they make it to history with time to spare.

Mr. Jackson is the kind of teacher that encourages dressing up for a mock historical debate. But his energy is a bit contagious and makes the topics bearable.

He’s got a wide smile on his face today as he starts writing on the board, just as the second bell rings.

“Today,” he turns to address the class. “We’re going to be covering—“

A knock on the door interrupts him and everyone turns their attention to the front of the class.

Despite not getting along, the two teachers often interact with each other. Because standing at the door is none other than Ms. Chase.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she begins in a tone that doesn’t sound like she’s that sorry. “But Ka—”

She interrupts herself as her eyes land on the green letters on the board. “Are you talking about Hamilton? The musical?”

Mr. Jackson, keeping a very neutral face, responds, “Yes. There’s a lot to be learned from it.”

“Are you sure it’s not an excuse to just listen to a musical?”

The conversation is wholly civil with no undercurrent of anything in particular, but the whole class is watching in raptured silence.

“What brings you here Ms. Chase?” Mr. Jackson asks instead of replying.

“Katie.” Ms. Chase turns to the class. “You forgot your homework on the lunch table, I saw it when I was walking by.”

She takes two steps into the classroom as Katie, ears burning red, hastens to meet her. “And given that it’s for my class, I thought I’d return it,” Ms. Chase continues.

Katie mumbles a thank you as she accepts the paper, and hurries back to her seat, not wanting more eyes on her.

“How nice of you, Ms. Chase.” Mr. Jackson says. It’s a complete sentence but it feels like there’s things left unsaid as she turns back to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll let you get on with your class,” is all she says before stepping back out of the room. Mr. Jackson turns back to the board as Connor whispers to Travis.

“Dude, did you see? He was totally looking at her when she handed Katie her homework.”

Katie rolls her eyes. Of course, this bet business comes up again.

“But did you hear they way they were talking to each other,” Miranda whispers from behind her, evidently hearing the conversation. “They hate each other.”

Before Katie can shush all of them, Mr. Jackson turns back to the class.

“Anything I’m missing over there?”

Stifling a groan, she shakes her head.  “Actually, Mr. Jackson,” Connor speaks up, immediately overriding her answer.

“We were wondering if you’ve ever seen Hamilton?”

Thankfully, Mr. Jackson is also the kind of teacher to cut some slack, because he responds.

“Yeah, we saw it last year and it’s an incredible stage performance.”

“We?” Connor asks again, in an all too innocent voice.

Any other teacher and he would have been reprimanded but Mr. Jackson looks too caught off guard by the question to even say anything.

“Yes…me and my…girlfriend.”

She will never forget the moment that the whole class collectively lost their shit.

A silent shift, but the bulged eyes say everything, and even Mr. Jackson looks uneasy at the way they are staring at him.

“Right, so let’s get back on track. Hamilton…”

And despite her best intentions to try to pay attention to what he’s saying, the note passing between the Stolls get the better of her as the betting pool started to crumble.

-.-

“Maybe she doesn’t know he has a girlfriend and that’s why she’s flirting?”

Travis nods thoughtfully. “But then why would he flirt back?”

“Guys, lets face it, they don’t like each other.” And with that she turns back to her locker, her final words on the matter.

“Don’t know about that Katie Kat,” Travis says, still contemplating how to interpret this news. He’s not the only one, the entire class burst into conversation as soon as the bell had rang and PE next period made it all too easy to continue talking.

“I agree,” Connor adds with a smirk. “You’re pretty bad at figuring out when people like each other.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She turns angrily towards Connor, only to find him cackling. Travis remains, once again, suspiciously quiet. And once again, before she can think further on what that means, the bell rings.

Walking into math has never been so…charged before today. The entire class is buzzing when Ms. Chase claps for attention.

“Alright class, we’re going to pick up where we left off on—”

But it’s difficult for anyone to pay attention and even Ms. Chase stops in the middle of a formula to address the obvious tension.

“What’s going on with you all today?”

Suddenly the whole class is silent. Her sharp grey eyes scan the class before landing on Travis and Connor.

“Well boys, you always know what’s going on.” She waits for an answer.

“Well,” Travis starts (after a lot of nudging from Connor). “We found out that Mr. Jackson has a girlfriend.”

The surprise is evident on her face. It’s rare to see Ms. Chase look taken aback, but she composes herself quickly enough.

“Good for him, why does that matter to all of you? A teacher’s personal life is allowed to be private.”

One day Connor will stop himself from speaking without a filter. Today is, clearly, not that day.

“Have you met her?”

Ms. Chase is exactly the kind of teacher that would never let anything like this stand but by some miracle of the gods, she’s not only taken back for a second time, it’s enough for her to not actually reprimand him.

“I..uh..yes, I have, not that it should matter to you.” Her composure, however, is lost on the entire class that, for the second time in that day, collectively loses their shit.

“Quiet!” Ms. Chase is still commanding enough to get everyone to shut up though.

“What’s she like?” Some girl in the back asks.

“She’s fine, now that’s not the point of—”

A loud knock at the open door has everyone’s attention.

And of course, of all the teachers, Mr. Jackson is standing there with his arms crossed.

“She’s great actually,” he says loudly.

For the first time, Ms. Chase actually rolls her eyes at the words.

“It doesn’t matter, that should not be a topic of discussion.”

Mr. Jackson nods. “You’re right. But for the record, she’s great.”  And with that he’s walking away again.

Ms. Chase actually rubs her face, letting out a huge sigh. She mutters something that Katie can’t make out.

“Okay, that’s enough, we’re getting through this formula now.”

She doesn’t know how they get through the class.

-.-

“Maybe—”

Katie cuts him off before he can say another word.

“Connor, please do not deposit another theory, I’ve heard like fifteen today.”

“Can you blame me? This is big news!”

She can’t, honestly. Despite her best efforts, she can’t stop thinking about it either. “No, I don’t blame you. I just can’t right now. Plus, I have a theory of my own I need to test.”

She shuts her locker and turns to her right. “Travis? Can I talk to you for a second?”

School’s out and most of the students have left, she’s only staying behind for Art Club and Travis and Connor usually chill with her for a bit before driving off. It’s been a long day, but she thinks she’s figured out at least one thing from all this chaos.

Connor immediately peaces out, walking down the hall as Travis looks nervously at her.

“What’s up?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

She can see a hint of red flushing is face. “I don’t—”

“I’m SO sorry to interrupt but you guys NEED to see this NOW!” Connor’s whisper yelling and beckoning them towards a classroom door.

Without even looking at her Travis immediately jogs to his brother, Katie following behind, shaking her head.

The door is only open a little bit, but it’s enough to hear what’s going on.

“I can’t let you shit talk my girlfriend!” Mr. Jackson’s voice is clearly recognizable.

“I didn’t shit talk and it was so not the time to bring that up.” Ms. Chase’s clear voice is also obvious.

“Okay maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but I can’t let anyone say something bad about MY girlfriend.”

“I didn’t even say anything bad!”

“You said fine, FINE. Are you kidding me? That’s—”

“I think I should be allowed to say whatever I want.”

Katie looks over at Travis and Connor, both of whom are staring with wide eyes at the whole exchange. There’s no way she just said that.

“No.” Mr. Jackson’s voice sounds like a pout.

Ms. Chase sighs. “You’re so stubborn.”

“I have to be to date a goddess.”

There’s a small chuckle at the words. “You’re actually ridiculous.” Ms. Chase sounds unbelievably fond.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But you still love me so I’m not gonna change.”

They can hear the smile in her voice when she responds. “I would never change you.”

“Even when I disrupt your class?”

There’s a beat of silence. “You’re lucky I love you.”

There’s another chuckle followed by more silence and Connor nods back in the direction of the hallway. They immediately run all the way down to her locker.

“NO FREAKING WAY!” Connor is leaning against the lockers as Katie automatically starts opening hers even though there’s nothing she needs to get from there.

“You can’t tell anyone.”

Connor looks at her. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Look, they clearly want to keep it private. We shouldn’t spill.”

Connor makes a face. “I mean it, Connor.”

“Ugh! Fine!” He turns towards Travis. “If you weren’t my brother, I would have kicked you for choosing someone with morals.”

And with that, he walks towards the doors.

It’s the last bit of confirmation she needs. She turns back to Travis who’s still nervously teetering close to her.

“So? Figure out if there’s anything you want to ask me yet?”

Travis makes a face. “You’re making fun of me!”

Smiling, she steps closer to him. “No, I’m not. I’m not mean to people I like.”

The sparkle in his eyes at her words makes her heart soar and she think she gets why Ms. Chase puts up with Mr. Jackson. It’s easy when the other person makes your heart flutter like that.

A/N: Hello! Thanks for the prompts! Another person also requested a teacher AU so I combined that request with yours and added some secret relationship in there! Told from an outside perspective but I hope you liked this! 

[knuffled]

just practice - chapter thirteen

here’s it is! it’s a shorter chapter, but i hope to have chapter fourteen up within two weeks, so be on the look out for that! if you enjoyed the chapter, reblogs are greatly appreciated! it helps make the effort needed to write the chapters feel worth it! 

here’s the link for ao3

Takashi’s Batting Cage was a quaint, almost run down affair not far from Seneca Falls. The building was owned and maintained by an old Japanese man that had immigrated in the late sixties, and there was something about the place that made it feel like it was frozen in time. The walls were plastered vintage, hand-painted posters of bands like The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Cream, and The Shadows. Mr. Takashi himself often sat near the entrance with a cigarette hanging between his lips, polishing the wooden baseball bats that he had carved.

Behind him, there were two kiosks, one where you paid for rounds in the batting cage, and another where you could buy hotdogs made by Mr. Takashi’s wife, sold cheaply at a buck fifty. All you got was a bun, hotdog, minced onions, and a drizzle of mustard and ketchup, but Reyna had assured Annabeth that they were nothing short of life-changing.

The kiosks themselves faced a huge chain link fence that housed three pitching machines that whirred like projector reels. The fence was painted green and touching it was enough for the paint to flake onto your fingers.

To a newcomer, it didn’t make for a particularly impressive sight, but there was a warmth and coziness to the place that could only be experienced firsthand. Over the years, the batting cages had developed a devout following as a spot where anyone could go to have a good time. Spending even a few minutes there was enough to leave the impression that the place was well and truly loved, like an old baseball mitt.

Annabeth had never heard of the place until Reyna had suggested they hang out there the Saturday after Percy’s swim meet. She was therefore surprised to see the number of cars parked outside, although she suspected that that might also have had to do with the weather calming down some. Reyna was already waiting for her inside when Annabeth entered, leaning against the wall.

Once she spotted her, Reyna offered Annabeth a smile and said, “Hey, thanks for making the drive.”

“It was no big deal,” Annabeth said, unwrapping her scarf. “I couldn’t help being curious after how enthusiastic you sounded about the place.”

Reyna raised an eyebrow and her smile widened. “Oh boy, the pressure is on now, huh?”

“Just a little,” Annabeth said, grinning.

“Ooh, scary,” Reyna said. “C’mon, lets head inside.”

Annabeth nodded and followed Reyna to the first kiosk. There were families using two of the pitching machines, but thankfully they would have the third to themselves. A wooden sign was bolted to the kiosk, informing her that it was three dollars for five pitches. Reyna mulled it over for a short while before handing fifteen dollars over to the clerk and looking at Annabeth.

“I think we can start with that much and see how you like it,” Reyna said, shrugging.

Annabeth nodded and took a helmet from the clerk behind the kiosk before heading inside the cage with Reyna. They slipped off their jackets and set them aside on top of wooden bench that sat against the fence. The astroturf inside the cage was an oddly modern touch that felt anachronistic when juxtaposed with the otherwise retro atmosphere, but Annabeth didn’t have long to dwell on it because she was forced to move off to the side for Reyna’s first round on the machines.

Reyna slipped on her helmet and took a few practice swings before she stepped up to the plate and nodded to the assistant operating the pitching machine. The machine whirred on the far side of the fence and shot a ball towards them at incredible speed. Annabeth could barely even see the ball, but Reyna waited for the right moment and swung, making perfect contact. The ball cracked off the bat and sailed across the cage.

Annabeth focused more on the second pitch so that she wouldn’t make an ass of herself when it came for her to try as well. It was still almost faster than she could register, but even Reyna missed this time, which made her scowl. Although Reyna hit the three remaining pitches, she still looked peeved when she handed Annabeth bat at the end of her turn.

As she moved towards the plate, Annabeth couldn’t help feeling like she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of hitting a single ball. Her suspicions were confirmed when the first ball fired past her before she even had a chance to react. The second one was no better, but she could at least make out the course of the ball. She managed to swing on the third and fourth pitches, but she didn’t make any contact. It was on the final fifth ball that she grazed the ball with her bat, sending it shooting upwards into the fence.

She ignored the way her face burned and turned to Reyna with a wry smile. “I think I’m gonna need you to give me some tips.”

“Your form could use some work,” Reyna admitted, stepping towards Annabeth.

Reyna put her hands on Annabeth’s hips and turned her slightly. “Angle your hips like this. Turn your shoulders a bit more this way. Move your left hand a little further down the bat.”

Annabeth couldn’t help feeling flustered by how casually Reyna was shifting her around. She was exactly the most touchy-feely person. She was only comfortable with it when it was someone she knew really well, but she was surprised to realize she was far less uncomfortable with Reyna than she thought she would have been. Still, she couldn’t help wondering if Reyna was aware of what she was doing.

“Do another round. I’ll go after you,” Reyna said, stepping back.

Annabeht cleared her throat and nodded before turning towards the pitching machines again. She grazed the first ball again and missed the second one entirely. On the third pitch, she finally managed to make contact, but the ball didn’t travel very far. The fourth and fifth pitches traveled further each time, but they didn’t pop off the bat the way they had when Reyna hit them.

She paid even closer to attention to Reyna during her turn to pick up on what she was doing that Annabeth wasn’t. Reyna missed the first pitch but hit the four subsequent ones. Each one shot farther and farther across the batting cage, soaring higher and higher, almost like she aiming for something. It was then that Annabeth noticed that there was a wooden target tied near the top of the cage. Although Reyna was still off the mark by some ways, she got progressively closer and closer with each attempt.

Nevertheless, Reyna still failed to hit the target once over the course of the next half-hour, which was presumably why she suggested taking a break to get some hotdogs. Annabeth was more than open to the offer, albeit for different reasons. Although she was improving, she still wasn’t anywhere near consistent enough to hit the ball properly more than once or twice a round, and it was beginning to get frustrating.

Once they bought a pair of hotdogs, they sat down at a table facing the fence and watched the other families play while they ate. Annabeth wasn’t really a huge fan of hotdogs, but she had to admit that Reyna had been true to her word.

After her first, she turned to Reyna and said, “Okay, this is stupid good for a dollar fifty.”

Reyna gave her a knowing look and grinned. “I know right?”

“I’ve never heard of this place before,” Annabeth said. “How did you come across it?”

“I heard about someone at school talking about it, so I figured I’d check it out sometime. Seemed like a good way to let off some steam,” Reyna said, taking another bite.

“I don’t if it’s just because this was my first time at a batting cage, but this is a lot harder than it looks.”

Reyna laughed. “That’s because the machines here are faster than at other places. You’re doing really well for your first time, though.”

“You didn’t have nearly as much trouble,” Annabeth noted.

Reyna shrugged and said, “I’ve been coming here for years now. I barely got any hits my first time around either. You’re doing better than I did then for sure.”

Annabeth chased some ketchup threatening to drip off her hotdog. “That would be enough to turn most people off from trying again.”

“It rubs me the wrong way to be shitty at something.”

“A friend of mine who said he went to summer camp with you said you weren’t bad at anything,” Annabeth said, smiling.

“Really? Who?”

“Jason Grace.”

Reyna’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, I remember him. Nice guy. Almost thought I had a crush on him, but that was before I realized I wasn’t straight.”

Well, that was news to her. Annabeth raised an eyebrow and tried to stifle a smirk. “Really?”

Reyna’s face turned a gentle shade of pink, which made Annabeth’s grin widen. “I was like thirteen, okay?”

“I’m not judging or anything,” Annabeth said innocently. “Just thought it was interesting.”

“That shit-eating grin on your face says otherwise,” Reyna grumbled.

“It’s okay, we were all cringe at thirteen.”

Reyna snorted. “Cringe is a good word to describe it, even if it’s mean.”

Annabeth waved her freehand dismissively. “What Jason doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, he’s got a hot girlfriend now anyways.”

Reyna gave her a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you’re straight?”

“What was it you said last time? ‘I might be gay, but I still have eyes?’” Annabeth said. “Same thing, except other way around. Besides, jury’s still out on the topic of my sexuality.”

“Fair play, I guess,” Reyna rolled her eyes. “Speaking of last time, how are things with your fake-boyfriend going?”

Annabeth picked at the onions on her hotdog and said, “You are awfully interested in him despite hating his guts.”

“I don’t hate him,” Reyna protested.

“Thinking he has bad vibes is pretty much the same thing.”

“You’re doing a rather poor job not answering the question. Sounds like something must have happened,” Reyna said suspiciously.

Annabeth sighed and resigned herself to telling Reyna what had happened on New Years and subsequently at the swim meet. Despite her initial reticence, it was honestly refreshing to be open with someone about the whole fake dating arrangement, just like it had the last time they had talked. The main thing that had been bugging Annabeth recently had been how during the aftermath of the swim meet, she’d come face to face with the realization that she had actually been totally okay with the idea of Percy kissing her. More than okay, actually.

I could have stopped the kiss at literally any point if I hadn’t wanted it to happen. It was just as much my decision as it was yours, okay?

Those angry words of hers had kept echoing in her mind at random intervals almost every day. The fact that she had basically implied that she had wanted Percy to kiss her was an epiphany that she still struggled to make sense of. On the surface, she didn’t feel any differently about Percy, but it was the only explanation for why she had felt so disappointed on New Year’s Eve.

“That means I like him, right?” Annabeth asked aloud.

“Babe, you wanted to kiss him so bad you felt disappointed when it didn’t happen.”

Annabeth’s cheeks began to prickle. “I know jack shit about romance and relationships, so excuse me for not knowing.”

Reyna snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “This kind of goes beyond not knowing. It’s honestly kind of mind-boggling to me that you’re struggling so much with the idea that you might have a crush on someone.”

Annabeth pursed her lips and said, “I’ve been thinking the same thing too, lately. It seems like it’s natural for everyone else, but it feels so weird to me.”

“At one point, I thought that you were aromantic or something, but I get the vibe that it’s something else. Like, you dissect your emotions so clinically that you abstract them and save yourself from feeling them,” Reyna said.

Annabeth laughed despite herself. “Holy shit, that sounds exactly like what a therapist would say.”

“Fuck off,” Reyna said, bumping her with her shoulder.

Annabeth bit back a smile and said, “Not sure I totally understood you, but you’re sorta right. Only thing is, I feel all my other emotions normally. Just not this stuff.”

Reyna thought for a moment and said, “I don’t know, this is just me talking out my ass, but maybe you have some baggage about romantic relationships or something.

“If that’s you talking out your ass, you’re gonna make me feel real stupid,” Annabeth joked.

