#BUT I MUST KEEP GOING FORWARD!!!!! i WILL get this fic done whether my brain likes it or not

[lishenism]

i am slowly but surely getting this fic done…. pls be patient with me i swear it will be worth it

[jennygirl2014]

Chicago Honey Chapter 2

A young woman tries to take on the town and make her way to the top by making friends in not-so-friendly places. As she finds herself in one sticky situation after another, she realizes that the secrets she is keeping for those putting money in her pockets are bound to eventually come out. But it’s her own secrets that will be her downfall. *Named reader POV. OFC X Richie. (Warnings: Eventual smut, sexual assault, language, adult themes, racial themes, violence. 18+, NSFW. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! This is not a dark fic, but Richie is toxic. Francis alone is a warning, so…)

Chapter 2

            Joey drove that car like he had stolen it, and we finally stopped flying down the streets many miles away from The Blue Moon.  He eventually pulled over onto the side of the road and the three of them fussed amongst themselves about what to do with me.  Truthfully, if they were going to turn me into a ghost, they would have done it already.  I half listened as they tossed ideas back and forth, mostly with Richie fussing about the other two men being stupid and how he didn’t want to dig another hole on the side of the highway. 

“Look, we ain’t gonna shoot her.” Richie argued.  I knew it.

“Then what the hell do you suggest? Since you’re such a genius.” Francis challenged him. 

“I’m the brains here, you son of a bitch.” He reminded Francis.  The tension between them was evident in that moment.  I looked out the window, which was beginning to fog up, and saw a diner across the street.

“If you’re not going to shoot me, can I at least get something to eat?” I asked them, boldly.  They all looked at me with shock.  “Or let me get something to eat and shoot me after, if that’s still on the table.” I was starving.  I always worked up an appetite at work. “Let’s be good to each other, remember?” I blinked innocently at them.  Well, maybe not totally innocently.  Whether it was me that convinced them, or the awkward silence in the car, I wasn’t entirely sure, but we ended up in the diner in a booth in front of the window. They smoked their cigarettes and refused to eat, meanwhile I ordered myself a slice of apple pie.  If I was going to die that night, I could at least enjoy some dessert beforehand.  I shoveled the sweet treat into my mouth and sipped on a cup of coffee, figuring it was going to be a long night.

“I still got my gun on you under the table, so don’t get too comfortable.” Francis warned me.

“I’m sure you do.” I huffed at him and dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “Question is, is there a bullet in that chamber meant for me.” I cut my eye at him and lifted my coffee mug to my lips.

“Tell me why we should let you go.” Francis grilled me.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I was simply minding my own goddamn business when I stumbled upon your little business transaction.”

“Business?”

“That’s what it was, right? Business.” I dug into my pie again.  I knew the trick with this man was to not let him see me flustered. “That’s how the Boyles do business, I thought.”

“Shh!” Joey shushed me.  I gave him an exasperated look.

“You don’t think you’re spotted that easily?  Everybody knows you guys.  Plus, look around, this place is kind of empty if you haven’t noticed.”

“You got a lot of sass about you for someone who should be worried about seeing the light of day.” Francis must have grown tired of my attitude. 

“I didn’t see anything.”

“You saw enough.”

“It’s a little fuzzy to me.” I responded and then looked at Richie who was sitting next to me, rubbing his hand along his jaw, as if he was thinking.

“You’re a liability.  A lose end.” Francis leaned forward and lowered his voice, trying to intimidate me.

“No, I’m just a stripper.” I shot my eyes back at him. “You can keep me quiet without killing me.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know, convince me.” I countered.

“Convince you?” he licked his lips, “You know what tends to do a lot of convincing?” and I heard the click of his gun from under the table.

“You can use me.” The words slipped past my lips before I even thought them through all the way.

“It’ll take a lot more than what’s between your legs.”

“No, not like that!” I quickly corrected him, glaring.  How dare he. “I’m no whore.” I sat up straighter and dropped my fork on my plate. “I could have told you about the Whitmore brothers being in that place, and the cops.  We got regulars.” I started. “The cops were there because of the Whitmores. The older one always leaves in a stupor without paying his tab and he makes a big scene when he’s kicked out. That and the fact that they’ve been trying to pass counterfeit at the place for months.” I took another sip of coffee, “That’s why I won’t dance for them.  And I’m guessing that’s why you all had business to do with them, right?” I turned to Richie again, “They pay you off with faulty funds?”  I watched Richie’s brown eyes shoot towards Francis and then back at me. I must have guessed right. “What was it? Booze? Guns?”