Reyna screwed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples. “I take back what I said about having a crush on you. Dealing with this level of sass gives me a fucking headache.”

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth said, holding back a laugh. “I’m usually the one getting bullied, so I couldn’t resist the opportunity. I promise I’ll try to stop.”

Reyna rolled her eyes and looked thoroughly unconvinced, so Annabeth leaned into her and said, “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? When I see you at the Olympics someday, I wanna be able to brag to people that you once thought I was hot.”

“Don’t try and flatter yourself out of this,” Reyna snorted.

“I’m not,” Annabeth protested. “I could totally see you at the Olympics someday.”

At this, Reyna was oddly quiet. Annabeth thought she had touched a nerve, but Reyna looked up at her demurely and said, “You really think so?”

Annabeth blinked. “Yeah, I do.”

A shy smile made its way across Reyna’s face. “Thanks, Annabeth. It’s always been a dream of mine to compete in them someday, so it means a lot to hear you say that.”

“I have full faith in you,” Annabeth said earnestly. “I’m sure you can do it.”

Reyna laughed and said, “What ever happened to wanting to beat me at a meet?”

“Oh don’t worry, you can still be an Olympian after I kick your ass at State,” Annabeth said casually.

Reyna raised an eyebrow, her eyes darkening. “Is that so?”

Annabeth coughed surreptitiously and turned to finish her hotdog. Reyna bit back a smile but otherwise chose to spare her by not pursuing the topic any further. The silence gave Annabeth time to collect her thoughts and dwell more on what Reyna had said. There was a lot to process, but one thing in particular had struck a chord with her.

“About what you said earlier, about me having baggage about romance and stuff,” Annabeth began slowly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like being in a relationship was something meant for me. Not sure if I told you, but my mom left my dad and I when I was still a kid. She never explained why, but it really wrecked the both of us. Eventually, my dad remarried and moved on, but I don’t think I ever did. Move on, I mean. It’s hard for me to think about getting into a relationship when I saw what it did to my family, what it did to me,” Annabeth continued.

Reyna pressed her lips in a line and nodded. “My mom left our family too. I can understand how that would really affect your views on romantic relationships.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Reyna shrugged. “She had a good reason for it, so it’s whatever.”

She was tempted to ask Reyna more about it, but she was afraid of overstepping her bounds so she remained silent.

“I don’t know if it’s something I never wanted or if it’s something that I never allowed myself to want,” Annabeth said quietly.

Reyna was silent for a while before she said, “Does that even matter though?”

Annabeth looked at her with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Do you really get any value out of getting an answer to that question? Isn’t the only thing that matters what you want now?”

There was a pause. “I don’t want something that isn’t meant to last.”

“You have no way of knowing unless you give it a shot,” Reyna said softly. “Besides, what have you got to lose?”

“Everything.” Annabeth dug her fingernails into her palms. “I could lose everything. Percy is too important to me. I- I can’t lose him.”

Reyna was silent for a while before she said, “I don’t have any advice for you. I think, at the end of the day, it comes down to what you want and what you’re willing to risk for it. Only you can answer that.”

Annabeth nodded slowly and said, “Yeah. You’re right. I just wish it were easier.”

“Something tells me you’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out,” Reyna said. “Besides, if all else fails, we can come here and you can hit baseballs as hard as you fucking can to get it out of your system.”

That managed to get a laugh out of her. “I might have to take you up on that sometime.”

Reyna opened her mouth to say something more, but then she looked past Annabeth’s shoulder and smirked. “Speaking of the devil.”

When Annabeth followed Reyna’s line of sight, she saw Percy standing by the entrance by three of his teammates from the swim team. One of that had said something that made him laugh, so he still hadn’t noticed her. She wasn’t sure how to feel about seeing him here, but she didn’t have long to dwell on it because one of his teammates spotted her and nudged Percy to get his attention.

Percy smiled once he saw her and gave her a small wave. At first, it didn’t seem like he would come over, but his teammates shoved him towards her, making him scowl.

He walked over and said, “Hey, fancy seeing you here.”

Annabeth cleared her throat and said, “Um, yeah, likewise. Reyna invited me here to hangout.”

Percy nodded to Reyna in greeting and said, “Hi, forgot if I ever introduced myself, but I’m Percy.”

Reyna offered him her hand and said, “Reyna. Annabeth here has told me a lot about you.”

He shook it with a bemused smile. “Only good things I hope?”

A sly smile danced on Reyna’s lips. “All sorts of good things actually.”

Percy’s questioning gaze flitted to Annabeth’s for a fraction of a second before immediately returning to Reyna. Though the way they spoke was casual, Annabeth felt a charged tension in the air, like anytime the two of them met. She assumed Percy was only going to make things worse until he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I, um, wanted to apologize for how standoffish I acted the last few times we met. It was a dick move, and I’m sorry about that,” he said.

Reyna blinked in surprise. “Oh, no worries. I wasn’t much better either.”

And just like that, the tension dissipated almost immediately. The two of them still looked awkward around each other, but the vague sense of hostility between them had faded. Percy’s apology had been enough of a metaphorical olive branch, Annabeth supposed.

“I know you came here with some friends, but do you want to try going a round or two in the cages with me?” Reyna asked suddenly.

Percy swayed on his heels. “Um.”

Reyna shrugged and said, “Just some friendly competition, promise.”

Percy looked to Annabeth for guidance, but Annabeth was just as clueless about Reyna’s motives as he was so she could only shrug. He mulled over it for a little while longer before nodding and following Reyna inside the batting cage. Before she joined them, Annabeth threw away the left overs of her hotdog and washed her hands to get the ketchup off her fingers. When she returned, Reyna finished slipping on her helmet and turned to Percy.

“We’ll do three rounds each, so fifteen pitches total. The person that hits that wooden target over there the most or gets closest to hitting it wins. Deal?” Reyna explained.

Percy nodded and leaned against the fence, next to the bench where Annabeth sat. They watched Reyna hit four of the first five pitches before it was Percy’s turn. Percy missed the first two pitches and only barely grazed the third one, sending it shooting upwards into the fence. He got decent hits on the last two, but like Annabeth, they barely traveled further than halfway across the batting cage.

Reyna hit four pitches again, and the last three sailed close to the target but fell just short. Percy’s next turn went much like his first. He managed to hit the ball each time, but the contact was too shaky to send it a decent distance. On Reyna’s last turn, she hit every single pitch, each getting closer to the target than the last, but in the end she didn’t manage to hit it. Reyna scowled when she stepped away from the plate and removed her helmet. Annabeth didn’t see why she was so upset. Judging by the previous rounds, it would be very unlikely for Percy to do any better than her.

Percy got good contact on the first three pitches, actually sending them all the way to the back fence, but they lacked the height needed to reach the target. On the fourth pitch, Percy’s grip on the bat slipped, causing it fly out of his hands instead of hitting the ball. His face was grim before the final pitch, but Annabeth could see that there were still traces of hope burning in his eyes. He had been subtly altering each of his swings in the last round, like he was testing something.

The pitching machine launched the last ball towards him, and Percy waited for the right moment before swinging. The ball exploded off his bat and shot all the way to the other side of the cage. Annabeth stood up from the bench and held her breath, watching the arcing trajectory of the ball. When the ball hit the target, barely off center, she grinned and threw an arm around him without thinking.

“Holy shit! You actually did it!” Annabeth beamed.

“Somehow,” Percy said, grinning. “I’m pretty sure that I just got lucky.”

When Reyna cleared her throat, Annabeth grew aware of how close she was to Percy, so she quickly disentangled herself from him, her face burning.

“You won, fair and square,” Reyna said, offering her hand again.

Percy turned to her and shook her hand. “I’m just glad I didn’t totally embarrass myself.”

Reyna rolled her eyes and said, “If anyone embarrassed themselves today, it was me. That was the second time I’ve lost to you.”

Percy furrowed his brow. “Second? There was another time?”

Reyna hummed under her breath, a twinkle in her eye. “I wonder.”

That did nothing to clear his confusion, but it was clear Reyna wasn’t going to elaborate so he didn’t press the issue. It was clear to Annabeth that Reyna was messing with him, but it didn’t seem malicious enough to make her angry. Still, she wished she knew what was going through Reyna’s head.

One of Percy’s teammates called out to him from the rental kiosk, so Percy thanked Reyna for the game and said goodbye to Annabeth before he left. Annabeth waved to him and watched him leave before she turned to Reyna with a frown.

“What was all that about?”

Reyna shrugged. “Nothing.”

“It was super obvious that you were messing with him,” Annabeth said, narrowing her eyes.

“Only a little bit,” Reyna said, smiling. “Don’t worry, it was just for shits and giggles.”

Annabeth pursed her lips. “Well, as long as you weren’t doing it to be mean, I guess it’s fine.”

“It’s nothing to get working up about,” Reyna laughed. “How do you feel about going another round?”

It was a poorly disguised attempt to change to the conversation, but Annabeth didn’t feel like pursuing the topic any further, so she sighed and said, “Sure, why not. About time I get my ass kicked again.”

[novantinuum]

Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

[mage-and-the-tantrums]

Excerpts from a book I will probably *try* to write

333 Days home.

333 days ago exactly. August the 5th, 2020, I took my final return flight, from Istanbul to Tunisia, after 5 years of expatriation. After graduating quietly, on my bed while wearing shorts, I found no reasons to stay in Turkey, and no reasons to not come back home, in a world torched by a global pandemic.

Upon returning home, and within a month, I discovered how badly my family failed and grew apart. I never thought it could happen to us. My sister helped wake me from my stun. "They just behave for a couple of months, when you were here for vacations, and also whenever we called you on messenger. It's broken", she said, with an acceptance that should be forbidden to her age.

I was led, mystically, to discover some dark secrets. I refuse to talk or write about them here. Only one person besides me knows the whole truth.

The bitch and a half about knowing something that you cannot divulge to anyone, and I mean absolutely not a living soul, is that it detaches you from the world. It leaves you questioning your two best friends with whom you thought you would discuss anything. You charge and trial "in absentia" them, and you find them guilty without them actually doing anything. It has been an education, to discover what loneliness truly meant. I felt corrected, back to school, as harshly as possible, just because I thought I was alone when in Istanbul. Life showed me, in the span of 30 days, how much I could be alone, while within my family, my friends, and the country that I love and missed beyond words.

I would sit next to my friends, in the backseat of a car, listening to autotuned american rap (which I disdain), while they converse about girls, cars, and the eventuality of marriage with the inexplicable costs that it imposes in our country, and how one should escape this sorry corner of the world to Europe. I would hear scribbles and syllables, as if I shrank and sank 6 feet deeper into myself. The only thought swimming in the pool of my brain is "how little do they know about the dilemma tearing me apart. They are here, they have known me for years, they are practically the family I chose for myself. And yet, and yet, we're oceans apart. Nothing would be the same ever again. How many secrets could a person hold while sitting next to you ? We're all strangers to one another.

I truly discovered how loneliness could snatch someone from their settings, to dictate its own terms and draw an existence, in pale shades of grey for that someone to dwell in. At some point, I realised that, no matter how shockingly and frighteningly true my thoughts were, there were equally dangerous and self-destructive. Looking into what felt like a void is fun and instructive and intellectually probably sexy, until it begins leaking into your life, which it does pretty often. I was as alone as I permitted myself to be. I figured that I needed to create a breathing gap between me and some shit in my life, that, in the end, is none of my business. Some persons decided and acted, while apparently thinking so little to none about the consequences. It is not, nor it will ever be, under any pretext, my problem. I kept repeating it, slowly, breathing it into my lungs, and holding to that breath, in the corner of my room, during some long ass nights, and I realised that I really needed to believe that. I needed to find a formula to market that idea to my brain which kept feeding on the void. Truth can be a very subjective and useless concept. So I turned to another, more pragmatic concept; priorities. I asked the primordial, narcissistic question: "What about me ?". No one was asking that question, so I did.

From there, I cruised my way to restore some inner peace after a chaos that was served to me, and before I could speak, crammed down my throat. If I could reduce it down to a words, it would be this: "Everyone thought of themselves. Nobody thought about me, so why the fuck should I lose sleep over it ? I'll think of myself as well, because if I don't, no one will".

Friendships are another big, juicy topic. Tough love all the way, and if you don't like it, then you're overly sensitive. Tough love wrapped by layers and layers of selfishness and a critical lack of any notion of emotional intelligence. But at the end of the day, I think that I am privileged to have a circle of people with whom I can ride and spend time. It could have been a lot worse.

The food is awesome. I genuinely think that Tunisian cuisine is criminally underrated. It never got properly marketed on a global level (nor it ever will). It is very hard to not gain weight here, and I am regularly (although with a shy frequency) I go out to run.

Financially, I am leeching off my Mom, since I am still working on establishing an eCommerce platform with a friend. She gladly helps, and I feel so grateful for her support. She has been my guardian in these difficult times.

Do I think about expatriation again ? I honestly do not know. Tunisia has been sinking for quite some time, and everyone is looking for a way out. I am convinced that we should stay here and fight. No matter how little the effort, we should grab the situation by the reigns and ride our way, no matter where. But I understand those who believe in the "personal salvation". Everyone should aspire for a financial and a moral dignified life, which is becoming harder by the day here. The social tissue is more like a bikini now, with the bra being the wealthy who got wealthier (upper), and all of the rest including the middle class who are sinking deeper into the pit of bank credits. Want to get married ? that would be this huge amount that would never be able to pay for with 2 salaries and a 10 years saving account. Want to purchase a house ? how cute. Mathematically and financially impossible, even with the most elaborate and strict saving measures. But hey, all is possible with a huge, fat, juicy credit bank that would suck nearly half of your salary (if not exactly half) for 1 to 2 decades.

Being back home is re-calibrating your tongue, your digestive system and your daily habits. It is a constant rewiring, and an eternal effort to make things better, because we know better now. Being back home is struggling to find your place again, because everyone is so used to your absence they often need to be reminded you're here now. Being back home is the choice to actually stress-test your relationships, and see if people would bother to grant you once again, access to their lives. Being back home is the shocking resolution that most won't bother to call, and that most relationships are as random as the circumstances. In a parallel reality, you wouldn't even be friends. Being back home is very far from being the solution to anything. But being back home feels like recharging. It feels once again that I am alive.

[lils-writes-stuff]

A Family Affair

spencer reid x reader

Best Years Part 5 | part 4 | part 3 | part 2 | part 1

Summary: as a case from atlanta dwells, the readers past make more advances. 

Warnings: normal criminal minds things

A/N: based on season seven episode 16 

 “You can’t hide forever Y/N,” the voice spoke. 

 Y/N’s eyes darted around the room she was in. She sat in a chair but she wasn’t able to get up from it. The smell of the damp room overwhelmed her as tears began to roll down her cheeks, 

“No,” she spoke with a trembling voice. 

“Nothing lasts forever Y/N, you know that,” The voice said before revealing itself. Caroline walked out from the shadows of the room, gun in her hand and a evil look on her face. “All the things you love will be gone soon and you know it.” 

 As the words left her mouth, lights flickered on beside her and she saw her team sitting there tied up to chairs.

 She made eye contact with Spencer, who than mouthed that it was okay. 

 “No, no- do not touch them, hurt me- take me, do whatever you want to me!” Y/N tried to plead to her tormentor, but Caroline just shook her head.  

��“Too late.” 

Y/N sat up in a cold sweat, clutching her chest as she hyperventilated. She reached and wiped the small tears that were on her cheeks. 

 “It was just a dream,” she tried to reassure herself. “Just a dream.” 

Y/N pulled herself out of her bed, pulling Spencer’s sweater that sat on the edge of the bed over her bare arms and pulling the ends of it over her torso that adorned a grey tank. Her feet shuffled as she walked to the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth then through her small living room into the kitchen where a fully dressed Spencer stood, ready to start the day. 

 “Good morning,” he said looking up from the book he had in his hand. 

 “Hi,” Y/N responded, voice full of sleep still. She brought herself over to the coffee machine, completely avoiding Spencer who was awaiting attention.

 “No love?” he asked with a small pout on his lips.

 “Coffee,” she said softly as she poured herself a cup.  

  “Uh-huh,” Spencer said as he walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Usually, when they shared their mornings together and he did this, she would always lean back and lay in his arms. “What’s wrong?” 

 “Nothing just had a bad dream, spooked me a bit that’s all,” she said reassuring him. That wasn’t a lie, it was just a dream, she thought trying to reassure herself also.

 “Are you sure?” He asked. 

 “Yes, bub, I am sure,” she said, using his nickname she gave him a little after they started dating. She placed her mug on the counter and turned in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

 Spencer pulled her closer to him and connected their lips. Y/N loved when he was in a needy mood, it meant cuddles and kisses and all the attention she could give to him or vice versa. 

 The slow morning kiss tasted like coffee and toothpaste. Spencer held her closely as he pecked her lips multiple times diligently, making Y/N’s heart soar. 

 The moment was short-lived as both of their phones rang meaning Hotch needed them there in the office sooner than planned.

 “No,” Y/N said, dragging out the ‘o’ in sadness. 

 “Go get dressed I’ll make you a coffee to go,” Spencer told Y/N. 

 She sighed in defeat. She grabbed Spencer’s arm as she walked away, her sliding down to his and then finally letting go and walking to her room to get ready.  

--------

 Emily, Y/n, and Penelope laughed at the story Penelope was telling as they entered the round table room. As they walked in they saw JJ take a shot of Five-hour energy.

 “Whoa you’re not messing around,” Y/N said with a chuckle as she sat down in a chair at the table. 

 “Mm, Will’s away all week, so I am pulling double duty with Henry,” JJ said as she finished the shot. 

 “Please tell me we are still on for Saturday night because I have had it circled in my calendar for the last 23 and a half days, which apparently, from the look of you you did not,” Penelope said rushed while she looked at JJ. She set her mug down and took a seat in her chair.

 “Ooh, Garcia paid good money for those salsa lessons,” Emily said, tucking a piece of hair behind her hair. Y/N nodded her head in agreement.

 Spencer and Morgan walked into the room and took their seats hearing the tail end of the conversation. 

 “I’ll get a sitter,” JJ said, feeling guilty for not remembering the plans that they had made.

  “Let’s get started,” Hotch said walking into the room with Rossi, the two taking their seats at the table. 

  “Okay, Atlanta Field office has a serial on their hands,” Penelope said as she opened her tablet. “Two prostitutes stabbed and staged in the last two weeks.”

 “Atlanta’s crime rate has skyrocketed over the last few years, especially the proliferation of solicited sex and drug use in the downtown district,” Spencer said. 

 “Maybe this guy thinks he’s cleaning up the city,” Emily said looking up from her tablet. 

 “It’s rare for an unsub who targets prostitutes to pose the bodies,” Y/N said, eyes trained on the pictures of the bodies. 

 “The means of disposal usually reflects how the person feels towards them,” JJ said.

 “It looks like he didn’t think poorly of his victims, even kept them dressed,” Rossi said eyes going towards the screen. 

 “He could be filled with remorse. The arms are folded, the bodies laid to rest in a quiet park outside the city,” Derek said while he pointed at the pictures with a pen. 

  “Maybe he knew them?” Y/N asked as she looked up from her tablet. 

 “It could be personal, there’s a lot of rage in these kills, multiple stab wounds,” Emily said.

 “What about sexual violations?” Rossi asked looking at Hotch.

 “No, the M.E.’s report says there’s no evidence of sexual activity before death,” Hotch says in response. 

 “So what’s he doing with them?” Penelope asked.

 “That’s what we need to find out, wheels up in 20,” Hotch said.

---------

   “Yes, Mom-- I know I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the last time I was coming down,” Y/N said to her mother on the phone. “Well, to be honest, it wasn’t the first thing on my mind to stop by and say hi since I was trying to catch a serial killer not too far from my home.” 

 The team listened as she paused and a look of horror filled her face. 

 “No ma’am I didn’t mean that in a smart ass way you know that, I’m sorry, I’ll come by if I can-- I will love you bye,” She hung up the phone grabbing her coffee from the bar before heading back to her seat next to Spencer. 

 The team looked at her with amusement after hearing the conversation between her and her mom. 

 “What? Don’t act like your Mom still doesn’t strike fear in you when she has that tone,” she said, mostly looking at Derek who she knew was about to say something to her. He opted to just raise his hands, knowing she was right. 

 “Okay, so both of the victims had 250 dollars on them when they were found, why wouldn’t the unsub take that?” Emily asked, changing the topic back to the case. 

 “It’s a lot to pass up, money must not be on his mind,” Rossi said. 

 “Dumping the bodies certainly is,” JJ said while opening the file that laid on the table. “He chose two different parks outside of Atlanta.” 

 “The parks are 15 miles apart and 40 minutes from the city, speaks to his comfort zone,” Spencer said. 

 “Or he didn’t want to return to the same location and risk getting recognized,” Derek countered. 

  “Hey guys, I hate to be the messenger of sad things,” Penelope said through the speaker of the laptop. “But yet another body has been discovered by some joggers at yet another park. Her name’s Rebecca Moore and, get this, a missing person report was filed on her.” 

 “How long was she missing?” Y/N asked. 

 “36 hours.” 

 “Who filed it?” Emily asked.

 “Her friend, Allyson Parker,” Penelope answered. 

 “Prentiss, you, Y/N, and JJ find out from Allyson if she has any insight on why Rebecca was targeted. Morgan and Reid, go to the disposal site, Dave and I will set up at the field office,” Hotch said telling everyone where to go. 

---------

  JJ, Emily, and Y/N pulled off the street as they arrived at the spot where Allyson told them to meet her. 

 “Allyson Moore?” Y/N asked as the approached a Brunette who stood on the corner. 

 “Yeah that’s me,” she responded. 

 “Hi, I’m Agent Y/L/N, this is Agent Prentiss-” she pointed to Emily on her left and then pointed to her right- “and this is Agent Jareau.”

 “Nice to meet you,” Allyson responded. 

 “We’re very sorry for your loss,” JJ said. 

 “How long were you and Rebecca friends?” Emily asked.

 “3 years,” Allyson responded getting choked up. 

 “You two had each other’s backs, that’s why you filed the report, right?” Y/N said looking at the girl.

 “It was almost two days, I thought she was at the police station. Getting locked up is better than disappearing with one of them,” Allyson explained. 

 “So what made you think something was wrong?” JJ asked. 

 “She always came back,” Allyson said. “Bad as it was, this place was home, you know?”

 “Did she have any regular customers?” JJ continued with her questions. 

 “We all do.” 

 “Rebecca had over 250 dollars on her,” Y/N said,

 “She did?” Allyson said, less a question more of a statement of disbelief.  

 “What would that kind of money get a customer?” Emily asked.

 “A lot,” responded Allyson. 

“Like, all night or….,” JJ trailed off wanting Allyson to finish her thought. 

 “Nowadays? Yeah,” Allyson responded. 

 “We need to take you back to the last time you saw Rebecca,” Emily explained, setting Allyson up for what they were about to do. 

 “Where were you standing?” Y/N asked watching as Allyson transported herself to that night. 

 “Facing which way?” Emily asked. 

 “Street-” she nodded towards the road- “A truck pulled up. He was one of my regulars. I was talking to him through the window when Rebecca pulled up in a silver beamer.”

 “Did you recognize the car?” Y/N asked Allyson.

 “No, it must have been a new customer,” Allyson explained. 

 “What did she do after that?” Emily asked. 

 “She looked back at me and then started walking down the block, that was the last time I saw her,” Allyson said, but then she stopped. “Wait a second, there was an older gray van. I’ve seen it around here before, it was parked there a long time.” 

 “A van? Where?” JJ asked as Allyson came back to where she was. 

  “It parks right there,” Allyson said pointing to a spot by a couple of trash cans. 

 The three women turned their heads to look at the spot. 

 “Could you make out the license plate?” Emily asked. 

 “No it was dark,” Allyson responded to their dismay. 

 “How long was it there?” Y/N asked turning her head to look at Allyson. 

 “A few hours probably, why?” Allyson asked.

 “It’s a loading zone, permit parking only,” Y/N explained.  

 The three women thanked her before they headed back to the SUV.  

---------------

 “Allyson remembered seeing a van parked on the street the night that Rebecca disappeared,” Emily said as her, Y/N, and JJ walked into the conference room. 

  “And she’s seen it before, but get this, it was parked in a loading zone for hours,” Y/N added.

 “Well, why don’t we check any recent tickets?” The Atlanta field office agent, Agent Brooks, said. 

 “Our analyst already did that, nothing,” Emily said.

 “It’s not a residential area, so a vendor maybe, Garcia pulling permits now,” JJ said. 

 “He’s done this three times before,” Rossi began. “Each victim is left with 250. That’s a 750 dollar investment, he didn’t have to make.” 

 “He has every chance to take that money back, but he buries it with them instead,” Derek said while he looked at the crime scene photos in his hands. 

 “It could be an expression or a manifestation of his guilt,” Emily said. 

 “Everything that happened postmortem- keeping them dressed, crossing their arms, laying them to rest- it’s all very nurturing,” JJ said.

 “But the kills are the exact opposite, incredibly violent and angry.” Y/N said countering JJ’s argument. 

  “Multiple personalities?” Emily asked.

 “Or multiple unsubs,” Hotch answered. “The violent one submits there dominance and the submissive one if left to clean up the mess.” 

 The team sat in silence as they thought and looked over the case file. Everyone’s attention soon turned to Agent Brooks as her phone rang. 

 “Brooks,” she said answering the phone. “Okay, we’ll be right there. There’s been another body.” 

 “Damn,” Y/N said. “These guys are moving fast.”

 “They are, Morgan and Y/N go to the latest crime scene with Agent Brooks, the rest of us will stay here,” Hotch said looking between Y/N and Derek. 

 The two Agents nodded and followed Brooks out of the office.

 It was a ten-minute drive to the crime scene, the three hoping out of the vehicle, and following an Atlanta Police Officer to the body. Brooks walked away from the scene as she answered her phone than talked to one of the responding officers and came back a minute later. Y/N and Derek looking over the body as she approached. 

 “Her name was Julie Harmon, lives in a loft downtown,” Brooks spoke looking at the body. “Envelope of cash was in her bag, wrapped in plastic.” 

 “That’s new,” Y/N said as she inspected the outfit Julie was wearing. “It looks like she’s prepped for burial.” 

 “This woman doesn’t fit his victimology,” Derek said while he crouched down next to the body to look closer.

 “Yeah, look at her nails,” Y/N said pointing to the fresh manicure that Julie had. 

 “The ways she’s dressed, her shoes haven’t hit the pavement,” Derek said in agreement to Y/N’s observations. 

 “Maybe she’s a high-class call girl,” Brooks said.

 “Who fought back and got punished for it,” Derek said. 

 Y/N inspected the body some more before she spoke. “Blunt-force trauma and the same bruising on the thighs, this one is the most violent yet,” she said. 

 “And the shortest time between kills,” Derek added to which Y/N hummed in agreement. 

  “Feel’s like he’s trying to break some kind of record,” Brooks said. 

 “This team has a complicated dynamic. Ultimately, they trust one another,” Derek said looking between Y/N and Brooks. 

 “They’re still codependent too, enabling each other,” Y/N added. She thought of all the different kinds of relationships that could have this dynamic. 

 “It sounds like any dysfunctional relationship, how do we narrow that down?” Brooks asked. 

 “Through her-” Derek pointed at Julie- “The more we can learn about Julie, the better we can understand why they’re doing this.”

------------

   After the Derek and Y/N returned to the office, the team began to piece together a profile on who they believed their unsubs were. Y/N stared at the pictures of the bruising on the leg’s of the victim’s, not sure what it was but it felt monachopsis.

 “What are you thinking?” Spencer asked Y/N, noticing her staring at the board. 

 “The bruising, it doesn’t look like any form of torture we’ve seen, it almost doesn’t seem like it is torture,” Y/N explained turning to Spencer. 

 “Maybe it isn’t, but what else could it be?” He questioned looking at her. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N responded with a shrug. 

“Guys, we’re ready,” JJ told the two in the room prompting them to follow her to the rest of the team. 

  “We’re looking for a pair of white males in their late 20s to early 30s, who’ve developed a pattern of overkill followed by remorse,” Hotch explained to the Agents that were scattered throughout the office. 

 “This usually points to a dominant/submissive partnership,” Y/N said. 

 “The submissive follows the rules, knows the dominants type. Obtains the victims, and disposes of the body once the dominant has completed his killing ritual,” Spencer explained. 

 “What is the ritual?” Brooks asked. 

 “It most likely involves some form of bondage,” Emily began her explanation. “All the victims have identical bruises on their thighs, but we’re not sure if it’s done during capture or kills.”

 “There’s no sexual assault, which tells us the dominant is likely impotent or is experimenting with other forms of sexual release,” Rossi said. 

 “We often refer to this as a ‘thrill kill’,” Derek explained. “The dominant is inducing pain and creating terror without a sexual element.” 

 “This often provides him some stimulation and excitement, kind of like an adrenaline rush. The thrill of the murder is only a temporary fix,” Y/N said. 

 “Like any narcotic, the violence satisfies his senses for a time, but then it fades. This is why his cooling-off period is nonexistent,” Derek added. 

 “Despite a public investigation, the unsubs have continued killing. The risk of getting caught does not trump their need to kill,” JJ said as she looked around at the Agents. 

 “Thank you,” Hotch said dismissing everyone back to what they were doing. 

-----------------

   “Julie Harmon was a sexual surrogate,” Derek said walking into the room after talking to Penelope. 

 “Whoa, sounds like somebody felt like a little progressive prescription might fix everything,” Emily said twirling her pen in the left hand. 

 “Well, they were wrong,” JJ added. 

 “That’s not just going from high- to low-risk victims. A sexual surrogate’s a very specific type,” Hotch said. 

 “It seems like they were trying to fix something, I mean why else would you call a therapist?” Y/N asked. 

 “They do treat patients with all types of disabilities, whether it’s developmental, physical, or emotional,” Emily explained looking at Y/N.

 “My guess is this guy had all three,” Derek began. “I mean, let’s look at physical: he’s got the upper body strength to kill, but the victims bruising tells us that he was using restraints.” 

 “Only they’re not on the wrists or ankles where restraints usually are, they’re tramline bruises around the thighs,” Rossi said pointing to the bruises on the photo. 

 “It’s as if the victims are straddling a chair,” Spencer said. 

 At this Y/N had a click, “What if it’s a wheelchair?”

 Spencer turned his head to look at Y/N as they had the same click. “Physical infirmities, with strong arms. That does make sense.”

 “That would also explain the van parked in the loading zone, handicap permits grant access all over the city,” JJ said agreeing with the two. 

 “I’ll call Penelope,” Y/N said stepping out of the room with her phone. She walked down the three steps that led up the room they were in and pressed Penelope’s contact name for her work phone. 

 “Hiya sugar what can I do for you?” Penelope asked answering the phone. 

 “Hey Penelope, I need you to look for handicap permits of those in the comfort zone for me, please,” Y/N requested to the woman over the phone. 

 “Sure thing, also I have to tell you something that’s a little suspicious,” Penelope said making Y/N’s heart beat faster. 

 “What is it?” She asked with nervousness. 

 “Caroline Roberts, I put a flag on her in case something suspicious or odd happened to alert me, anyways she hasn’t shown up for work in two weeks,” Penelope explained.

 “Oh maybe she just went on vacation or something,” Y/N said trying to reassure herself it was probably nothing. 

 “Sugar, it wouldn’t have alerted me if that was the case, but don’t you freight because right before she left she bought a ticket to head over to London, now I don’t know what that means, but it does tell me she’s out of reach from here for a while.” 

 “Okay thanks, Penelope, hit us back with that list?” Y/N asked. 

 “Faster than you can say my name, I bid you a-do.” 

 Y/N hung up her phone and entered back into the room with the rest of the team. 

----------

  Y/N sat with Spencer, JJ, Derek, and Emily in the small conference room. Her eyes were trained on the board looking at all the victims, all different ideas running through her head while the team talked. She wasn’t really listening though, only hearing parts of what they were saying. 

 “Maybe the caretaker is a woman, by nature, women prefer cleaner disposal methods,” JJ said peaking Y/N to listen to what was being said. 

 “I don’t know. I mean, that terrain was something serious,” Derek said referring to the dumpsite he went to with Spencer. “No offense, ladies, but Reid and I hiked up that ridge, and there’s no way a woman physically fit or not, could carry dead-weight all that way.” 

 “And we profiled that the partners in a wheelchair, so that would make it impossible for him to help with disposal,” Emily added in agreement. 

 Y/N stood up from her seat and walked over to the board to look at the pictures closer. Words scattered between the pictures of the crime scene from them trying to form the profile more. 

 “So there’s a third person involved, that rarely works there’s usually two against one, ” Derek said. 

 Y/N trailed back into her thoughts as her eyes darted between the pictures.

 “They’d have to trust each other completely, so what kind of relationship involves that dynamic?” Spencer asked. 

 Y/N’s mind then thought back to something her mother always used to tell her: No matter what we will always protect you Y/N, through hell or high water, because we are your parents. 

 “What if it’s parents protecting their child?” Y/N asked, turning around quickly from the board to the four sittings. “My parents always told me growing up that they would protect and help me no matter what. So what if this is like that.”

 “They raise them, they root for them,” JJ said with realization. 

 “They would share the same genes,” Emily added. 

 “Apples don’t fall from the tree,” Y/N agreed. 

 “A parent would hold themselves accountable for the child being injured, that explains the guilt,” Spencer said. 

 “Yeah, but what kind of sick family pulls this off?” Derek asked. 

 “One that’s done it before,” Y/N answered. 

 “I’ll get Hotch and Rossi,” JJ said standing up to exit the room. The rest of the nodded and waited for her to come back with the.

 The five than explained why it was probably a family to Hotch and Rossi. The family probably only had one child because a sibling would be less than likely to participate. If the child was hurt in an accident and the parents felt responsible they would do anything to make them happy.

 “Murder probably wasn’t something they planned though, it came as an extreme side effect of the son’s condition,” Y/N explained to Hotch.

 “If there was orbital cortex damage from the accident, it would help to explain why killing is his release,” Emily added.

 “If the mother has psychopathic tendencies, she could have passed it down through her X chromosome,” Spencer explained.

 “Garcia’s looking up accidents now that have the parents at fault,” JJ said. 

 “That list has to be long,” Rossi spoke as he raised an eyebrow. 

 “Uh- it is, So she is also looking for unsolved cases in the state,” JJ added. 

 “There’s a good chance this isn’t the first time the son has acted out,” Y/N explained. 

 As Y/N finished her statement, JJ’s phone rang. 

 “Hey, Garcia, you’re on speaker,” she said to her over the phone. 

 “Okay, the only thing I can find that’s remotely similar to this is from five years ago. A coed at Georgia state was stabbed and left in a park,” Penelope said.

 “Did she have bruises on her inner thighs?” Rossi asked.

 “Uh, M.E. says…” Penelope paused as she looked for the answer. “Yes, she did.”

 “All right, Garcia, check student enrollment for that year for students with campus handicap permits,” Hotch said to the woman on the phone.

 “I got a bushel of matches, let’s narrow this down.” 

 “Look for in-state residents. If the unsub was injured there’s a good chance he stayed close to home,” JJ said. 

 “Oh, they’re all locals,” Penelope responded. 

 “The parents would have covered it up, and they would have pulled their son out of school after the murder,” Emily explained. 

  “Eureka, Jeffery Collins,” Penelope said as she found a match. “He dropped out of school weeks after the murder and have since lived with his parents.”

 “What’s his story?” Y/N asked. 

 “Sending it to you right now, he’s an only child of Linda and Donald Collins. He was a local athlete who became paralyzed in a car accident when he was fifteen.”

 “It says here the mother was driving, but the injuries weren’t consistent with being behind the wheel,” Derek said while he looked up from he tablet. 

 “But the fathers were look-” Spencer pointed to a part of the report on the tablet that Y/N held in her hand- “Broken ribs, ruptured spleen, minor concussion.” 

 “He’s obviously the one who hit the steering wheel,” Y/N said in agreement.

 “Let me guess, the father was drunk,” Rossi said looking over to Y/N.

 “Yeah, twice the legal limit,” Penelope answered over the phone. 

 “Sounds like they switched places and she covered for him,” Y/N said. 

 “But helping your husband avoid a DUI is far different than helping your son dispose of bodies,” Spencer said as he looked between those around. 

 “Not necessarily,” Hotch countered. “The mother fixes things, she could have manipulated the husband into making up for his failure.” 

  “Garcia, you got an address?” Derek asked Penelope over the phone.

 “Sending it to you now,” she quickly responded. 

------------

 “Hotchner,” Hotch said answering his phone. “Okay, we’ll be right there,” he hung up and turned the car around. 

 “What is it?” Y/N asked as she leaned forward in her seat to adjust her vest. 

 “Agent Brooks, they just found Donald Collins car wrapped around a telephone pole,” Hotch responded as they headed towards the accident, a mere two minutes from where they already were. The SUV came to a halt as they reached the accident and Hotch, Spencer, Emily, and Y/N piled out of the car. 

 “Hey guys thanks for getting here so quick,” Brooks said as she approached the four. 

 “We were on our way to the Collins home when we received the call,” Spencer said as they continued over to the car. 

 “Donald Collins was behind the wheel, died on impact. We found this in his coat pocket,” Brooks explained handing Emily the letter that was sealed in an evidence bag.

 “Let me guess, it’s his confession to all the murders,” Y/N said before she looked at the letter in Emily’s hand. 

 Agent Brooks nodded her head in response. 

 “Even in death, he’s still covering for his son,” Emily said showing Hotch and Spencer the letter. 

 “No one else in the car?” Hotch asked. 

 “No,” Brooks answered. 

 “No skid marks, he probably hit the pole going about 65 miles-per-hour,” Spencer said inspecting the asphalt behind the car. 

 “He committed suicide,” Y/N said while she shook her head in disbelief. 

 “It looks like he was trying to replicate the accident that made Jeff a paraplegic, this was his ultimate penance,” Emily said. 

 “Is this their endgame?” Hotch asked. 

  “If he was trying to replicate the accident, Jeff and Linda would have both been in the car,” Spencer answered, turning to the three on his right. 