“What’s your name?” Richie asked me with his voice low and gravely.

“Honey.” And he snorted. “No really.”

“That ain’t your real name.” Francis jumped back in.

“It’s the only one I go by.”

“What are you trying to do, make a deal?” Joey piped back up.

“I’m trying to make it in this town just as much as everybody else, and I have to walk a lot further to get milk and bread, if you know what I mean.” I shot my answer at Joey and then sat back.  “Walking out of here with my life is a great bonus, yes.”

“You look to be doing pretty well.” Joey stated before he lit another cigarette.  Richie reached out his hand and grasped the white fur on my coat, feeling it with his fingers before snorting and returning his hand to his chin.

“Shit’s not even real.” He chuckled.

“Hey, I’m a dancer.  This is a costume.” I defended myself and shot another look at Joey who was clearly not that bright if he couldn’t decipher faux fur from the real deal. Or the stage jewelry. I turned and looked at Richie again. “Women who can afford the real deal don’t have to show skin to make cash.”

“So, what do you want, a job?” Richie took a big drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke out from the side of his lips, avoiding blowing smoke on me.  The cloud danced into Joey’s face, but he ignored the discourtesy. “We let you live, and you work for me?”

“Not for free, of course.” I corrected him.

“Keeping your life isn’t payment enough?” Francis’s voice came again and I didn’t bother to shift my eyes from Richie to look at him.

“I’m tired of table scraps while men like you eat like kings.” My words came out more solemn than I would have liked, but I wanted him to understand how serious I was. “Nobody would suspect a dancer. I serve all types, the rich, the poor and the in between.  Who better to use as a lookout or a messenger than a woman who sits on laps for a living?” I kept my eyes on the leader of the sharks sitting in front of me, refusing to back down even while I lifted my cup to my lips again.  I saw the corner of his lips curl up into a small smile before he looked at both of his other men. 

“Whatcha thinking, Richie?” Joey inquired.

“We should run it by your father first.” Francis’s tone sounded cautious.

“I can make decisions just as much as my pops can.” Richie quickly fired a heated response back at him.

“It’s your day, birthday boy,” I started in a sultry voice, “You call the shots.”

            This was my chance, my chance to get out of that crowded, run-down townhouse I was sharing with five other dancers.  It was my chance to do more than get by, I wanted to get ahead.  I was already at a disadvantage, even upon arriving, but they didn’t need to know that much about me.  Whether it was right or wrong didn’t bother me.  I believed you needed to do a little wrong to live the right way anyway, especially in Chicago.  If I wanted to hold myself to better virtues, I wouldn’t be stripping for a living.  I watched Richie’s face for a more concrete reading, knowing he was thinking, but wanting to be more sure of what.  In the little time that I had gotten to know him, it was evident that he thought pretty high and mighty of himself, and if he had a chance to make a decision that would further push him into power, that’s obviously what he was going to do.  Any way he could demonstrate his power to those other two men at the table, especially Francis, I knew would be his move.  The question was, did he know I was able to read him that well, and did he know what was going on in my mind all the while?

[iliveiloveiwrite]

winged cupid painted blind // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: I’d really love something based on love story by Taylor Swift. The lines “We keep quite cuz we’re dead if they knew” and “take me somewhere we can be alone” stick out to me //  I was thinking that the reader could be from a family that isn’t well off and her and Anthony meet at a ball somehow. They create a ruse that she’s from a well known family so that the gossips in the ton don’t attack her because Anthony has fallen in love with a “commoner.” All the Bridgertons are in on the ruse and at the end of the story Anthony proposes - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: Why is it that every Bridgerton fic I write, I end up writing thousands and thousands of words? This is long and I am sorry for that! As always, I hope I have done your request justice and that I hope you like!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, class divides, pining, mutual pining, lots of fluff, dancing, kissing, happy ending, Anthony in love.

Word count: 7.7k

Madame Delacroix’s took up the central property on the most prosperous street coming just off of Grosvenor Square. The most popular modiste in London, many of society’s richest families flocked to her door in order to claim their own dress made by the talented seamstress.

Anthony sighs as he climbs down from the carriage. His mother must be in a particular benevolent mood to send him to pick up her newest dress from the modiste. Anthony would much rather be spending his day at his club, but he finds himself ringing the modiste’s bell for service.

“Monsieur Bridgerton!” Madame Delacroix smiles, delighted at the sight of the Viscount. “How can I help you?” She asks, her smile turning flirtatious.

Anthony responds with his own flirtatious smile. “I’m here to pick up a dress for my mother.”

“Of course, of course,” Madame Delacroix sings, “I have it over here. I finished it last night. It is divine!”

“My mother will surely thank you,” Anthony states earnestly, his gaze dancing around the room filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, models and hoops.

“No need,” Madame Delacroix, “The Bridgertons are my best customers.”

Anthony takes the offered box, marvelling at the lightness of its weight. For all the skirts, for all the numerous pieces of fabric that go into making a dress, Anthony will always remain shocked at the featherlight weight of it.

“Will Lady Bridgerton be wearing this to the Hastings’ ball tonight?” The modiste asks, her tone light as she tries her best to keep the burning curiosity out of her voice.

“Most likely,” Anthony smiles, tipping his head in goodbye.

The modiste calls out her goodbyes as Anthony walks out the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is going; only knowing that he needs to turn left in order to reach his carriage. The very thought has him rushing, safe in the knowledge that the quicker he got his done, the quicker he would be at his club.

It’s that self-indulgent thought that had Anthony distracted enough to walk into something hard.

“Oh!” A feminine voice gasps as Anthony catches her elbow whilst keeping a tight hold on the dress box.

“My apologies,” Anthony offers, steadying the unknown woman.

“You’re forgiven,” She murmurs dryly, turning her attention back to the seamstresses window.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern, Lord Bridgerton.”

“My pleasure, Miss…”

“(Y/L/N).”

“My pleasure, Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony repeats, adjusting the dress box in his hands. He goes to say something else but notices her slyly counting the money in her purse, watching her frown when she realises she cannot afford the prices set by Madame Delacroix.

“Have a nice day, Lord Bridgerton,” Miss (Y/L/N) remarks, stepping away from the Viscount to begin her walk home. She didn’t need a Viscount to be witness to her money troubles; she had thought she had enough, but the prices must have been increased since the last time she had wandered past the window. It would be another two weeks of saving before she could afford a new set of ribbons; it wasn’t worth it at this point, she sighed to herself.

“You too!” Anthony shouts to her retreating figure, feeling upset on her behalf that she could not afford the ribbons she was so dazedly admiring. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Anthony climbs into the carriage, thinking of the young woman all the way home.

-----

“Jayne!” (Y/N) laughs, “Slow down! I’m going to lose a shoe.”

“Alright, Cinderella,” Jayne snickers, slowing her pace as she climbs the winding staircase to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

“Have you ever seen such a home?” (Y/N) gasps; eyes widening as she takes in the grand structure. The brickwork is immaculate; many red bricks painted black to give the impression of a crosshatch pattern spreading across the building. This is only highlighted by the many windows; all seemingly lit by a countless number of candles and sconces.

“(Y/N)!” Jayne shouts, “Stop admiring the building! We have a dance to get to.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” (Y/N) laughs, hurrying after her friend who has already handed over their invitation.

Jayne grips (Y/N)’s hand tightly as they enter the ballroom together. The event is in full swing; the dancefloor already full with couples dancing a quadrille.

“Would you dance with me?” The handsome brunette asks of Jayne, staring at her hopefully. Jayne casts her gaze to (Y/N), not wanting to leave her friend, but wanting very much to dance with the handsome man.

(Y/N) nudges Jayne forward, answering for her. “She would be delighted.”

Jayne sends her a thankful smile as she joins more and more couples on the dancefloor.

The drinks table isn’t busy at all as (Y/N) wanders over. She makes sure to keep an eye on Jayne, watching her dance with what looks to be a Rokesby. (Y/N) shakes her head fondly at her friend; ten minutes into a ball and she’s already caught the attention of a member of one of the richest families in England.

Turning her attention away from her friend, (Y/N) reaches for a glass of lemonade when her hand brushes with a man clearly wanting the same glass. (Y/N) pulls her hand away, not wanting to cause any trouble at a ball she wasn’t even invited to.

“My apologies,” She murmurs, grabbing another glass from the many.

“You’re forgiven,” A voice drawls. (Y/N) glances upwards through her lashes to find Anthony Bridgerton watching her with a confused expression.

“Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) greets, curtseying lightly at the sight of her superior.