 “So where are they?” Y/N asked. 

 “Probably still at the house, maybe even with their next victim,” Spencer said. 

-----------

  “Mom, Mom listen, I promise you the next time I am home I will try to come to visit you I swear-, Y/N said as she brought her mug and Spencer’s over to their seats on the jet.

 Spencer mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Y/N as she handed him the mug, which she responded back with a nod as she sat down in her seat.  

“No it’s not that I don’t think visiting you isn’t important. You know you’re starting to sound like grandma,” Y/N laughed as she looked at Spencer next to her and then Emily across. “All right will do, love you too, bye.” 

  It was the next day, the team had arrested Jeffery Collins and were now on their way back home. 

 “That sounded fun,” Emily said as she looked at Y/N. 

 “You have no idea,” Y/N laughed. “She told me if she doesn’t get to meet Spencer, or any of the rest of you guys really, sometime soon, she’s going to through a fit.” 

 The three laughed but they halted as they saw JJ walk up and sit down next to Emily, a look of defeat on her face.

 “Still no sitter?” Emily asked the blonde. 

 “My sitter is not available,” JJ explained. “Apparently I have a better chance at winning the lottery than getting a sitter for a Saturday night.”

 “What’s going on tonight?” Spencer asked. 

 “Ladies Night,” Y/N said as she looked over at Spencer next to her. His eyes trained on a book in his lap. 

 “It was but, I forgot to book a sitter,” JJ said.

 “I’ll do it,” Spencer said. 

 The three women turned their heads to look at him. All having the same questioning and unsure look on their faces.

 “Spence,” JJ said trying to protest. 

 “What? I’ve seen an episode of ‘Mr. Belvedere’,” Spencer said trying to prove he could do it.

 “I don’t know if that would help, bub,” Y/N said patting his arm sweetly. The nickname just slipping out but no one questioned it. 

  “And you’ve never babysat by yourself before,” JJ added.

  “You know- uh-  he could do a couple of hours,” Emily said looking between Y/N and JJ. 

 “What could possibly go wrong?” Spencer asked. 

 “Well now that you said that, something definitely will,” Y/N said, her superstitious side showing. 

 “Alright fine,” JJ caved.  

-  

 “Whooo!” Spencer cheered obnoxiously loud as they stood gate side of Hotch’s triathlon. “Couple hours, Couple hours! You guys didn’t even come home till sunrise,” he said looking at the four very hungover women. 

 Their eyes were covered with their sunglasses as they leaned against the gate, heads pounding from the cheers and alcohol. 

 “Why are yelling,” JJ said as she looked up then away from Spencer. 

 “Make him stop,” Emily said looking down to Y/N who stood beside Spencer. 

 “With pleasure,” Y/N said, getting up from her position of leaning against the gate to than grabbing Spencer’s face. “Spencer, I really don’t want to slap that pretty little face of yours I adore so much-” Spencer blushed at Y/N’s words- “but if you do not stop yelling I will.” 

 He nodded his head as she let go of his face and laid her head on his arm.  

 “Okay, hey Jack earmuffs for a minute, earmuffs,” Derek said tapping Hotch’s son that sat on his shoulders. “What did you guys drink last night?”

 “The green fairy, you’re in the FBI, can you make the crowd stop cheering?” Penelope pleaded to Derek next to her. 

 “By my estimates, Hotch will be finishing any minute now,” Spencer said looking at his watch, making Y/N lift her head as his arm moved. 

 “Do you see him, Uncle Dave?” Jack asked as he looked down at Rossi from Derek’s shoulders. 

 “I think I do kiddo, right there!” Rossi said as he pointed to Hotch running down the course. 

  Y/N clapped along with JJ and Emily and winced at Spencer’s loud cheering but let it slide since it was for Hotch. Hotch smiled as he saw the team cheering for him as he crossed the finish line. When he crossed, the team walked over to the table he was getting his water and medal from, Jack beating them all there as he was so excited to congratulate his dad. 

  “Did you see my sign?” Jack asked, jumping excitedly. 

 “I did, that’s for you, buddy,” Hotch said placing a medal around Jack’s next he was given.

 “Look at you, how do you feel?” Rossi asked. 

 “I think I’m gonna live,” responded Hotch as he took another sip of his water.

 “Pretty impressive, I had money on the swim killing you,” Emily laughed. 

 “My bet was the bike ride,” Y/N added, grabbing Spencer’s hand and then laying her head on his arm again. 

 “I practiced,” Hotch said still trying to regain his breath. 

 “And it paid off, good job,” Derek said congratulating Hotch.

 “Thank you.” 

 “Hey, you guys want to go get something to eat?” Spencer asked the team. 

 “Yeah, something greasy,” JJ said pushing her sunglasses up her nose.

 “Oh yeah,” Emily agreed. 

 “Please,” Y/N added. 

 “Hotchner!” A voice of a woman was heard making the team turn their heads. 

 “Beth! Jack, there’s somebody I want you to meet,” Hotch said guiding his son over to, the now identified, Beth. 

 “Awe,” Y/N said at the cute moment they were watching. 

 The team laughed at Y/N’s audible feelings and began to walk as they saw Hotch lead Beth and Jack towards their group. 

--------------

 Y/N and Spencer walked into Y/N’s apartment together after eating lunch with the rest of the team. Spencer came with her to grab some of the things he left from the other night staying there. 

 “I’m going to go to the bathroom real quick,” Y/N told Spencer who nodded back with a tight-lipped smile.

 After Spencer grabbed his things he placed them on the round table that was to the left of Y/N’s kitchen. His eyes became drawn to the white envelope with a wax seal with a bird imprint on it. Curiosity getting the better of him, he picked it up inspecting it. Before he could open it though, Y/N walked back into the room. 

 “What’cha lookin’ at?” She asked as she approached Spencer. 

 He turned around to face her, showing her the letter in his hand. Her face grew white with horror, she hadn’t received a letter in 3 weeks. 

 “Where- where was that?” She asked, walking over and grabbing it out of Spencer’s hand, beginning to open it frantically. 

 “On the table,” he responded pointing to where it laid on the table previously. 

 “Oh god,” Y/N said, knowing that meant she had gotten into her apartment somehow this time. 

 “Y/N, what’s wrong, what is it?” Spencer asked trying to get answers from her. 

 “Agh,” Y/N said softly as she cut herself on the paper from the envelope.  

 “Hey, hey, slow down,” Spencer told her, grabbing the envelope from her hand.

 “Will you please just open it and read to me what it says,” she said sitting in the chair she pulled out from the table, placing her head in her hands. 

 “Yeah-yeah, sure,” he responded opening the letter. “ ‘Nothing lasts forever Y/N’ from C.R., what is this, who’s C.R.?” 

 Y/N thought back to the dream she had a couple of nights ago before they left. 

 “Nothing lasts forever Y/N, you know that.” 

 The voice echoed in her head. She lifted her head up from her hands looking at Spencer who had kneeled himself in front of her. 

 “Caroline Roberts,” she told him. “Spencer I need to tell you something.” 

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

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[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.11}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.2k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

While Robin's wound really did only feel like a pulled muscle at this point, she still had had to agree that their last excursion which had been planned for this Saturday should better be canceled for the sake of her recovery. Thus they spent the remainder of the day mainly by reading, working on editing the handbook, and drinking too much coffee for their own good. However it was only when evening rolled around that they finally decided to take a look at the damage beneath the bandages that were still wrapped around Robin's middle, only to find that the only reminders of the previous evening were an admittedly horrendous bruise, and a pink scar that ran along the arch of her lowest rib at the length of about a finger. Oh well… it wasn't pretty, but considering the circumstances, Robin still found herself glad that it wasn't worse, and Snape simply didn't comment on it at all. Indeed, he seemed to be rather relieved when she dropped the hem of her t-shirt back down (and thereby covered the bruised skin of her stomach), which was a reaction Robin simply refused to think about in either direction.

After that the evening trickled by comfortably like most of their evenings did by now, calm and easy and filled with conversations about everything and nothing, and before long they made dinner like they usually brewed their potions; late at night, together, and each knowing their perfect place in the process wordlessly. Robin appreciated every single second of the evening, like she had loved every second of the day. But that made it all the more painful to think that this wouldn't last, not even beyond morning. Most likely was that it would never happen again, none of this, and that thought was what twisted her heart and put a lump into her throat as she was sitting on the sofa in front of the lit up fireplace once more, a good while after their meal.

It was a surprisingly cold and stormy night for late August, even for England, and while the rain was whipping against the windows now, and the wind howling through the small cracks and gaps in the walls, Robin couldn't bring herself to enjoy it. She had wrapped herself into the blankets again, trying to focus on the book in her hands while Snape in the armchair nearby was doing the same. But no matter how much she tried to keep the gloomy thoughts at bay, the feeling of painful loss just wouldn't leave her alone, and the fact that she couldn't possibly miss something she had never had in the first place irritated her enough to draw every focus away from the book and into her own head. Why was she feeling so sad all of a sudden? The day had been lovely, the evening too… and yet here she was, trying not to cry over absolutely nothing. It wasn't just the realization that the day had been too good to be true, that it would never last, that it had only been an exception… none of that would suffice to upset her like this. They'd had times like this before, in a different way, and they would have them again. She wasn't concerned about that, not really… but then what was it that troubled her mind?

"Stop it." Snape's voice disrupted her downward spiral of thoughts, and Robin tried to open her eyes only to find that they were open already, and staring into empty space. Probably had been for a while at this point.

"Stop what?" She asked in mild irritation and looked over to him instead, not without taking notice that he had placed his book down and was returning her gaze. Probably had been for a while at this point, too.

"Getting lost in your own head. Letting your thoughts drag you to dark places you have no need to dwell in."

"How do you know that that's what I was doing?"

"Was it not?"

"Yes, but how do you know?"

He sighed softly, then sat up straighter. "You haven't turned a page in half an hour, which is the time you usually would need for a quarter of an entire book of this kind. Then, while you obviously have been thinking, you did not make an attempt to share your thoughts with me, which is what you usually do with anything that isn't negative. In return, this means that whatever you have been thinking about is unpleasant for you. But if it was a problem of any kind, one that required solving or was at least possible to solve, you again would most likely tell me about it at this point, which you did not. This leaves as the only possibility that you were overthinking something of no immediate relevance, or at least were dwelling on something that made you sad. Which I would like you not to do, nor to be."

Robin's lips curled into a small smile before she could help it, and a little of the gloom melted away as it was replaced by warmth and adoration. "I didn't know you understood me better than I do."

"I merely pay attention to the details. Would be quite impossible to keep up with you otherwise."

"Am I really that complicated?" She couldn't help chuckling at least a little, deeming it more a compliment than anything, and seeing as finally enough tension had left her body, she let herself sink further into the cushions.

"No. Complex perhaps, and challenging. But complicated would be the wrong word for it."

"I'd really rather be complex than complicated; one speaks of intelligence and character, the other of drama and effort. Then again, I surely cause you enough trouble to be called complicated indeed."

"Life is complicated either way. The true art in it is finding what makes the trouble worth it."

Robin didn't even have to think to know that she had found exactly this for herself a long time ago. Primarily, the very person in front of her. Really, she had no doubt that she would go through absolutely anything for him, with him, no matter what. Then –on a secondary level, or a different kind of level rather– she had found her passion for her research. Either way, she wondered what made life worth it for Snape. His job perhaps, his work as well… she could very well imagine that it was potions indeed. But she could also imagine other things, and she would fare better if she didn't imagine anything at all. Time for a subtle change of topic.

"You really have learned to be more positive, you know that?" She smirked at him with a quirked eyebrow, hoping that it would suffice to act over her own emotions beneath the fragile surface of her facade.

"Say that again and there will be consequences." He drawled in a feigned scowl, and Robin had to grin even more.

"Like what? I'm already sleeping on the couch with a healing stab wound. There's little you can do." She teased on even though she knew very well that there actually was quite a lot he could do, giving him a sassy shrug nonetheless, which actually threatened to make him break his facade. Robin saw the humor in his eyes, so obviously that it almost screamed at her, until it suddenly was replaced entirely by neutrality. Half a second later he rose to his feet in one swift move, killed the fire at the same time, and was already halfway across the small room before Robin even knew that was going on.

But once her mind snapped into place, she jumped into action instinctively and lunged forward in such an uncontrolled quick impulse, to catch his arm before he was out of reach, that she couldn't catch herself anymore and tumbled over, off the sofa and onto the hard floor. An action that would've hurt even without a healing wound. But she had gotten a hold of his sleeve at least, even if it was of fairly little use now that she was in a heap on the floor once more, drawing in a sharp breath against the rush of pain.

"Bloody hell…" She groaned after the initial stinging had dimmed down, and found that when she opened her eyes, she was met with a deep and concerned frown.

"What, pray tell, were you trying to do?!" He asked a bit too harshly, but Robin figured that it was because he probably was as surprised as she was herself.

"Stopping you from leaving." She defended her own action rather weakly, feeling way too insecure as she let him help her back onto the sofa where he sat down next to her. "I… I don't know what it is that I did, but I swear I didn't mean to upset you."

"You did nothing wrong, and you certainly did not upset me. You worried me with that stunt right there, but that was entirely my own fault as it seems." He said, and if his facial expressions had ever been obvious, it was now. Regret, anger and concern, all put on display for Robin to see without a doubt. "I failed to come up with a decent reply to your tease, so I thought I might simply prove that there is one thing I could do to get a reaction from you after all, but I had no intention of actually leaving nor did I think it would end like this. I'm sorry for crossing the line."

Fear dropped from Robin's heart as suddenly as it had been placed on it, and perhaps that was why she gave in to this most desperate urge without resistance. In an instant, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders tightly, kneeling on the sofa next to him as she buried her face in his neck and she hugged him as close to herself as she possibly could. Insufferable idiot… going too far while teasing was her speciality, not his! He never did… until now, it seems. It didn't matter, Robin still clung onto him with no intention to let go, and after a second of initial surprise, of freezing like he did so often, he placed his arms around her in return.

"Don't do that to me… Don't leave me like everyone else did." She breathed after a while, and as she spoke her lips barely brushed against the delicate spot of skin above the collar of his shirt. "You're… I… I can't have you leaving me as well."

"I would never." He replied so quietly, so seriously that a shiver ran down Robin's spine. "I am not going anywhere unless you want me to."

"You will still have to leave tomorrow, no matter what I want."

"If you want me to stay, I will."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Again, it took Robin a few seconds to process the overwhelming amount of emotions ebbing through her in return, to convince herself that he was only saying this because of what had happened yesterday. He only wanted to make sure she would be alright. And she would be, but only without the guilt of getting in the way of how things were supposed to be on her conscience.

"You have no idea how much that means to me… but it would be incredibly selfish of me to ask that of you when there's no good reason to stay, but many reasons to go. I will be just fine on my own, I have been for years. It's just one bloody week, and it's an important one." She finally said, in more or less certainty of her words. "You have to go."

"I know you will be fine." He returned calmly, yet in the same seriousness as ever. "You always are."

"Unless I get stabbed, or cursed, or tortured, or eaten alive by a bear, or-..."

"You are making it really difficult for me to go."

"Sorry." She breathed, but a smile tugged on her lips no less. It didn't matter why he didn't want to leave her… the fact alone was enough for now. More than enough, actually.

When he eventually started drawing tiny patterns on her back again, Robin finally realized that she was leaning against him with her entire weight by now, her head resting on his shoulder just like yesterday, and she knew that if she didn't put an end to that now, it would also end exactly like yesterday.

"I should probably let go of you now." She sighed under her breath, more to herself than to Snape, but as much as she knew she should indeed, her body would not obey her rational mind.

"And why is that?" He asked in return, and his hands stilled on her back while his hold on her however didn't loosen up in the slightest.

"I'm falling asleep." Robin breathed sadly. "And if you don't want a repetition of yesterday, I have to let go now."

For another moment neither of them moved at all, leaving Robin to wonder if she had even spoken up in the first place or merely dreamed her words, but when she finally forced herself to lift her head and then started pulling away, his arms around her tightened in an instant to keep her in place right where she was. An immediate shiver ran through her body when he leaned back into the sofa without a word and simply pulled her with him, their embrace never once faltering, while the movement left them in a far more comfortable position than before. Robin didn't mind in the least that it had her resting against him more than sitting like he still was at this point, and indeed, if there was such a thing as a highest place of comfort, she was sure to have reached it now.

Perhaps it was only a dream. Perhaps she had fallen asleep long before, and none of this was real. But when she focused on his chest rising and falling beneath her, on the scent that was so uniquely him, on his hands splayed out across her back… she knew that no dream could be positively overwhelming like this. Beyond anything she had imagined would ever be a part of her reality. Perhaps it would become one of those things they didn't talk about, that simply were without ever being addressed. Like their coffee habit used to be in the beginning… or the perpetual fact that they had been each other's not-date to the ball for years now. It likely would become one of those things, one of those wordless events neither dared to speak of… but Robin didn't mind at all. For once, she wouldn't question why he was allowing this to happen, wouldn't overthink what it did or didn't mean. She had given him the fair chance to escape the situation, and he had pulled her closer in return. It was easy as that, and allowing herself to simply enjoy it in return was even easier for once. Without the war within herself but with his arms wrapped around her securely, she was asleep within seconds.

… … …

Sunday came far too quickly and before long, Snape had to leave, which meant that Robin had all afternoon to explore the house she would have all to herself for a week now. Admittedly, she did understand now what he'd meant when he had said it was a telltale of neglect, but then again she absolutely didn't mind in the least, and actually found the aesthetic of it quite charming. The only thing she had to agree on was that the neighborhood was a literal nowhere. That much she discovered when she took a walk to get some fresh air on Sunday night, and she found that while the area was very much rundown and tainted by poverty, it otherwise didn't differ all too much from her parents' fancy Oxford suburb. Both were practically void of people, overcrowded with buildings and narrow streets and pathways, and most of all they both were so desperately void of nature that Robin was almost happy about the weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement. And still, she was beyond happy to have a roof over her head for the time being, and even happier that the space was filled with more books than she could read.

The week went by surprisingly fast, Robin spent the first few days reading and allowing the remainder of her injury to heal, and only on Friday she went to London to do the mandatory school shopping with the precisely calculated galleons that she had put aside nine weeks ago specifically for this reason. Honestly, she had been surprised when she had found the yearly letter from school on the doorstep on Monday morning, but when she'd thought about it, she wasn't at all surprised that Dumbledore would know where she was currently staying. He had been aware of her friendship with Snape in the first place, so why wouldn't he know that she was staying at Spinner's End at the moment? That man had eyes and ears everywhere; or perhaps Snape had simply told him about it, who knew. Then on Friday evening her very last overall money had gone into dinner, the only meal of the day, and she was actually quite happy with the fact that she would only have to spend Saturday and half of Sunday without anything to eat. That still was better than what she had calculated a few weeks ago.