Anthony nods. He remains silent as he stands next to her; it’s not an awkward silence, rather, one where (Y/N) can practically hear the cogs and gears winding in Anthony’s mind, trying to figure out where he knows her from. If he knows her at all.

“I met you this morning,” Anthony recalls suddenly, snapping his fingers together when he remembers why he recognises the woman standing next to him.

“You almost knocked me over,” She states wryly, lifting her glass to her lips to take a tentative sip of the lukewarm lemonade.

“I believe I apologised for that, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Call me (Y/N). And I forgave you,” She states simply, “But It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you forget it, however.”

“I’d be disappointed in you, if you did.”

(Y/N) laughs. The very sound music to Anthony’s ears and he briefly wonders whether he could have the sound imprinted on his brain; to hear her laughter for an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony asks, taking a pull of his lemonade before wrinkling his nose. Too sweet, not sour enough. “Are you here with your parents?”

“I wasn’t technically invited,” She confesses to the Viscount in a conspiratorial whisper. Anthony’s eyes widen when her words land, “What?”

“I came to chaperone my friend, Jayne. You may know her, she’s Lord Dorchester’s daughter.”

Anthony nods; he knew the man well, drank with him a few times at his club – dreadfully dull with a fascination for military history. Much like many of the men of his father’s generation.

“Anyway,” (Y/N) continues, “Jayne wanted to go, but needed a chaperone as her mother has taken ill – nothing serious thankfully. I was the next best option so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Anthony parrots, enunciating every syllable as his eyes pour over her figure. “If you weren’t invited, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a governess for Lord and Lady Saville,” She answers proudly; a happy smile on her face as she thinks of her students.

“I hated my governess,” Anthony confesses with a laugh. “I don’t care much for Latin which she knew so she would make me do double the work.”

(Y/N) snorts. “Latin is a very useful language; it’s a good skill to have.”

“I know that now,” Anthony gripes, “I just didn’t know that at ten years old.”

Silence descends between them. Again, not uncomfortable, but a natural stopping point in their conversation. After all, titled gentleman such as the man stood beside her didn’t speak to her occupation outside of a brief conversation about their child’s progress in their education.

(Y/N) places her finished glass of lemonade back on the table before smoothing out the deep blue skirts of her borrowed dress. She clears her throat, ready to make her excuses and check on Jayne when Anthony speaks first.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“I’m a governess, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Call me Anthony, please.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to dance with someone of your own class, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to dance with them. I want to dance with you.”

His argument is straight to the point; no beating around the bush that (Y/N) finds it hard to find fault with it. Instead, she sighs, “One dance.”

“One dance,” Anthony promises, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She didn’t expect to find herself the centre of the Viscount’s attention, but she cannot bring herself to mind much. Not as he holds out a hand for her to take; not as he leads to her to the dancefloor and not as he settles a palm against her lower back. The feel of his hand feeling so right that she loses the power of speech.

The music begins and (Y/N) travels to a new place entirely. The room melts away; the couples, the families. They all disappear. The only two people in the room are her and Anthony; his blue eyes fixed on her as they start to circle the room in waltz. There’s no need for conversation; all words passed by looks alone.

When the music dies and the room fades back into view, (Y/N) only wonders whether she would feel like this again, whether they would be anyone to make her feel like this again. As Anthony bows and kisses her hand, (Y/N) has her answer.

----------

He doesn’t stop thinking about her. She left soon after they finished dancing; her friend finding her and asking whether she was ready to leave. Anthony wanted to argue; wanted to reach for (Y/N) and pull her back to his embrace where they could dance the night away.

Anthony returned home and went straight to his room. He undressed mechanically; still thinking of her as he slipped between his sheets and tried to fall asleep only to find that sleep was a fickle friend that would not be granting him a visit tonight.

He remains awake; thinking of every aspect of her. He didn’t think he would see her again after the modiste; it was a shock to find her at the ball, but he took the opportunity with both hands to find that he had quickly become infatuated with her.

Could this be called love? Anthony rolls over in bed; tangling himself up in the sheets as he runs a hand up and down his bare chest, thinking the question over and over.

He felt as if he had hit by the arrow of Cupid; as if he had handed himself over voluntarily to be pricked with one of the god’s arrows. He’s never felt like this; no woman had ever kept him awake at night in such a manner.

Groaning, Anthony reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, hugging it to his chest. All the while, he dreams it was her body he was pressing close to.

The day after the Ball, Anthony strides from his study to his mother’s drawing room. There, he sits next to his beloved mother, and asks her to gather his siblings for a family meeting.