When Sunday morning finally lit up the sky with a beautiful sunrise, Robin made sure to leave the house as spotless as possible, going through every single room four times, and still she arrived half an hour too early at the platform. Gods, she didn't even know what she was more desperate for at this point… a meal, the castle and highlands, or seeing Snape. Probably a good combination of all three. This year, for the first time, she found Cas and Jorien in advance to getting on the train, and when they left London fifteen minutes later, Robin found herself sitting in a compartment not only with her two roommates, but also with Simon and his two friends. Honestly, Robin had all the understanding in the world for Cas and Simon; after not seeing each other all summer, they surely deserved to sit together now at least. It was only the two other boys who irritated her quite a bit, for they kept shooting her odd glances for wearing sunglasses inside and even for only bringing one backpack as her entire luggage, and Robin found herself wondering if they were just particularly judgy or if her antics really were that odd and everyone else she usually surrounded herself with had simply gotten used to it by now. Either way, she tried to politely ignore them and their stares.

"So, how did traveling and finding plants and stuff go?" Cas finally asked after half an hour of being too busy with Simon to even look at anyone else. Robin thought that half an hour was a new record; Cas was getting better at remembering she had friends too!

"Oh, the usual…" Robin replied with a sigh and a small smirk, as she leaned back in her seat. "Walked over water, went sightseeing in Greece, almost got eaten alive by a bear, got stabbed, went-..."

"Wait, what?!"

"Yeah, there was this bear-like creature in a cave in Sweden, but we could make an escape at last after-..."

"That's probably an interesting story, but I meant the part about getting stabbed!" Jorien gave her a look, and Robin sighed again while everyone else in the compartment grew suspiciously quiet. Why on earth could she never keep her mouth shut?!

"Well, it's no big deal." She finally started addressing the topic when even the two Ravenclaw boys were staring at her with deep frowns. "I kind of broke in somewhere and then someone stabbed me in the stomach. Or… the ribs, rather. Between both."

"YOU broke in somewhere?!" One of Simon's friends blurted out before anyone else could give a more subtle reaction.

"You seem surprised." Was all Robin returned with a perfect neutral expression that had both Cas and Jorien snorting within seconds. Yeah, Robin had missed the girls after all.

"Well, uh…" The boy fought for a decent reply, but it was his friend who finally answered. "The Robin Mitchell we heard about just didn't seem like someone who wouldn't break into places."

"Perhaps you shouldn't believe everything you hear, then." She replied calmly, with a condescending edge to her tone she just couldn't help. They were a year below her, sure, but also a head taller each.

"Rumor has it you're a total overachiever in your year, or… in any, really."

"And just because I get good grades I automatically have to be boring and more by-the-rules than the headmaster himself? Is that what you mean?" Robin quirked an eyebrow at them, and the giggles coming from her roommates almost made her want to break her facade and smile as well.

"No, of course not, it's just… your reputation, and…" The poor guys looked miserable under Robin's scrutiny, scared almost to speak up, and she found that she wanted to know why.

"What other rumors are there about me, then?" She asked with a pointed expression, staring at the two Ravenclaws so intently that they looked desperately uncomfortable.

"Well, people say that… that you can read minds, and that you can curse people without even a single word. They say that you're so good that even the professors are afraid of you! Some even say that you're insane, or straight out evil… and many say that you have no emotions." The first boy replied reluctantly, and when Robin's gaze didn't falter, he added, "But we never believed any of that! Seriously, we just… thought that you really must be an overachiever if you made it to honour roll in two subjects a year earlier than everyone else! Honestly, the entire school seems to believe that you're someone not to be messed with… But we only ever believed the things we had physical proof of!"

"Really?"

"Yes! Absolutely!" They both nodded. "We would never blindly believe any reputation someone has among the students…"

"Good. Honestly, I couldn't care less about my reputation, and it's everyone's right to think about me whatever they please. But it's not my responsibility to meet their expectations." She stated with a smile now indeed, and she was met with three smirks in return and two almost relieved faces. "I do get good grades, but I'm neither a bore nor an insane genius."

"It's so funny how people always seem to think you're either just a scary psycho or a walking library." Jorien chuckled and leaned back in her seat as well while she turned to the two Ravenclaws. "Guys, Robin is one of the nicest people I've ever met, and definitely the most caring one. She literally saved my life, which almost got her killed in return! And on the other side, if there's anyone who literally never follows any rules other than her own, it's Robin. Do you guys even know that she's been excepted from most of the school rules for literal years?!"

"Really?" Simon asked now, frowning first at Jorien, then at Cas by his side, and finally at Robin. "A-about the rules, I mean! Not the… the nice part. I know you're very nice, Robin. To the people you like, at least."

"Thank you for that very accurate assessment, Simon." Robin couldn't help smirking and shook her head to herself in amusement. "I feel honoured."

"I told you she's always gone until who knows when at night! Roaming the castle and working in rooms none of us even knows about! And I told you how she's given us detention before, or how almost all of the professors actually respect her! How she knows more about potions than Professor Snape! I told you, Simon!" Cas defended herself then, and Robin tried not to snort yet again. It all was true, in a way… Well, almost all. She didn't know more than Snape, she merely knew different things than he did. Perhaps she would have to explain that to them at some point.

"I know you did, Cas, but I thought you were exaggerating!" Simon replied, and while Cas pouted, Robin and Jorien just chuckled.

"I never exaggerate!" Cas finally tried, and now literally everyone in the compartment couldn't hold their laughter anymore. Even Cas had to see that it was pretty funny after a moment, and when she started laughing too, any of the weirdness between the two groups finally faded for good. Who knew, if Cas and Simon really stayed together for now, perhaps Robin would have to get used to spending time with his friends as well. But for Cas, she certainly could do that.

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[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

Professor Kuroo Part Four (Kuroo Tetsurou x F!reader)

You weren’t expecting to get paired with the young and attractive Dr. Kuroo as your faculty mentor when you became a graduate student. And everything is fine until you both let it go a little too far one night in the dark quiet of the library. 

genre: mutual pining, angst, slowburn (i think??) words: 2.6k

a/n: dropping this here and running away 

taglist: @afterglowkuroo @apollochjld @kurosarium @crescentsteel if you would like to be added to the taglist, lmk!

part one part two part three

In the following weeks, you and Kuroo barely speak beyond what is required for work. There are no more all nighters spent huddled together in the lab, spending hours with just each other—it pains you how much you miss it. How much you hate that when you see each other in the office you barely give each other anything past a courteous nod. The ghost of your relationship hangs in the air whenever you’re with him, urging you to just get over yourself. There’s clearly nothing else you both would rather do than just be together.

And it doesn’t help that you’ve begun to sit in on his lectures too, finding yourself with ample amounts of free time now that most of the preparation for the convention is finished. You try and chalk it up to the fact that you want to see how someone not much older than yourself has made himself an established member of this profession. You can’t help the jealousy that washes over you at the blatant stares of his female students—that they get to openly ogle him and daydream while you stuff all that somewhere deep inside yourself.

He makes no comments about your sudden appearance at his lectures.

He does notice you, however. And goddamn you are distracting. Not that you think you are, no—if you thought that he doesn’t think you’d show up. So, he does his best to ignore you, and by the time he’s finished speaking to students after class, you’ve already packed up and left.

These weeks have been rather boring. He didn’t realize how much you livened up his day until you were missing from it. Personally, he thinks it’s far more suspicious that the two of you have suddenly ceased all interactions completely rather than going about the way you have been before he blew everything to shit in the library that night. But if this is what you’re comfortable with, he can respect that.

He tries not to think about what happened at The Brew. How utterly embarrassing the entire night was.

But he’s holding on desperately to something you said.

You wish things were different.

He probably shouldn’t dwell on those words, but he can’t help himself.

And it’s pathetic how his heart jumps into his throat when a week or two from the convention you stride into his office without warning and shut the door behind you. It’s hard for him not to hope that maybe you’ve finally hit the tipping point, finding the past few weeks just as unbearable as he has.

Instead, you slump into one of his armchairs letting out a defeated sigh. He finds himself frozen in his seat, unsure what to do, and afraid to scare you off from whatever you’ve come in here for. After a moment, you groan loudly and finally turn to face him. “I need help with the presentation.”

He blinks, realizing you’re just here for advice. Though, he supposes it’s better than the silence that has stretched between you since The Brew.

“What about it?”

You frown. “I can give it perfectly when I practice, but every time I think about getting up in front of all those people, I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

Ah. He can remember how nerve wracking his first presentation was too, so he understands how you’re feeling. “Do you want to practice in front of me?” He offers. “I always felt better after actually giving it to someone.”

He isn’t expecting your frown to deepen. “I don’t think that’ll help.”

He cocks his head. “Why?”

Yet another sigh escapes you. Then you look up at the ceiling, biting your lip—something he hates to admit he watches very intently. “Because…well—it’s just you.”

Now he laughs. “I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.”

“We’ve been working on this together all year, so forgive me if you don’t make me particularly nervous.” You shrug. He lifts a brow at that statement, that he doesn’t make you nervous—and you immediately realize your mistake. Giving him a pointed look, you say, “Keep whatever you were about to say to yourself.”

There’s no ignoring the mischievous glint in his eye as he replies smoothly, “I don’t think it’d be a problem for me to change that.” To your relief, he remains seated, otherwise he’d see how right he actually is.

He’s surprised that you’re letting him go on this long, when you could easily just leave his office and end this conversation. Instead, you seem to rise to his challenge, leaning toward him on the arm of the chair, meeting his gaze and without even so much as blinking, retort, “Don’t try and act like this isn’t a two-way street. I know full well you’d be a tomato if I were to come over there and show you just how I’d make you nervous.”

The words tumble out of you without you fully realizing where you’re taking this conversation—and that he’s letting you do it. The smirk on his face telling you just how much he’s enjoying this, and you hate to admit how easy it was to fall back into this. After weeks of avoiding him, one harmless conversation is all it took to be right where you started.

Leaning back in his chair, he folds him arms, his eyes daring you to show him just what you mean. “Oh, I’m not disagreeing with you at all. But, back to the reason you’re here; I have plenty of students who are looking into graduate school and may be interested in listening to what we’ve been working on and get some more information on what being a graduate student is like. I could set something up if you think that might help.”

He nearly tips out of his chair at your expression. “Really?!” God, his heart is going to explode at your eyes wide with excitement. “That’d be perfect! And I’d love to talk about being a graduate student!”

Because in all honesty, it’s been wonderful—minus falling head over heels for your assigned faculty member. After your outburst, he barely has the brain cells left to give you a smile and promise that he’ll look into it. Rising from your chair, you extend your thanks to him and bolt from his office, feeling like if you stay any longer you’ll find it way too easy to stay and chat with him.

You miss him.

And you didn’t really realize how much until he wasn’t in your life anymore.

~

Kuroo isn’t shocked that half his class is interested in coming and listening to you speak. Though he thinks that some of them just want another chance to ogle him freely before the semester is over. But today his attention is focused on you, leaning over your shoulder at the front of the room and helping you connect your laptop to the projector. And you’re too wrapped up in what you’re doing to make any comment about it.

Mostly you’re too focused on keeping your nerves in check so you can garner the courage to start your presentation. Once you start talking you know you’ll calm down but right now you need to distract yourself. And sue you for letting yourself find comfort in Kuroo’s presence. His solid frame behind you and deep voice is doing wonders for your nerves, surprisingly. In any other situation he’d be the one making you nervous.

“You ready?” He asks quietly, his breath brushing against your ear.

It doesn’t slip past him that you barely flinch. He honestly thought you’d run for the hills at his proximity. Instead, you slide your attention to him from the corner of your eye and give him a small smile. He’s so in awe of your behavior that he doesn’t catch what you say.

“Kuroo?” You whisper, turning your back to the class in an attempt to hide just how comfortable you are with each other.

He blinks and gathers his senses. “Sorry, what did you say? Are you ready?”

Now your brows lift. “I said that I am.”

“Great!” Now it’s him retreating from you, swiveling around you towards the class and clapping his hands for the class’s attention. He introduces you as his graduate student and says, “A lot of you are looking into graduate work and I thought it might be helpful for you to see what they do. So, without further ado, the floor is yours.” He steps away and moves to sit at the end of one of the first rows of seats.

It’s hard to not clam up on the spot. Stiffly, you introduce yourself again and try not to let your gaze just stay on Kuroo—no matter how much easier it is to ignore everyone else in the room.

“This year I’ve been working with Dr. Kuroo and assisting him in his research. We are going to a conference in a couple of weeks and will be presenting on our work. It was my job to compile our findings and put together this presentation…”

Once you get into the actual presentation, your words start to flow, and you feel much more at ease talking about the things you’ve spent the last several months working on. As expected, many of the students look like everything you are saying is going completely over their heads—which is understandable. The other half look more interested in staring at Kuroo the entire time.

Though Kuroo’s attention is on you the entire time. He loves the way you talk about your work, clearly excited and very into what you do. It makes him proud to have you as a colleague, and despite any feelings he has for you, he really does respect you as a fellow professional. The way you talk about your work is the way he imagines he does, and on more than one occasion he’s found himself deep in discussion with you on different topics within the field. It isn’t hard to figure out why he fell head over heels for you.

When you’re done speaking, some students have questions about being a graduate student. Simple things like how to apply, how did you get paired, and some sheepishly asking how the hell you learned whatever the fuck you just talked about. It’s easy answering their questions, but you know come conference time where people will actually understand the research, they might come at you with some more in-depth questions.

Kuroo does throw you a couple questions to try and mimic that, but since he knows everything about the project too, they aren’t too difficult in your opinion. The whole ordeal took less than an hour, but you do feel a lot better afterwards. The conference doesn’t seem so gut-wrenchingly terrifying now.

As you’re packing up your things, you notice Kuroo get cornered by several of his students. And damn you to hell—you strain to eavesdrop on their conversation. Mostly it consists of them gushing over him, expressing how fascinating they think the project is, and that they’re really interested in graduate work now.

Kuroo wasn’t expecting this at all. Sure, he knows they stare and blush around him, but all semester these students have kept their respectable distance. He surmises now that they’re basically “graduated” in their eyes they feel those walls no longer exist. He isn’t quite sure what to do in this situation, so he resorts to constantly changing the subject back to you. Claiming (truthfully) that he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with his project without you.

“Maybe one of us will get paired with you next year if we apply here!” One of them suggests cheerfully.

Before he can process what he’s about to say, he tells them that he’ll probably be working with you for the next year too.

At the front of the room, upon hearing those words, you fumble putting your laptop into your bag and it clatters to the ground startling everyone. If you had the ability to disappear, you would. With clammy hands, you pick it up and shove it haphazardly into your bag as Kuroo attempts to explain himself.

“It’s just uncommon for graduate students to get switched mid-way through their studies,” he says, smiling half-heartedly.

That is unless they request to be off your project.

His students resume their cheery disposition and continue talking to him while he watches you head for the door. Just as you’re about to leave, you pause before abruptly turning and striding across the room towards him. And he can’t help but be very intrigued at what you’re about to say, judging from your expression you must be aiming to save him from his current predicament.

He wonders why you even needed to practice your presentation in the first place as you must have balls of steel to interrupt the conversation and say, “Excuse me, I need to speak to Dr. Kuroo about the conference before we leave for the day.” What impresses him further is how believable you sound.

At least he’s quick to catch on.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says apologetically, moving towards you and the exit. “I hope you all have a wonderful summer and good luck in your future! Email me if you need a letter of recommendation!” And with that, he uses those long legs of his to get him out of there, with you hot on his heels.

On your way out, you smirk at him, carefully making sure to hide your face from the onlookers behind you and pretending to move your hands like you’re deep in conversation with him. All while he watches you incredulously before giving you a look as you tease, “I didn’t know you were such an instigator of scandals, Kuroo.”

“Not plural,” he corrects, then lowers his voice. “Just you.”

Your heart involuntary twists at those words.

Instead of going any further into that territory, you say, “So, we’ll be working together for the next year too?”

His attention snaps to you, but you’re staring straight ahead towards the office doors, apparently unbothered by his earlier claim. He rubs the back of his neck, tongue feeling dry in his mouth, unsure how he should explain that statement.

But before he has the opportunity to do so, as you pull open the office doors you say plainly, “I can’t imagine working with anyone else anyways, and I don’t think I’d want to.”

He’s stunned.

“Besides,” you shrug, holding the door open for him. “I don’t think anyone else would be able to keep up with me either.”

Now a laugh escapes him. “That’s true. I barely can.”

You give him a smile that warms him to the very depths of his soul as you stop at your desk to get the rest of your things. He continues on to his office, and when he’s finished packing up, he’s surprised to find you waiting for him at the door.

The two of you walk out together in comfortable silence, and once you reach the point where you go your separate ways, he hears you take an audible breath before quietly saying, “Thank you for helping me out and setting that up for me.”

He just looks at you, his soft golden gaze tying your throat into knots. “You’re welcome.”

Trying not to get lost in the look he’s giving you, you choke out, “See you tomorrow.”

You step away from him to head down the street towards the station when you hear him call from behind you, “At least let me give you a ride home!”

Not even bothering to look behind you, you give him a slight wave and continue walking. “Bye!”

He’s subconsciously grinning when he slides into the driver’s seat of his car.

[thefanficmonster]

Best Friend’s Brother

Conrad (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Man of Medan) x Reader (Male)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Mild Angst

Summary: Having been invited to the boat trip by his best friend Julia, Y/N can’t help but wish he never accepted the invitation because now he has to deal with being stuck on a boat with the boy he’s had a crush on for years with no real way to avoid him.

Requested by @dark-pictures-until-dawn  Hi hun! Thank you so much for your request, sorry to have kept you waiting for so long but here it finally is and I really hope you enjoy the read! (I used he/him pronouns but if you want them changed feel free to let me know!) Love, Vy ❤

I have no idea what I was thinking when I agreed to go on this trip. I don’t know what on God’s green Earth I was thinking but here we are now sitting on a boat, at open water with no land for miles. And I’m sitting here, face to face with him, but I’m completely frozen. Unable to say a single damn thing. Maybe that’s a good thing though, I’d probably embarrass myself if I did say something.

Let me give you a bit of backstory to how I found myself in this situation.

My parents are very close to Julia and Conrad’s family, given that our mothers used to go to high school together and have remained best friends ever since. That’s how I met the two siblings and was quick to grow a friendship with them both. Despite being Julia’s age, I found myself always gravitating towards Conrad but the girl is still my best friend - she’d probably kill me if I let her brother take that title from her. Truth be told, he could never take her title - I could never see Conrad as a best friend.

Not when my feelings towards him are anything but platonic.

No, I did not tell Julia about said feelings and no I don’t plan on telling her either. I’d never hear the end of it if I did tell her about it. She’d chew me up about it, making my romantic interest for her brother the main topic of discussion (read: teasing and mocking). Don’t get me wrong, I love Julia to death and there are never any secrets between us.

Well, there weren’t any until a few years ago when I realized my fondness for the dumbass she calls brother goes beyond just friendship and similarity. That it had more of a romantic nature that I was not prepared to have to deal with. And, in all honesty, I don’t think I’ve dealt with at all even now. I mean, it’s probably obvious thanks to the silence that’s taken over the deck of the boat where I’m currently sitting with Conrad, monitoring Alex and Julia’s dive while Fliss is tending to a seasick Brad downstairs.