They arrive one by one. The youngest arriving first; a simple call from the bottom of the stairs has Gregory and Hyacinth rushing to the drawing room, each one adamant that they didn’t do it, but rather their sibling. Anthony shakes his head in exasperation, not wanting to know what they were referring to and instead, asks them to take a seat on the pale blue couch in front of the window.

Over the course of an hour, Anthony’s family arrive. Each one just as curious as the last, each one just as questioning as the last. “Why have you gathered us here, Anthony?” Daphne sighs, her hand resting on Simon’s knee.

“I’ve met someone,” Anthony announces. He frowns at the shocked gasps from Daphne and Eloise; was he really so incapable of finding himself a wife? He ignores the jibes from them both, turning to face his dear mother.

Violet Bridgerton sits in her favourite chair; the one next to it empty as it has been for the last decade. Edmund Bridgerton died so suddenly, and their love was so strong, Anthony knew that there was no recovery from it. “Do we know her?” She asks; her face showing the happiness she feels for her eldest son.

“No,” Anthony sighs, settling down next to his youngest sister, Hyacinth. She offers him a sweet smile as he sits; Anthony cannot help but return the smile and ruffle her hair. When the moment is over, Anthony focuses his attention back onto his family who he finds is watching him intently. “She’s a governess,” He admits, straightening in his seat.

“A respectable profession,” Eloise states with a smile. Anthony feels a rush of affection for his sister; he had always been wary for her outspokenness, but right now, he could thank her heartily.

“What’s the problem, Anthony?” Eloise continues, crossing her ankles, leaning forward in interest.

“I think she may have feelings for me as well, but she’s hesitant to act on them because of our differences.”

“Differences?” Hyacinth questions curiously; unaware of such class differences at such a young age.

“(Y/N) is a governess. I am a Viscount,” Anthony explains, “It would be the subject of gossip for years to come should anything happen between us.”

“So we come up with another story,” Francesca suggests, shrugging her shoulders as if her suggestion was always the answer.

“Another story?” Daphne wonders, eyes glancing between her husband and her family.

“We create a ruse,” Francesca explains to her elder sister. “A story for (Y/N) and Anthony to follow when out in public.”

“Do you think she would go along with this?” Benedict asks; his tone wary as he thinks of the possible implications this could have for his family.

Anthony remains silent, tapping a finger against his cheek as he thinks of whether (Y/N) would follow such a ruse. “Why don’t we ask her? I can send a summons.”

Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, nods. “Send her a message asking her to come as quick as she can. Tell her it isn’t an emergency, but that you would like to talk to her.”

Anthony nods; rushing from the drawing room to his study to pen such a message. After that, he calls on one of the footmen, handing them the letter and the strict duty of delivering this to (Y/N) personally. The footman nods; his face serious as he takes the letter from his employer’s hand, all but sprinting out of the door.

Anthony returns to the drawing room; taking his seat next to Hyacinth.

“Did you send the missive?” Violet asks. Anthony nods; doing his best to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. “I sent it with one of the footmen,” He answers, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

His family all nod, breaking off into separate conversations whilst Anthony remains stoic and silent. His leg bounces repeatedly; the only outward sign of his anxiety. Internally, he nerves were fraught. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all too much; he knew from their first meeting that Anthony would do anything for her, but if (Y/N) didn’t return such feelings then it was all for nothing.

Worries and thoughts continue to plague him as Anthony catches sight of Daphne leaning into Simon. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Anthony cannot miss the devoted smile that crosses Simon’s face when he feels his wife press against him.

Longing breaks within Anthony’s chest, spreading through his body, leaving behind an ache that he doesn’t know how to heal.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” introduces the Butler, breaking Anthony’s longing in half.

He stands all too fast, appearing all too eager. Anthony shoots a glare in his brother’s direction when he hears their sniggering.

(Y/N) rushes into the room; her eyes filled with panic when she finds herself in front of the whole Bridgerton clan. “Anthony?” She whispers; her eyes finally meeting his from across the room.

“(Y/N),” He breathes, “Thank you for coming.”

“You told me not to worry, but you sounded so urgent.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” He explains, gesturing to his whole family. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

(Y/N) sits; her mind running a thousand miles a minute as she finds herself being watched by every Bridgerton/Basset in the room. The room is silent; too silent – no-one dares broach the subject first. They don’t want to anger Anthony or ruin his chances with (Y/N).

“Whatever is the matter?” (Y/N) finally asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve come to understand that you and Anthony have feelings for each other,” Violet states quite plainly.

(Y/N) fidgets, somewhat uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess you could say that,” She offers, smiling smally at the aforementioned man.

“We also know that you’re worried about the differences between Anthony and yourself,” Violet continues to which Eloise huffs, crossing her arms in anger at the state of the class differences within England.

“It’s not so much worried,” (Y/N) explains, “It’s more resigned to the fact.”

Violet nods, understanding where the young governess is coming from. “Francesca,” Violet starts, nodding to the brunette sitting by one of Anthony’s brothers, “Has come up with an idea that we would like to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“It would mean that you and Anthony would be able to begin a courtship.”

(Y/N) feels herself flush; her face heating with how open the Bridgerton family were about their emotions. Their family unit so healthy and happy that everyone felt at ease to talk about whatever was on their minds.

“What did you have in mind?” (Y/N) asks, turning to face Francesca who responds with a large smile.

“We’re going to create a backstory for you. Not something terribly complicated, but something that you and Anthony can follow whilst out in public.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) whispers hesitantly, “What’s the backstory you’ve created?”

Francesca begins to look sheepish. “I haven’t thought of that part yet… I didn’t think Anthony would go for the first part.”

(Y/N) laughs; a light and airy sound that has Anthony straightening in his seat, smiling automatically. “Why don’t we come up with it together?”

“So you’re willing to go along with it?” Anthony asks; his voice unwaveringly hopeful as he refuses to look at anyone but (Y/N).

Something in his face has her nodding. “For as long as you’ll have me,” She answers earnestly, almost breathless when Anthony smiles widely in return.

“This is what I’ve thought of so far,” Colin announces, breaking the moment between Anthony and (Y/N).

The family turn to Colin to find him sat forward on his seat, an eager look across his face as he begins to lay out his plans. Anthony smiles and nods; happy with every word leaving his brother’s mouth.

(Y/N) cannot help but feel an ounce of doubt; not so much at the plan, but for longevity of it. How long would it be before Anthony realised she was not worth it? How long would it before the class difference between them became too much? She dreaded the day but knew it would be upon her before she realised.

----------

The annual picnic in Hyde Park drew in every affable family in London. After all, it was another excuse for mother’s to parade their daughters to the many eligible gentleman. For the gentlemen, it was a free lunch with whichever gazebo they chose to throw themselves upon.

The Bridgertons had been attending this picnic for many years; their station in society meaning that they were personally invited by the monarch. Violet took pride in her set up, making sure her cook’s famous biscuits were on display and that there was plenty of tea to go around. She also ensured that her family had the perfect view of the Serpentine; not too close for her children to fall in, but not too far for it to be out of sight. It was not a sorry affair.

(Y/N) had joined the family happily; talking briefly with Colin and Eloise before Hyacinth monopolised her attention. (Y/N) didn’t mind; she had taught many young girls the same age as Hyacinth and found them all a delight to educate. Hyacinth would be no different.

It wasn’t long, however, before Anthony joined her side. His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back, liking the way that she stepped closer to him, as if wanting to be in his presence all the time.  

“Did you have fun the other night?” Anthony questions, thinking back to Daphne’s ball when (Y/N) had smiled at him as he lead her across the dancefloor.

(Y/N) smiles. “I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“How are you feeling about our ruse?” Anthony queries, catching sight of Lady Featherington marching across the many blankets in the direction of the Bridgerton patch.

“Confident,” (Y/N) answers, “Why do you ask?”

Anthony smiles; shifting his position slightly so he can hear every word of the conversation about to happen. He ducks his head, his mouth close to her ear as he answers, “Because it’s about to be put to the test.”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington calls; her gaudy green gown shimmering in the sunlight as she teeters her way to the matriarch of the fine family.

“Lady Featherington,” Violet greets, her voice as polite as ever. “How are you?”

Lady Featherington smiles at Violet; her gaze glancing around the colourful blankets and gazebo set out for the Bridgerton family to remain comfortable as the picnic progresses. Lady Featherington smiles when her eyes find the figure she was looking for. (Y/N) stands to the side, wrapped up in a conversation with Anthony that certainly looks to be a private one.

Lady Featherington nods towards (Y/N); the fascinator attached to her threatening to slip into her eyes. “You have a new addition to your family, Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington states; no infliction of a question but one inferred all the same.