“Hey Y/N, want a beer?“ When the comfortable but odd silence is broken, no one would be shocked to find it out it was done so by Conrad. I’m surprised he even managed to stay silent for so long.

“No thanks, I’ll keep the alcohol at bay until tonight when everyone’s onboard.“ It’s not a complete lie, that’s what I like about it.

You see, I’ve never got drunk with Conrad in the vicinity and I don’t wanna risk my drunk ass outing me and my silly and have neither him nor I remember it the next morning. So, to avoid getting carried with the drinking, I won’t be starting now and I’ll make sure to limit myself even tonight to three beers tops. I’m no lightweight but I’m no daredevil either.

“You’re oddly quiet.“ Conrad says when he returns with a beer in his hand, the glass bottle stained with droplets, suggesting he’s just taken it out of one of the coolers we brought. He presses the bottle to the side of his neck where he got a sunburn yesterday, some droplets trickling down his skin. He doesn’t seem to mind it as he keeps his focused gaze on me, a mildly concerned frown upon his face as he studies my expression, “Something wrong? You know you can tell me anything. That’s what best friends are for, after all.“ He smirks, putting extra emphasis on the word ‘best‘.

I laugh but I cringe inwardly. Something about calling him ‘best friend’ feels so unnatural and odd and out-of-place I can’t even describe it. I know it may sound ridiculous but if you’ve ever had a crush there’s a high chance that you can relate. “Don’t worry, if it were worth mentioning, I’d tell you.“ I blow off his concerns, using his own method against him.

He’s known to do that - sweep all his troubles under the rug and stand atop it to make sure they don’t try to escape and resurface while he’s keeping his bright smile on his face, avoiding showing any other expression. I’m no fool and neither is no one around him, at least the ones who know him well and are close to him. Us who he considers friends know that it’s not all smiles and sunshine in his life either.

Wish I could pull that rug from under him and see what’s really going on with him but not even Julia is allowed to do so, let alone me.

Thankfully though, before things could get any more awkward, Julia and Alex resurface with some rather exciting news - they went in as boyfriend and girlfriend and came back as an engaged couple.

And just like that, all thoughts surrounding Conrad were thrown out of my head. Ok, maybe not completely, but they were suppressed into some dark corner of my brain.

                                                              *  *  *

“You’ve got Connie worried.“ I yelp when my best friend plops her ass down next to me on the deck, her second bottle of beer half empty by now while I’m still nursing my first as though I’m trying to save more beers for the rest of the people on board.  We already have plenty of beers in stock but even if we didn’t, considering the sickness he had to endure earlier, Brad isn’t drinking, leaving his share at our disposal. Therefore, Jules is quick to catch onto my slow drinking.

I tilt my bottle in her direction, “I want to avoid getting sick like Brad did, thank you very much. The last thing I’m looking forward to is kneeling by the edge of the boat, puking my guts out.“

Julia laughs, clinking her bottle against mine before taking a swig. I take one too, hoping it fuels my courage at least a tiny bit to try and lead this conversation properly, “Nah, that’s not what he meant - although, I doubt Brad’s sickness was an alcohol issue.” She shakes her head, pushing aside a few blond locks to be able to look at me better. That’s when I feel like her gaze is piercing into my soul and I wish I knew how to shield myself from that. There’s a big issue with having your crush’s sister be your best friend, especially when she has a sixth sense for when there’s something off with me. “But you have been avoiding him, don’t deny it.” My eyes widen against my will and my mouth falls open as I try to defend myself and deflect her argument, but she raises a finger to signal me to keep my thoughts to myself while she’s talking. “Did he say something inappropriate while we were gone? Just tell me, I’ll end him!”

“Relax, Jules, Conrad would never do such a thing. Especially not with someone he cares about.“ Alex interferes - God bless his soul - and takes a seat next to Julia, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I’ve known Connie for as long as I’ve known you, J. You should know by now that, even at the odd chance he does say something inappropriate, I have a reply ready at all times.“ I shoot her a wink in an attempt to wipe away the concerned expression on her face.

Alex contributes, “See? Nothing to worry about. Now let Y/N enjoy his beer and you enjoy yours.”

I shoot Alex a grateful smile over behind Julia’s back, subtly tilting my bottle towards him - a gesture he understands perfectly and does so in return. However, his fiancée refuses to give up the argument.

“No, no, no. There is definitely something to worry about and I’ll get it out of him if it’s the last thing I ever do.“ She narrows her eyes at me, forcing me to instinctively back away as if that’s gonna help me at all. Then, this woman pulls a 180 on me, going from an angry detective to a disappointed and betrayed friend, “Damn it, Y/N! I always tell you everything and you are just a closed book! How is that fair?!“

It may or may not be a tactic but she’s got a point - I rarely tell her things. I’m the listener of the duo and she’s the talker: she shares, I absorb the info; she’s upset, I listen and comfort her accordingly; she has something troubling her, I’m the one she shares it with. It’s rarely ever the other way around. And I can see why it bothers her.

What’s a little truth to pay her back for all the ones she’s told me? Well, the problem is that this particular truth is far from little and it would be the equivalent of descending into my own grave willingly.

It could also help you, you know? 

Yeah, sure it can. Sure it can....

“Ok fine!“ I cut her off because this woman can never run out of words to use against me when she wants to.

Her fiancée is quick to give me a sympathizing look, “No, Y/N, you don’t have to...”

“No, it’s ok, Alex. I owe her this much...“ I sigh, looking at the doorway leading to the lower level of the boat where Conrad went a while ago and doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry to return, much to my relief. I sigh, succumbing to the inevitable, “Jules, I’m only gonna say this once and no, I won’t elaborate but I need you to promise me you won’t freak the hell out. Got it?“

The blond girl rolls her eyes, “Come on Y/N, are we in middle school or something?”

Oh she’s so not ready to hear this...

“Fine, then I bet you won’t be bothered by my crush on your brother at all.“ I huff out before I can rethink the words I’d use or how I’d phrase the sentence. It just left my body as though it has been waiting to do so for a while no. That wouldn’t surprise me though, it’s been one heavy weight to carry around.

There’s a long moment of silence. Alex and I both gaze at Julia who is pulling off the most impressive poker face I’ve ever seen but I have no time to dwell on that considering I’m too busy keeping my stomach from turning completely and forcing me to throw up the small amount of food I’ve eaten and the beer I’ve had to drink. When Julia opens her mouth to talk, I raise the bottle to my lips to shut myself up and calm myself down. “The only thing that bothers me is the fact you didn’t tell me sooner.“

To say I’m flabbergasted would be an understatement. I’ve seen Julia freak out over smaller things but she’s calm about this?! I’m impressed. But then again, I shouldn’t speak too soon - this might just be the calm before the storm.

“If I knew you’d be this chill about it I wouldn’t have waited so long.“ I admit sheepishly, fidgeting with my hands now that I’ve put the bottle aside. “It’s unlike you to be this calm about something....like this.“ I cannot find the right words to describe ‘this‘ but I know she gets me and that’s a relief.

“I’m a drama queen when I wanna be and a strategic player when I have to be, Y/N, how come you don’t know that?“ She smirks at me, all self-assured and whatnot. Wish I had at least a fragment of her self-esteem. “Speaking of strategic, leave it all to me. The two of you will be together in no time.“ She nudges me in the ribs with her elbow, giving me a wink that makes my blood run cold, my eyes opening wide as plates.

“No way, J! No fucking way.“ I feverously shake my head, the idea itself making me feel so terrified and unsure like I’ve never felt before. “You won’t do anything just like I won’t do anything. He doesn’t see me that way and that’s that, no room for negotiating.“

She scoffs, “Oh please. Have you known him all his life? Have you seen him through every darn moment of his life - from being a pathetic loser in middle school to the playboy in high school? No you haven’t. Well, I have and I can say with all the certainty within me that the way he looks at you is a dead giveaway of how he feels for you. He’s had many romantic partners, and I’ve never once seen him look at them the way he looks at you, Y/N.”

I narrow my eyes at her, “You do realize you’re contradicting your own point here - he’s never looked at me the way he looks at his romantic partners means he’s never seen me as a romantic partner!”

Julia shakes her head, “Goddammit, Y/N, you’re really trying to explain my brother to me? I’m telling you, the look he gives you is a lot more meaningful, a lot more special, unlike any look he’s ever given anyone.” The girl scans my face, looking for something I’m not sure she’ll find. “He adores you, Y/N. Perhaps even more than you.”

The words have no time to sink in an be processed by my spasming brain when I hear a familiar voice come from my right, “Wait, what?! What did I miss?”

If Conrad doesn’t have the best timing ever, I don’t know who does...

“Oh dear brother, we’ve been missing out on A LOT.“ Julia says, using every bit of insinuation she can to get me on-edge.

Conrad’s confused gaze darts between the three of us: Alex, who’s still in the processing phase, Julia who’s smiling widely and me who’s downright terrified. I now wish I had another beer bottle handy. It’d keep me occupied if nothing else.

Suddenly, the engaged couple arise from their seats and begin walking away - not without Julia flashing Conrad and I a big grin that says ‘Have fun, you two!’ as though she doesn’t know how much I’m sweating right now.

Conrad however doesn’t seem to notice the teasing undertones as he takes the seat opposite me, tightly holding onto his beer bottle when his gaze meets mine. There’s a smirk on his face but I don’t see even a trace of it in his eyes, leading me to believe it’s ingenuine and forced which is something I never thought I’d see on Connie’s face - a fake smile. It’s almost disturbing to witness.

“Well, well, well, has our boy scout found himself a significant other? Sorry if I’m far from the mark, I’m just shooting in the dark here. I didn’t get to hear much so I might be really inaccurate.“

I shake my head, “No, no, you’re pretty close actually.“ I was prepared to deny it to my grave but here I am confessing like a fool, “It’s a potential significant other. To be fair, there’s no potential whatsoever but a boy can dream.“

He quirks up a curious brow, “Why’d you be so sure?”

Well fuck, I didn’t think it that far through.

I attempt to play it off cool, shrugging my shoulder nonchalantly, “I’m not his type at all. I just know he doesn’t see me the way I see him. Hell, I’m not even sure he’s into guys and even....“

Conrad doesn’t let me finish though, shutting my up with his lips pressed against mine. I can’t recall when he closed the distance between us, I can’t even remember seeing him get up from his spot on the bench. Were my eyes closed? I have no clue, all I know is that they’re shut now and I’m afraid that this will all turn out to be a dream if I open them.

Therefore, I keep them shut even after we pull away, our faces still remaining inches away from one another.

“You still think he doesn’t like guys?“ The cocky fucker asks in a mumble, chuckling slightly.

I should probably feel timid, embarrassed or nervous or anything else that would fit well in this situation but all I feel is relief and all I can do is tilt my head back and laugh my heart out at the one thought that pops into my head:

I may have been the last person to know I had a crush on Conrad

Connie doesn’t allow me to spiral any further. He instead takes a gentle hold of the back of my neck, bringing me in for another kiss.

Man, is our story a cliché though - the story of how a dumbass (me) fell in love with his best friend’s brother.

[westallenfun]

Two's Company (1/3)

Westallen secret santa gift

For: Lauren (@backtothestart02) (I hope you like this fic!)

From: Lina (@cheryls-blossomed)

A/N: A special thank you to my beta, Caroline (@ginandweas). 

Inspired by Jane Austen’s Emma, and the blissfulness and hardship of tumbling into true love. On the eve of publication of the most important article of her professional career thus far, Iris West realizes that she is head over heels in love with her best friend, Barry Allen, but grapples with revealing her true feelings, for fear of completely ruining their friendship. But a weekend trip to Metropolis sets in motion a series of events, with romantic mishaps and conundrums abound, that may in fact force both Barry and Iris to face some long-awaited, romantic truths. 

Rated: T (Warnings: Mild language)

Perhaps the most notable visual extravagance at wedding receptions is the abundance of balloons, flowers, and the chiffon backdrops, draped like curtains, framing the table whereon sat the wedding cake. 

Iris is already trying to determine how she might steal away a few balloons, because really, nobody would miss them, and she had, after all, been the one sitting with the wedding planner for days on end, painstakingly selecting a theme for the reception and agonizing over every detail. Surely, after all her efforts, a few balloons going missing at the end of the party would be forgiven, if not unnoticeable. And she would be surreptitious about it too, seeing as how she would wait until the final guests, likely pleasantly drunk on champagne, rosé, and Prosecco, stumbled their way out of the Central City Gold Hotel. 

            “Nice work, West.” Iris looks up to see her heavily pregnant sister-in-law take a seat next to her, while cradling a rather magnificent sundae in her hands, spoon hanging precariously atop the hazelnut fudge.

            “Thanks, but don’t you call my brother ‘West?’ Could get confusing,” Iris says, raising one eyebrow. 

            “Yeah, but I’m married to Wally. Have been for three years. And so, it doesn’t have the same effect with him anymore. That’s the troublesome thing about marriage.” 

            “Classic Linda Park logic,” Iris murmurs, before once again focusing on the balloons. They are all the same shade of ivory, which made them particularly functional. For gift-giving purposes, that is. Gift-giving, Iris knows, is all about the presentation.

            “No, but seriously, Iris. I’m impressed. Joe and Cecile deserve the best, and this is, honestly, the best.”

            “Thanks, Linda. Dad deserves a perfect wedding day. As does Cecile. To be honest, I didn’t expect it to come together as beautifully as it did, but I’m still praying we see this thing to the end without any hiccups. We’ve got…” Iris taps the screen of her phone to check the time, “About three hours, at least, left.”

            “And it’s probably especially important to you. You know, because you played matchmaker for Joe and Cecile,” Linda says, while spooning a generous amount of ice cream, topped with fudge and sprinkles and coconut flakes, into her mouth. Iris’s brow furrows,

            “I did not ‘match-make’ my dad and Cecile. We’ve been over this Linda…” Linda begins to interrupt, but Iris shakes her head, “I know you seem to think that because I introduced my dad to Cecile that somehow this is my doing, but that’s untrue. To be honest, I didn’t expect them to hit it off so well, let alone date and get married within a year of my introducing them.” Cecile owns an interior design shop, which Iris had visited when she was helping Barry decorate his new apartment— a memory which immediately brings a smile to Iris’s face, for she fondly recalls Barry frantically searching eBay for a bed and a couch, and the way she had persuaded him that that was a terrible idea and instead found her way to Cecile’s trendy furniture boutique, which was also quite affordable. Cecile was so friendly and sweet, and Iris remembered her father struggling to date again, as it had been nearly a decade and a half since her mother had passed away, and so when she had thrown Barry a housewarming party, Iris figured that there was no harm in inviting Cecile, who had become friends with both Barry and Iris after hours spent together at the boutique, and introducing her to her dad. That had been a year ago. Now, they are at Joe West and Cecile Horton’s wedding reception.

            “Well, we can debate semantics, but you definitely match-maked Wally and me. You can’t deny that,” Linda says, matter-of-factly, before eating another scoop of her sundae.

            “I wouldn’t call it match-making. More like I have a sense for people that I know well and then introduce them, thinking that they may potentially like each other.”

            “You set Wally and I up on a blind date six years ago, and now we’re married and have twins on the way. I would say there’s a diabolical matchmaking side to you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel accomplished every time you successfully match-make a couple.”

            “Linda, I’ve only successfully match-maked— to use your word, which I still find objectionable, by the way— two couples. One was my brother and you. And you’re my best friend. The other was my dad and Cecile. That’s hardly a track record of successful matchmaking.”

            “But it could be. Think about it. This could be a lucrative side hustle.”

            “As if I would have time for a match-making side hustle, even if that was something I was interested in doing. I finally got my news site up and running, and The Citizen needs all hands on deck and then some. Besides, a matchmaking business is an exploitative way to make money.”

            “Mmm, maybe,” Linda seems to ponder this, momentarily, before changing topics, abruptly, “Speaking of which, I’m your best friend now? Thought that was a privilege exclusively afforded to Barry,” Iris has heard this before and rolls her eyes, exasperated,

            “My friendship with Barry is different. You know that.”

            “Actually I don’t know that. But I would love to be enlightened about that.” Linda’s response is far too smug for Iris’s liking, but before she can retort, she hears a familiar voice behind her, a voice that unquestionably wraps Iris in a cocoon of warmth, so that she feels instantly home,

            “I heard my name.” And although she cannot see him yet, she knows he’s smiling. 

            “Was wondering where you were, Allen. It’s a rare sight that you and Iris would be separated at any point, when in the same vicinity.” Barry chuckles at Linda’s quip, settling into the chair on Iris’s right and brushing away a few plastic flowers that had come undone from the upholstery. Iris glances up at him, smiling widely, which he’s reciprocating in equal measure. He sets a plate, containing a chocolate fudge brownie topped with mint chocolate chip ice cream, in front of her. Iris’s eyes widen, as she glances from the plate to Barry; her face alight with unadulterated joy. 

            “My hero,” she gasps, squeezing his hand and then truly taking in the scrumptious display of gooey chocolate and ice cream goodness.

            “Always,” he whispers, gazing at her, affectionately, before continuing, “I was wrangling the last brownie from old Mrs. Rogers, who apparently wanted to share it between herself and her cat. Although I don’t know,” Barry pauses for a moment, glancing around the reception hall, “if her cat is even here. Doubtful. Regardless, it took a great deal of speed, stealth, and possibly defying Newton’s first law of physics, because I could have sworn that I willed the brownie in my direction without even touching it, to retrieve this dessert.”

            “Don’t lie, Bear,” Iris says, her eyes sparkling with laughter, as she eagerly grabs her dessert fork, “Mrs. Rogers would never argue with you, if you wanted that brownie. She loves you.” 

            “Yeah, it was just my regular, old charm. And by charm, I mean, because I tutor her grandson, Matt, in chemistry.” (Linda snorts at that.) “Still, I think defying Newton’s first law makes for a better story. But nobody was getting this brownie except for you, Iris. You know, we wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for you. I mean, just look at this place. It looks fantastic,” he raves, gesturing towards the décor, “The work you put into this is amazing. You’re amazing.”

            “Thank you, Barry.” She’s touched, not just because Barry managed to negotiate the last brownie from poor, old Mrs. Rogers with his rather endearing, tripping-over-his-feet-type charm, but also because he is being, as usual, so disarmingly complimentary of her. Barry never expects her to be amazing; he just thinks she’s amazing always, even when she’s at her lowest or when she is mistaken, and when Iris reflects deeply on that, it overwhelms her. It forces her to dwell on feelings untold; on how, whenever she sees him, she can’t help but smile, almost as if by instinct. 

But she can’t think about it. She won’t think about it.

            “Before you got here, Barry. I was telling Iris how she should really get into a matchmaking side hustle,” Linda says, forcing Iris to focus on the conversation taking place and not on… well, a place where she refuses to go. A place which she cannot explore. 

            “Matchmaking?” Barry leans back, resting his arm on the back of Iris’s chair. “I don’t think that’s even remotely close to anything Iris-like.” Iris is acutely aware of how close his arm is to the bare skin of her upper back, but she ignores this. Or tries to.