“(Y/N) is a distant friend of the family,” Violet answers breezily, “She hails from a wealthy family just outside of Leeds.”

“Leeds?”

Violet nods. “Yes, Leeds. It’s just over 20 miles outside of York, perhaps you’ve been?”

Lady Featherington smiles tightly at Violet. She smooths down the green panels of her dress. “A handful of times, Lady Bridgerton. After all, my side of the family hails from Manchester. The two aren’t so far removed.”

“Of course,” Violet appeases, “How does your family fare? I’d heard your mother was ill.”

Lady Featherington continues to smile graciously at the Dowager Viscount. Her eyes are brimming with warning and curiosity, but her smile is forced. “Mother is doing much better, she travelled to the coast. The latest journals are saying sea air helps with fragile conditions.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Featherington nods her thanks to Violet before making her excuses. Violet’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches the notorious gossip walk away from her gazebo. Lady Featherington’s shoulders are tight with displeasure as she marches back to her own plot.

Violet returns to the stitching in her lap after a brief glance towards her youngest children. Gregory and Hyacinth occupied with Benedict and Colin as the older of the set teach their younger siblings games from their youth. Violet smiles at her children; content to return to the pattern at hand, the Dutch Tulips would not stitch themselves.

“What was Lady Featherington talking to you about?” Anthony asks. His face the very picture of innocence as he breaks his mother’s concentration and grabs two biscuits – one for him, the other he hands to (Y/N).

“She was fishing for information on our dear (Y/N),” Violet comments, observing her stitching to ensure it remains straight. “She didn’t find out a thing other than what we discussed.”

(Y/N) lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet waves away her gratitude with a dismissive hand. “You’re making my son happy; I’ll protect that and you with all that I have.”

(Y/N) flounders for a moment at the quick acceptance by Violet. She smiles at the matriarch; whispering her thanks to Violet, ducking her head as she tries to come to terms with rush of emotions coursing through her body.

Anthony returns his attention to the conversation; his mind no longer focused on way to distract Lady Featherington. He flashes a smile in (Y/N)’s direction; his heart racing when she sends her own smile back.

“(Y/N) and I are going to promenade, mother. You’ll be fine without us?”

Violet snorts. “Yes, dear. I have my seven other children to keep me company.”

Anthony rolls his eyes fondly at his mother. He presses a sweet kiss to her cheek before offering (Y/N) his arm.

They amble along the path; all the while aware of the maid sent by Violet shortly after they departed. Violet trusts (Y/N) implicitly, but she knows the reputation of her eldest son. The poor opera singer being prime evidence of his abilities to break hearts as quickly as he mends them.

“You look beautiful, by the way. In case I haven’t told you,” Anthony flirts, a handsome smile spreading across his face.

“You haven’t, but I’ll take the compliment now.”

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back in delight as they both pause their walk. “You are though,” Anthony murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger down (Y/N)’s cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

(Y/N) averts her gaze; her cheeks flushing from the unexpected compliment. Anthony glances on either side of them, catching sight of the maid only a few feet away, doing her best to nonchalantly follow them. Anthony turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, desperate for a moment alone with her. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” Anthony repeats, stepping off the path and onto the grass. He gestures to a faint path; one less travelled. “Do you trust me?”

(Y/N) answers by taking his outstretched hand, letting herself be led down the lesser known path.

Their pace slows when they are certain they have lost their chaperone. (Y/N) feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the poor maid who was only doing what she was asked by her employer, but then she catches sight of the unbridled glee on Anthony’s face and her guilt is quickly replaced by anticipation.

“Where are we going?” She asks; her voice jostling slightly as she tries to watch Anthony and not trip over any loose twigs or stones.

“Nowhere in particular,” Anthony confesses, “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit.”

His pace slows; they’re a good distance away from the picnic party, they wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anthony wonders as he comes to a stop. His hands settle on her waist and she has do all that she can to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her dress.  

“You can tell me anything.”

“I like spending time with you. You make me…” Anthony trails off as he thinks of the word, “Happy. Yes, you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“If you want me to stop,” Anthony whispers, bending to press a line of kisses from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “You need to tell me now.”

“Don’t stop,” She whispers, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him forward.

Anthony kissed her carefully, as if afraid he would ruin her from the very moment their lips touched. What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had ruined her from the instant they met. He might not have realised it, but she knew. She knew that from that one conversation, that one touch to her elbow, she would be ruined for other men.