            “Exactly. And so I was telling Linda how that’s an awful idea, and how I am pretty sure a matchmaking business, where I have zero actual knowledge about strangers’ interpersonal relationships, could be fraudulent. I can’t possibly claim to be an expert. I mean, no guarantees, right? Seems like a colossal waste of people’s money,” Iris remarks, still trying not to think about Barry’s arm on her chair, right near her back. And how (she thinks she had just imagined it but, no, it was real) he had seemingly shifted his arm, so his fingers are now grazing her skin; his touch is feather-light, equally comforting as it is emboldening. 

            “That could be the genius of it, though. Enough people want to pay money for a matchmaker, even if it’s probably not going to be any more successful than a dating app. Throw in some good, old Cosmopolitan level astrology knowledge for marketing purposes. And there you have it. A potentially incredibly lucrative endeavor. Maybe I should start it myself,” Linda says, while still enjoying her sundae.

            “Why waste money on a matchmaker? Sometimes something incredible is right in front of you, and you just have to tell yourself it’s time to throw caution to the wind. A matchmaker can’t tell you that, only you can know that,” Barry sounds wistful when he says this, and Iris turns to him, abruptly, studying his expression. He’s looking straight ahead, but his gaze is demonstrable of clear desire, and upon hearing such longing in his voice, her stomach drops. Because that’s the face of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone in love. That’s the sound of someone who’s found their someone. But who could her Barry have found? When did he find someone? 

Iris is contemplating this, her stomach churning with her every thought, when the conversation shifts to pregnancy, as Linda comments how she’s always hungry and moody thanks to,

            “…These two whom Wally impregnated me with.” To which Barry laughs, his fingers still softly grazing Iris’s back, while Iris forces herself to smile along and even joke that Linda had talked her ear off about how much she wanted babies and how maybe she shouldn’t have gotten so ahead of herself. But Iris’s mind is still on Barry potentially having found someone. She knows she should be happy, monumentally happy, because Barry is happy, so she cannot fathom why she feels like she’s about to vomit. Suddenly, she has no appetite for her brownie and ice cream, but she eats to evade suspicion, because Barry would surely know something is wrong if she fails to eat her dessert. But from the way he’s carefully watching her, maybe he does know something is wrong already, and Iris wishes, not for the first time, that they did not know each other’s every fidget and expression, signaling a mood shift, so well.

When the wedding reception is over and after Iris has said goodbye to every guest and promised her father and Cecile that she would be at their house the next day for their family dinner, she manages to take three ivory balloons with her to her car, without a single guest noticing. The decorator who had stayed to help her wrap up tells her that she can take any number of balloons that she would like. Or, perhaps more practically, however many would fit in her car. 

*

More accurately, perhaps, Iris thinks she had not been noticed by anyone, when she’d successfully managed to fit all three balloons in her car two nights ago. She’s standing on line at CC Jitters, the local hub for Central City citizens to get their morning coffee and pastry fix, and holding a basket, which contains baked goods, a carefully wrapped red scarf, and a small, navy blue bag. Tied onto the handle of the basket are the three balloons, still inflated. 

            “For the boyfriend?” 

Iris turns to meet the friendly disposition of a blonde woman she’s never met before. Startled for a moment, Iris realizes, that the stranger is referring to her basket, and she smiles, shaking her head,

            “No, for a friend.” Although, given her thoughts lately, friend seems far too simple a word. She feels like she’s perjuring herself by saying friend, but best friend who I’ve known since childhood and with whom I think I might have feelings for, but who is possibly in love with someone else seems far too complicated, especially when Iris is not ready to admit this to herself, let alone to a stranger whom she meets for the first time on the queue for coffee. 

            “Well, they’re lucky. You clearly put so much work into that. No friend has ever given me a gift like that. Actually nobody’s given me a gift that thoughtful before,” the stranger continues, before visibly cringing, “I’m sorry, I’m oversharing. I’m Patty, by the way.” 

            “I’m…”

            “Iris!” There it is again, that feeling of home settling upon her shoulders, like a velvet cloak, shielding her, protecting her. Barry is walking towards her, holding two mugs of coffee, and when he stops before her, he presses his lips to her forehead briefly, a typical form of greeting between the both of them. But if he could hear the way her heart hammers against her chest whenever she feels the soft brush of his lips on her skin, then surely the ruse would be up. He would know how she feels, and so Iris is grateful, not for the first time, that her heartbeat is inaudible to anyone but her. 

            “Hey Bear, that for me?” she asks, nodding at one of the two mugs.

            “Yep. One Americano with an extra shot. Got here earlier and figured we could beat the line,” Barry grins, and he’s looking at her as if she’s the sun, and it’s almost too intense, perhaps because of all of those pesky feelings that she’s been feeling lately, so Iris breaks their gaze, remembering herself as well and turning back towards Patty.

            “Patty, this is my friend, Barry. Barry… Patty. We just met on the line.” Barry nods politely, as Patty says,

            “Nice to meet you.”

            “Likewise,” Barry responds. “New around here?”

            “Is it that obvious? I’m just about to start at CCU as a grad student. And so I’m trying to get used to the city. I’m originally from Midway.”

            “Yeah, understandable,” Iris smiles. “Takes awhile to get used to a new place, but CC Jitters is the best, so you’ll never be wanting for good coffee, that’s for sure.” Patty laughs, then,

            “Well, I’m glad for that. Anyways, I won’t keep you two. Thank you, Iris, for just chatting with me.”

            “Of course.” The three exchange polite goodbyes, and Barry and Iris make a beeline for their favorite booth in the farthest corner from the entrance to the coffee shop; a rather secluded, cozy spot that Iris had first started occupying, when she was a journalism student at Central City University. Barry had been a chemistry major, and they met up every morning for breakfast and would come to study nearly every weekend, armed with cookies, coffee, and blankets. Iris remembers long afternoons spent in this booth, her feet propped up on Barry’s lap, his hands massaging her calves, as they studied in companionable silence. 

            It was in this booth that Iris had written article after article for The Central Brief, CCU’s university-wide newspaper, including her famed paper on the state of land rights of women, globally, that had won her the Scholastic Student of Journalism Prize and had given her the chance to speak in The Hague at an international conference on human rights. As Iris agonized over her field research, including research accumulated from summers of backpacking, Barry, while studying for his Protein Crystallography final, had been effusive in his support for her. He was constantly breaking from his studies to be her sounding board, should she need one, despite her reminding him time and again that he ought to concentrate on his own finals and not on her. He never listened, though, not that it in any way affected his marks. And so sure was he that her work would be honored that he’d planned a party, months in advance, before she had heard back from the National Committee for Excellence in Student Journalism and before she had been invited to The Hague. 

            Indeed, it was Barry who had remarked then that Iris ought to consider starting her own news media site after university, stating that she already had the credentials to draw in a large audience and investors. 

            “How are you feeling? About the exposé, I mean. Today’s the big day and all,” Barry says, as they settle into the booth, referring to what Iris considers to potentially be the most groundbreaking piece of journalism of her career thus far, namely an article exposing the rot of the biotechnology company, McCulloch Technologies. Its CEO, Joseph Carver, has been using the corporation as a front for a highly dangerous and illegal weapons trafficking scheme. The exposé, which is due to be published later today, will be a highly contentious article, no doubt, but Iris had long since decided that she will not rest until she sees justice through and the thousands of innocent people, caught in the crosshairs of Carver’s inhumane crimes, are safe.

            “Okay. I’m trying not to think about it, honestly,” Iris replies, and Barry takes her hand for a moment,

            “Hey, I get it. It’s hard not to be anxious, especially given the magnitude of the article and the far-reaching consequences it’s going to have. But I am so proud of you. And you should be proud of yourself as well,” he says, running his thumb over her knuckles slowly, before releasing her hand. Iris smiles softly, deeply touched by Barry’s faith in her,

            “Thanks, Bear.”

“Of course,” he says, before gesturing towards the gift basket, “So, are you going to tell me who the basket is for?” Iris adopts a playful expression, then.

            “Hmmm, it’s for this friend of mine who just submitted his dissertation for his DSc.”

            “How did you know I submitted today? I told you my deadline was next week, which it is,” Barry states, apparently incredulous that Iris could have known that he had submitted his paper this morning. 

            “I have my ways. And by that I mean you drooling on my couch last week and mumbling, half-asleep, that you are definitely submitting your dissertation on Tuesday. Well, today’s Tuesday, Bear,” Iris teases, chuckling at the memory of Barry entering her apartment last week in need of caffeine, which culminated with him staying the night, when he fell asleep on her sofa. 

            “I really can’t keep anything from you,” Barry sighs in mock frustration. “Although I really wouldn’t want to, anyways.” 

            “Good. And think about it, now you have this nice surprise.” Barry takes the basket from Iris’s hands, admiring her handiwork, before giving her a sly smile,

            “Well, I guess I know why you took those balloons from the reception on Saturday.”

Okay, so apparently she had not gone completely unnoticed. One guest had noticed her attempt to fit three inflated balloons into her car. Unsurprising, she now reflected, given who that guest happened to be.

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Iris. I may not be able to keep anything from you, but you definitely cannot keep anything from me either.” Are you sure about, Iris thinks momentarily, before banishing the thought immediately. For she will not dwell on those feelings again, not when she stands to lose too much if they start consuming her. When Iris looks up again, Barry is looking through the basket, marveling at the baked cake lollipops and banana bread and brownies (Iris can only bake sweets, and she would never subject Barry to her cooking, although he claims it’s not as bad as she seems to think it is), before he takes the red scarf from the basket. “Iris…” he whispers, her name like a prayer on his lips, and there goes her heartbeat again, pounding against her chest. “You knitted this.” And she knows that he already knows that she did, but it’s the way he’s looking at her now, like there are not any words currently discovered to express to her how much this means to him. She gives him a comforting smile, hoping to diffuse some of the intensity of the emotions that are radiating off of Barry. 

“Open the rest,” she encourages, and he’s now holding the small, navy blue bag, and removing a velvet box from it. Encased in the box is a watch, which she’d been saving up for, because all of his watches are for some reason broken, and she can hear his gasp, nearly inaudible, and then he’s looking at her, solemnly, gravely.

“Iris… I don’t know what to say. I don’t… thank you,” he says, his tone soft and tender.

“Of course, Bear. I’m so proud of you, and I don’t think this simple gift basket really can quantify how proud I am of you.”

“It’s not… it’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he says, and there it is again. How definitive it is to him that she’s amazing. And perhaps she forgives herself a little for her feelings then, for how can she not feel as she does when he says things like this to her every single day. He’s already wrapping the scarf on his neck and remarking how comfortable and warm it is. “I couldn’t get better knitted scarves at the store. I’m pretty sure you’re a superhero. You can literally do anything.” She listens to him wax on about her many, unbelievable talents, which she’s sure only he seems to think she possesses, before shaking her head, affectionately,

“The scarf looks good on you. Red is your color.”

“Always has been,” he jokes, although the emotion is still evident in his voice. “Come here,” he says then, reaching his arm towards her. She leaves her side of the booth to come over to his, and the moment she’s at his side, he wraps his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair, breathing deeply. She has one arm around his back, the other clutching his sweater, and her head is tucked into the crook of his neck, and Iris is sure that now he must be able to feel how rapidly her heart is beating. She’s cloaked in warmth and in comfort, and all she can think of is home. And all she can feel is love. The kind of tumbling, head over heels into a field of daisies type of love that Iris’s college friend, Cynthia Reynolds (now a hotshot litigator who works in BigLaw and who also is the Citizen’s unofficial legal counsel), claims is simply mushy, fairy-tale nonsense that couldn’t possibly exist outside of movies. Iris had laughed then, telling Cynthia that maybe she shouldn’t be so cynical. Cynthia had been unmoved, steadfast instead in her sentiment that people can fall in love, but that kind of ‘I want to go gallivanting in a forest somewhere and run towards you in a field, as if this is some damn terrible romantic drama’ love does not and cannot actually exist in real life. 

Well, Iris is feeling that mushy, fairy-tale type of love now (a fact which shocks her, despite the fact that she’s very aware of her growing pesky feelings), while wrapped up in Barry’s arms, so clearly, Cynthia had gotten it wrong. Oh fuck.

*

There are approximately fifteen different photos, capturing different angles of the McCulloch Technologies building, sitting on Iris’s desk when she walks into The Citizen that morning, after saying goodbye to Barry at Jitters, and all Iris can think about is the fact that she’s in love with her best friend. And as if her life could not be more complicated in that very moment, Barry is potentially in love with someone else.  

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

She cannot think about her feelings nor Barry being in love with some mystery human being right now, though, for she’s on the verge of publishing the explosive piece on Joseph Carver, who has been using his internationally successful technology company to peddle a highly intricate and complex hub-and-spoke conspiracy involving arms trafficking. He had managed to slither under the radar of inquiring agencies by acquiring different sorts of obscure technology, including ballistic software and parts that are often used to construct robots for laser guidance, under the guise of developing cutting-edge bio-technology. When Iris’s source had informed her that Carver’s labs were combining methane and ammonia, she knew that there was an underbelly of weapons-related criminality within the globally recognizable technology company, and armed with her pen, pepper spray, and sheer gumption, she and her photojournalist, Kamilla Hwang, had obtained press passes to Carver’s unveiling of robotic limbs. While there, Iris had asked janitors, low-level software engineers, and other personnel about why Carver’s labs were having methane and ammonia react with oxygen and how this in any way ameliorates existing biomedical technology. Iris and Kamilla eventually obtained access to a private press tour of Carver’s labs, where they noticed how jittery the staff had been, and after Iris had slipped her card to some of the employees, she had found herself, three days later, with nearly fifteen whistleblowers willing to come forward about nefarious activities in the labs.

As it turned out, Carver’s labs had been trying to create and had indeed succeeded in creating a gun that releases hydrocyanic acid, which they are currently selling on the black market. This is the latest of extraordinarily dangerous weapons that Carver sells both domestically and internationally. Indeed, several politicians are in cahoots with Carver; Carver having made them rich men, in exchange for avoiding Congressional inquiries into McCulloch Tech. 

Now, Iris stands poised to publish the most explosive exposé of her career thus far, and the thought is both exhilarating and terrifying. 

She studies Kamilla’s photos of the McCulloch Tech building, now having to decide which one would accompany the headline that is due to go up right before noon. One photo stood apart among the rest: a shot of McCulloch Tech at night, illuminated by the lights of the city, but with only one floor of the building, the top floor, indicating any activity: the lights of the top floor were on, and the rest of the building was largely camouflaged by the night sky. That top floor contained the only working laboratory at headquarters and is where hydrocyanic acid is processed. This is the photo, Iris thinks, just as she hears a commotion at the door and sees her newest hire, Allegra Garcia, forcefully wrangle open the door, rather dramatically, before slamming it shut.

“Hey, boss,” Allegra says. “We have got to get that door fixed. I’m telling you; it’s trying to kill me every time I arrive.” Iris chuckles fondly at Allegra’s dramatics,

“You’re the only one who seems to be constantly battling the door, Allegra. There are four other people who work here who seem to have no trouble getting in and out of the office.”

“Well, I don’t know, but this door has had it out for me since I began working here. And so… oh! Are those the photos? How much time have we got until noon…?” Allegra pauses momentarily, as she taps her phone, which she was holding in one hand, “Forty minutes. Fantastic.” Iris smiles, watching Allegra race up to her desk, excitedly. Two of the reasons that she had hired Allegra was for her enthusiasm about reporting and for her passion for ethical journalistic integrity, both of which she demonstrated every day on the job.  

“This is the one I want to use to accompany the article,” Iris explains, while pushing the photograph towards Allegra, whose eyes widen when she sees the photo. 

“Yeah, this is incredible. I know Kamilla must have camped out awhile to get this shot,” she exclaims, before looking up at Iris, “We’re really gonna do this, boss. We’re gonna expose Carver and who knows? You might win a Pulitzer from this.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have to publish the exposé first, and our legal team has been sending me messages since this morning about how she is obligated to warn us about frivolous defamation suits that Carver might file in the immediate aftermath. But the truth is more important. Let Carver sue us; if he does, he’s going to lose anyways.” Although, to be completely accurate, the Citizen’s unofficial legal team, comprising of one Cynthia Reynolds, whose texts to Iris consisted of, “Carver is definitely going to sue you for defamation, so I’ve got to warn you of that, but screw that guy. Publish and destroy him once and for all,” were certainly more emboldening than averting. Iris is also quite certain that that is technically not sound legal advice, in the least.

The door opens again, and in walks Kamilla, joined by the two other reporters at The Central City Citizen, Kara Danvers and James Olsen. They’re all chatting animatedly about the exposé and the explosive ripple effects its publication might have. 

“He’s an absolute monster,” Kara tells James, no doubt referring to Carver. “I mean, hydrocyanic acid? The sheer inhumaneness of his crimes just to fill his coffers…” 

“Evil folks will do absolutely anything to satisfy their greed, including murdering people,” James observes, and Iris knows this is perhaps a fundamental truth of which every investigative journalist must be aware. Kamilla walks up to Iris’s desk and grins when she sees Iris scanning the chosen photo onto her computer,

“That’s the one, isn’t it? When I captured it, I knew I had gotten it. It took me, I think, nearly five hours of camping out, and it was 2:45 AM yesterday when I finally had managed to take that photo.” 

“It’s incredible, Kamilla,” Iris praises. “All your photos are great, but this one is fantastic. It captures exactly what we need to accompany the article.” When Iris had taken this on by herself, she had been wary about putting any of her reporters in danger, but Kamilla had insisted that she accompany Iris in order to take photographs. In hindsight, Iris is incredibly grateful to have had Kamilla by her side through it all, for her calm, steady demeanor was vital amidst the insanity of taking on Joseph Carver. Kara and James, who have caught up to the others, both make approving noises, congratulating Kamilla on her photography, as Iris continues to work to format the article. 

When she is satisfied with the formatting, she taps her phone, seeing that there is roughly twenty minutes remaining until the deadline, and while her reporters are chattering excitedly, the door opens once more, and Iris is greeted by the sight of Wally carrying two champagne bottles in one hand and precariously balancing a few glasses in his other hand. On his heels is Barry, who is carrying a large white box with the words ‘Zulma’s Pastries’ emblazoned on the top, and Iris is flooded with that fairy-tale, gallivanting in a field of daisies feeling again, to which she now finds she is already getting accustomed, which is a somewhat terrifying thought. 

While Iris has some idea as to why both of them are in her office, she is also aware that Dr. Wally West is supposed to be at work at Central City Hospital, and Barry is supposed to be meeting the Dean of Graduate Studies at CCU about a potential professorship. 

“What are you two doing here?” Iris asks, smiling nonetheless, for she is touched that they likely took time out of their busy days to celebrate the publication of the exposé. She had not mentioned the details of the publication to them, in an effort to protect her sources, but Linda had let it slip to Wally that Iris is publishing the article on Tuesday at the wedding on Saturday, and Barry… well, Barry knows everything about Iris, just the way she knows everything about him, so his appearance in her office twenty minutes before she is meant to publish the most important exposé of her professional career is even less surprising than Wally’s.

“I can’t believe you thought we weren’t going to come and crash this… pathetic party, quite frankly,” Wally says, frowning as he takes in the Citizen office, which while buzzing with the excitement of determined reporters, is not exactly set up for any sort of impending celebration. “You have nothing here to celebrate, Iris. No food, no drinks, nothing.” 

“We haven’t even published, and we have no idea of the repercussions of a piece like this, Wally. I think our sheer grit as reporters is celebratory enough.” 

“We knew you were going to say that,” Barry chuckles, placing the box on a desk adjacent to Iris’s, and then helping Wally with the champagne glasses. “But Linda and I wanted this to be a surprise. We managed to get Wally to help, which is good…”

“Linda’s not feeling well,” Wally cuts in. “She was having awful morning sickness, and I told her I didn’t want to go and that Barry could do the heavy-lifting, but she threatened me and sent me away with two of our best champagne bottles.” Iris begins to protest, but Wally continues on, “And honestly, Iris, before you say anything, I’d rather get an earful from you about leaving Linda at home for this— and by the way, she’s feeling much better, thanks to the fact that I’ve finally perfected the art of making a ginger and mint smoothie— than defy her orders.” 

“Glad to see your theatrics are still in top form,” Iris deadpans, before turning to Barry, pointedly, “Thank you, Barry. You and Linda really didn’t have to do all of this. I haven’t even published it yet.” 

“Excuse me, I helped!” Wally interjects, and Barry is laughing now as Iris reaches up to give him a quick hug, which he returns immediately. As they break apart, Barry’s hand lingers on her arm.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “I wanted this to be a surprise and that’s why I didn’t mention earlier coming by later on. And I knew you could have used a distraction this morning from thinking about the exposé.”

“I did need a distraction,” Iris smiles, still keenly aware of his fingers slowly brushing against her arm, gently, tenderly. 

“I imagine you did. But to reiterate what I said earlier this morning, I’m so proud of you. So, so proud of you.” He cups her face with one hand, gently caressing his thumb against her cheek, and he’s gazing at her with so much emotion in his eyes, and she knows that the same intensity that had radiated off of him when she’d gifted him the basket earlier this day is emanating from him now, and she cannot help but wonder if he feels what she feels, because in these moments, she’s sure he must be. 

Wally clears his throat loudly, while pouring out the champagne, and both Barry and Iris break away from each other quickly. When Iris looks up at Wally, he’s giving her that same look Linda had given her at the wedding reception on Saturday, when she had clarified that her friendship with Barry was different. Unwilling to entertain the idea that Wally and Linda have discussed her feelings for Barry, she turns to her reporters, who were already opening Barry’s box of sweets.

“Brownies!” Kara yelps, eyeing the chocolate chip, fudge brownies and quickly grabbing paper plates from the Citizen’s supply cupboard. 

“Thank you, Barry! We really needed this,” James agrees, while Kamilla and Allegra join their colleagues in helping themselves to the scrumptious sweets and expressing their gratitude. 

“We’re not going to get any work done today, but it’s fine. Thanks, Bear,” Iris laughs, as Barry hands her a glass of champagne. They clink their glasses together, before sipping their respective drinks.

“The Citizen can use a break. Especially you,” Barry says after a few moments, giving Iris a pointed look. “You’ve had countless sleepless nights over the research for this, and now it’s ready for the public to read. You deserve a whole week long break, at least.”

“The news doesn’t stop for me to catch up on sleep, unfortunately. I have three upcoming potential stories, including the ways in which exam software companies have violated the privacy of examinees.”

“Sounds like you’re about to become the hero of every university student everywhere. I can’t believe the vagueness of some of those disclaimers that exam software companies put out, as if students have any choice but to use them, when they have examinations online.”

“Yeah, exactly. And if nobody holds their feet to the fire, they think that they can get away with anything. That’s why I’ve got to do it.”

“Iris West saves the world yet again. That should be a headline. Maybe I should pitch it to Central City Picture News. Think Scott Evans would run a headline on his biggest rival?”

“Scott would definitely do it, if it brings CCPN good business. Besides, our rivalry is more friendly than anything else. That said, ‘Iris West Saves the World Yet Again’ sounds more like I’m saving the world with superpowers, not the power of a pen and a public audience. I think you might be overselling me just a little bit.”

“Absolutely not,” Barry says, affronted. “Iris West is my hero, and she always has been, so I think you’re underestimating her. She’s a total superhero.” 

“Doubtful.”

“Don’t try to tell me that you’re not a superhero, Iris. You’re definitely not going to win this argument.”

“Fine, I’ll level with you. Because you know what they say, right? Every superhero has her own hero? Well, if I am a superhero, then I have a confession to make: my hero happens to be this guy I know… superheroes need strength to be invincible, right? So yeah, this guy is my constant strength. Maybe you know him? Name’s Barry Allen?” Barry blushes furiously at that, ducking his head bashfully, and Iris thinks, Success! She knows she’s rendered him flustered, and he’s so adorably handsome, as he fidgets with his hands, as if searching for something to hold. But even despite his flustered state, he remembers the ongoing debate, and he manages a,

“Alright, alright. You win, Iris.” Iris smiles at him, radiantly and triumphantly, just as Wally makes his way over to them, holding a champagne glass of his own, and he’s got a rather sheepish look on his face, which immediately makes Iris suspicious.

“I know that face, Wall. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing. Not every expression of mine means something,” Wally says, immediately defensive. “Although, I do have to ask you a small favor. But really, it’s not a favor, because it’s actually going to be great for you. So it’s technically a favor, but a favor that you’ll enjoy.” 

“Of course you think so. What is it?” Iris asks, tiredly, knowing immediately that she probably was not going to enjoy this favor as much as Wally seems to think. 

“Okay, so you know Cecile’s godson, Eddie Thawne? He couldn’t come to the wedding, because he was away on an emergency business trip?”

“Yeah, I know Eddie,” Iris responds, confused as to what he had to do with whatever Wally was asking of her. Eddie Thawne was the son of Cecile’s best friend, a wealthy hotelier, and he’d been friendly enough in the few interactions that Iris had had with him, but she could not claim to know him all that well.

“Right, so he’s hosting this gala in Metropolis for dad and Cecile this Saturday. It’s very last minute, found out last night, actually… and well, I’d told dad I was going to go, because you know, one of us should go, right? Technically, both of us should, but dad didn’t want to trouble you, because you’ve been so busy with work, and it’s not a big deal. In fact, I think dad didn’t want you to know, because he thought you might get the wrong idea and think that this gala was going to upstage all the work you put in for the actual wedding and reception, which I kept insisting to him you wouldn’t think at all. And I don’t want to leave Linda, even for the weekend. She keeps telling me she’ll be fine, and I know she’s not due for another two months, but I’m not comfortable going.”

“So, you want me to go,” Iris says, knowing exactly what her brother was asking of her. On the one hand, traveling to Metropolis for the weekend for a gala made Iris nervous, because she did not want to leave Central City for at least a week after the McCulloch Tech article was published, but on the other hand, Wally could not be expected to attend, and it would be wrong if both of them missed a gala that was being held for their dad and Cecile. 

Wally is apparently under the impression that Iris might need some more coaxing, so he puts his champagne glass down and reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing four plane tickets.

“Here, the flight tickets are on me. Eddie is putting people up in rooms at his family’s hotel, and he apparently booked four rooms between the two of us, so we could each bring some guests. With Linda and I not going, you’ll have at least three rooms to fill.”

“It’s fine, Wally. I’ll go. You’re right; we should go for dad and Cecile, and you honestly cannot and should not go. I just have to find people who can take a trip with me, last minute…” Iris knows whom she would want to invite, and so she turns to Barry, immediately. “Look, Bear, I know it’s short notice, but…”

“Yeah, I’ll come,” Barry agrees quickly, before she can even finish posing the question, and Iris notices that he has a slightly agitated expression, which worries her. His hand clenches the edge of her desk, rather forcefully, and so she places her own hand over his, reassuringly, and this seems to relax him, at least momentarily, as she can feel some of the tension in his muscles evaporate slowly. He smiles, then, perhaps trying to mask his sudden agitation, “My weekend’s free, and we were just talking about how you could use a break, Iris. This’ll be good, as it’s a vacation of sorts.” 

“Thanks, Barry. I’ll also ask Cynthia; she could always use a break, and Bear, why don’t you invite someone?”

“I’ll ask Cisco.” Iris glances up at Barry, and they both share a knowing look: they had been trying to get Cynthia and Barry’s old college roommate and engineering genius extraordinaire, Cisco Ramon, to meet for ages (So much for swearing off match-making, Iris thinks then), but they had not had the chance to introduce the two of them yet. This trip might just provide the long-awaited golden opportunity.

“Perfect,” Wally says, considerably relieved, but before Iris can respond, she finds herself surrounded by her fellow reporters who are telling her that it’s just before noon. She nods, waiting until everyone is gathered around her, and Barry’s arm comes around her shoulders, providing her with both comfort and strength. And while a sudden, rather dignified silence, perhaps to mark the solemnity of this publication, descends upon the Citizen, Iris can feel the soundless excitement of Kamilla and of Allegra and of Kara and of James, as she publishes the exposé on the Citizen’s website. 

*

Thus, late that Friday afternoon, Iris finds herself boarding a plane with Barry, Cynthia, and Cisco, in tow, and she’s only half paying attention to Cisco’s exuberance in describing his latest inventive feat at S.T.A.R. Labs, the product technology company he works for, because Barry is acting… odd. He has been acting odd since he had accepted her invitation to come along to Metropolis, and she cannot fathom what it is about this trip that has him so on edge. He is fidgeting so much, and every time he notices that she notices, he gives her a forced smile, as if to divert her suspicions away from his agitation, but that only serves to increase her worries. Whatever is bothering him so much is something that he apparently is unwilling to share with her. 

“…It’s insane. I mean, if we get this right, we will be revolutionizing tablet computers and robotic interpreters,” Cisco is saying, and Iris is sure that if Cisco is put to the task, he and his team certainly would get it done, for she had witnessed his genius first hand before, when, during a birthday party for his best friend, Caitlin Snow, a few years back, the power had blown and there had been no backup generator, and Cisco had managed to create a temporary power source seemingly out of thin air. Iris is sure that there were numerous devices at Cisco’s disposal, and he’d had the aid of Caitlin’s then boyfriend now husband, Ronnie, also an engineer, but it was the sheer ingenuity of Cisco’s engineering ability and the sheer determination to get this done and to ensure Caitlin had the party that she deserved that was so impressive. 

“If anyone can get it done, though, it’s Cisco Ramon,” Iris voices her thoughts, and Cisco smiles proudly,

“Thanks, Iris. It’s definitely going to be a lot of work, but I definitely think we’re headed in the right direction. Hopefully.”

“Hmmm, it all sounds impressive, but what are the patenting ramifications that come with such a unique project. Surely, you’re worried about somebody trying to build upon your product once it’s out in the market. How stringent is your patent going to be?” Cynthia, ever the cynic, adds, eyeing Cisco.

“I don’t want to hog all the spotlight, honestly. We want other people and companies to be able to build on our findings and develop even better tech. There’ll be a patent, but it’s not going to be exclusive.” 

“You’re way too nice.”

“I’m just here to improve tech. Being nice isn’t a crime, I hope,” Cisco laughs, and Cynthia shakes her head fondly, clearly believing Cisco to be naive, but apparently endeared to his naiveté nonetheless. Cisco and Cynthia, still playfully arguing about the stringency of a future patent, take their seats in the middle row, and Iris and Barry, the latter who is still distracted, sit by the window across the aisle. 

“Bear, what’s going on?” Iris sighs, finally, turning to him, once they’ve taken their seats. Barry looks up at her, startled and guilty, and immediately starts deflecting,

“Nothing. I’m fine, Iris, really. I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit out of it. Just… I don’t know, I’m fine.” Iris can tell that he’s not going to be forthcoming with her, no matter how persistent she is, but she is not ready to drop the issue entirely.

“I’m not going to press you, but you know that if something is bothering you, I’m always here, if you want to talk. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that. Of course I do,” Barry says, his voice tender. “And I’m the luckiest guy in the world for it. I’m sorry that I’ve been out of it the last couple of days, I just… I don’t want you to worry about me. That’s the last thing I want.” Iris can tell he’s struggling between telling her and being evasive, so she takes his hand in her own, their fingers interlocking almost instinctively. She squeezes his hand, as his thumb brushes against her knuckles. 

“I’m going to worry, because it’s you, and so I can’t not worry, but I don’t want you to tell me anything when you’re not ready to.” Barry’s free hand comes to cup her chin, as he brings her closer to him, and she basks in the warmth of his hand against her skin. When his lips meet her forehead, she closes her eyes and relishes in his lingering kiss, and she knows… she knows that she’s unequivocally in love with him, and she’s sure that she has been for quite some time, and all she wants to do is lift her face and coax his lips to hers, but she can’t. She knows that she can’t. She can’t ruin their equilibrium, because if she were to admit her feelings and lose Barry’s friendship completely… that is a possibility that she cannot risk. 

“I know how deeply you care. And I love you for it,” he whispers against her forehead. And I love you for it. 

He’s told her he loves her so many times over the two decades that they’ve known one another, and she knows that he means it platonically, as he always has, but that doesn’t stop her from imagining that he loves her in the same way that she loves him. 

And when Barry falls asleep, after the plane takes off, and drops his head, so it rests comfortably on her shoulder, his face turned into the crook of her neck, so that she can feel his steady breaths fanning against her skin, Iris leans her head against his, and she thinks that this is what true tranquility feels like. 

And I love you for it.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Haven (11/50)

Summary: They say Resembool is a haven, and they’re right. Lush pastures, quaint country town, farmers’ markets on Saturdays: a bucolic paradise.

But it’s more than that. Resembool is a haven for the runaways, the deserters, the people who don’t want to be found…

The Resembool community knows there’s something odd about Hohenheim, but they’re not going to let that stop them helping him out. This is Resembool after all, a place where no one has to hide and neighbours help neighbours, be they building a fence, chasing a sheep, or trying to save the country from an evil they inadvertently helped release centuries ago…

Or: A series of slices of life in an AU in which Hohenheim never leaves, and several broken state alchemists find hope and home in Resembool.

Rated: T

==

Haven

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [AO3]

Summary: The war in Ishval begins, and escalates far sooner than anyone could have anticipated. 

Characters: Trisha, Hohenheim, Sarah, Yuriy

Pairing: Trisha/Hohenheim

==

Note: Here’s the first major deviation from canon. The war in Ishval starts around the same time as in the canon timeline, but it escalates and the state alchemists are called up much sooner. 

==

The announcement of the Ishval civil war beginning does not surprise anyone in Resembool. Neither do the columns of soldiers marching through the town on their way to the front. They’re so close to Ishval here in the east, and they’ve been keeping tabs on what’s been happening, making ready for violence on the doorstep and more importantly, making ready to deal with the aftermath of that violence when it spills over. Resembool has a sizeable Ishvalan population who are already nervous about what is going to happen: although they know that they have nothing to fear within Resembool’s borders, the unease remains. 

It’s going to be a bloody conflict, and once it enters its second year, they know that it’s not going to be over any time soon. 

Yuriy and Sarah are considering setting up a hospital and refuge for those fleeing the region here in the village. There are more and more of them coming through now, although most of them head further into the desert and the direction of Xing and the Xerxes ruins, not wanting to come further into Amestris, the land that wants them all dead. Trisha is discussing the logistics with them, keeping half an eye on the children as they play on the mat when Hohenheim comes in looking alert and grave and nothing like his usual absent-minded self. 

“They’re going to call up the state alchemists,” he says, putting the newspaper down on the table. Trisha stares at the headline and skims the text. 

It doesn’t explicitly say that the alchemists are going to be deployed in Ishval, but the inference is very clear. The cadet alchemists are being rushed through the state licensing process, with apprentices getting their watches years before they ordinarily would. 

“They’re licensing children as young as sixteen,” Hohenheim spits. Trisha’s never seen him as angry about anything, but he’s seen so much bloodshed and horror in his many, many years  and he’s sharing his headspace with so many victims of it that she’s not surprised this is the thing he becomes impassioned about. “They’re going to send people that young to the front.”

For a long time, Van doesn’t say anything, just sitting at the table staring at the paper without looking at it, with that far-off expression in his eyes. The souls are evidently being very vocal on the topic, but there’s a concentration in Van’s face that means he’s actively listening to what they have to say, rather than trying to fight to push them all to the back of his mind so that he can hear himself think. Trisha has heard him talking to them out loud before, and she’s always usually amused at the one-sided conversations she can hear half of, but this is different. When the conversations are going on entirely inside his own head, she knows that it’s serious. It’s not just the souls trying to offer usually unhelpful advice or making choice comments on whatever’s happening around him at the time. They have things to say and he genuinely wants to listen to them. 

There’s a frown line between his brows, and Trisha doesn’t like the look of it. It’s a deeper furrow than usual. 

“Something’s wrong,” he says eventually. “Something’s wrong and I don’t want to believe it.”

Yuriy and Sarah look at each other and then at Trisha and then at Van. 

“Is everything ok? What are they saying?”

“This reminds them of Xerxes.”

It’s a chilling sentence. All three of them know what happened in Xerxes before Van became immortal. All three of them know how the souls came to be within him. 

Van shakes his head. “I have so much work to do.”

“We can help,” Yuriy says. “Whatever you think is going on, we can help you figure it out.”

Van looks pained and Trisha knows that he doesn’t want to drag anyone into his sordid history and the pain of what happened to his country and his people, but over the years that she’s known him, he’s got so much better at accepting help and accepting that the people of Resembool see him not as a monster, but as a person worthy of their help and friendship. 

Finally, he nods. “Thank you. I need to work out what I’m even looking at first. In the meantime…” He looks dubiously at the newspaper again. 

“We should probably be prepared for more people coming through,” Sarah agrees. “Not just Ishvalans. There’ll be deserters too. Alchemists barely out of their teens being sent to the front with no training other than ‘point it in the direction of the brown people’. They’ll try and get out, and if they’ve any sense then they’ll choose this direction rather than the desert.”

Yuriy nods. “It’s going to be a tough year.”

Trisha can only agree. People like to think of Resembool as a little patch of countryside paradise in an untouched corner of Amestris, but it is far from it. They see the effects of war just as much as everyone else. They see it in the shell-shocked soldiers sent home from the front. They see it in the eyes of the scared Ishvalan children who hide under beds and tables on the night of the bonfire and fireworks, eyes screwed up tight against the smoke and the noise.

The mood is sombre as she and Van take the children home that evening. Van is lost in thought, but this time his eyes are still sharp and focussed, he’s miles away but not distracted by the souls this time; he really is thinking, no doubt dwelling on the parallels between what’s happening now and what happened all those years ago in Xerxes. It’s not exactly the same - this is a war and a genocide, what happened before is something almost incomprehensible, but if it’s got Van and five hundred thousand odd Xerxian souls this worried, then it’s something to be worried about. 

The sun is going down as they reach the house, and Trisha looks out over the hills in the direction of Ishval. There’s nothing to be seen from this distance, and nothing to be heard, but that doesn’t mean she can’t dread the war coming closer to them than she can envisage right now. 

Still, all they can do is be prepared, and to help as much as they can in the way that they have always done.

X

Roy Mustang receives his state alchemist licence on his eighteenth birthday, and he is sent to the Ishval front two days later.

He’s not ready for what will come next.