His mouth is gentle, hesitant. By the way he groans low in his throat, Anthony does not expect (Y/N) to react the way she does. Gasping against his mouth, pressing herself against him as her lips open under his. The kiss becomes hurried; oxygen becoming a distant thought of the past as (Y/N) tastes the lemon biscuits Anthony had stolen from his mother’s table.

Breaking the kiss, the couple each suck in ragged breaths. Shy smiles break out across either of their faces, not having expected such a thing to happen to between them. A short laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he keeps (Y/N) wrapped up in his embrace. Neither of them feel the need to say a word; happy to let the time pass between them in complete silence.

“We should probably get back,” (Y/N) eventually murmurs against Anthony’s cheek, the slight stubble scratching her skin.

Anthony releases a choked sound. “I don’t want to,” He confesses, “I want to stay here with you.”

(Y/N) pulls back, brushing a gloved hand against Anthony’s cheek. He leans into the touch; finding himself enraptured by the woman in front of him. “I want to stay with you too,” She whispers, “But your family will be looking for us.”

Anthony sighs, breaking the embrace entirely. He holds her hand; tangling their fingers together. If he could, he wouldn’t let go of her at all. He would keep her with him at all times; he likes to be in her presence, doesn’t want to be without it. However, society and duty calls, and he must return. However, he would be damned if he was to let go of her hand before then.

“Alright,” He concedes, beginning the walk back to the picnic.

The walk is quiet, but comfortable. Their hands remained tangled even as they arrive back to the Bridgertons. His brother’s throw Anthony a knowing glance which Anthony ignores. He knows his mother will have a strict word with him later, but he has more pressing matters on his mind – his future and the woman now sitting with his youngest siblings.

He’s found his forever; he just needs to keep it.

-----

“Miss (Y/L/N),” the Butler begins, interrupting the governess as she marks her student’s latest set of handwriting, “A Viscount Bridgerton to see you?”

“Oh!” She gasps, standing from her seat far too quickly. The inkpot on her desk spills, sapphire blue ink spreading across the multitude of papers thrown about her desk. As she watches the puddle grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of dread spread through her being.

“Shall I show him in?” The Butler asks, also watching the ink stain spread.

“Have you already made Lord and Lady Saville aware of his presence?”

“Yes, miss. They’re the ones who told me to fetch him to you.”

“Then yes, show him in please,” (Y/N) answers, staring forlornly at the ruined paper and wasted ink. The Butler makes a sympathetic noise before opening the door further for Anthony to enter.

“Darling,” Anthony greets. He goes to speak further but spies the growing blue stain. “What happened here?”

“I stood up too quickly,” (Y/N) complains. “It’s gone everywhere, and I can’t afford another bottle right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll get you a bottle.”

(Y/N) fixes the man with an unimpressed look. “No you won’t. I don’t want you buying things for me.”

“It won’t be bought. I have a stock of ink back at Bridgerton House due to the amount of correspondence I have. You can have a couple of pots; I will not miss it.”

“Oh… well, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Anthony smiles. “Now that’s sorted, I came here to ask you a question.”

“You have?”

“I have. Would you attend the Shakespearean ball? With me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability in it as he voices his question.

“What?” She asks, “As in arrive with you, on your arm?”

“Yes,” Anthony states slowly, “You would come with me and my family.”

She begins to pace the room; her hands wringing together as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart and mind. “Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?” She asks Anthony; her voice begging for a truthful answer.

“What do you mean?”

“This is getting very serious very fast, Anthony. This plan isn’t going to work forever; the ton will find out that I’m a governess and the ruse will be over. This could ruin your entire family, Anthony.”

“Hey,” Anthony hushes, interrupting her pacing. He reaches for her hand with one hand whilst the other cups her cheek. She automatically leans into the touch, sending a thrill through Anthony’s aching soul. “Nothing’s going to happen,” He reassures with a gentle tone, “Should anything happen, we can do damage control.”

“I don’t want to be the ruin of your family, Anthony,” (Y/N) whispers, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She could never forgive herself if the Bridgertons were socially injured by her lack of money relating to her lack of status. (Y/N) could not help the hand of cards she was dealt at birth, but society dictates her station, and hers was so far below Anthony’s it was any wonder that he noticed her in the first place. It was a dream to be accepted by his family; she didn’t want to be the cause of their ruination.

“You aren’t going to be the ruin of my family,” Anthony assures, brushing under her eyes with his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “You’re going to be the making of it. I want you in my life, (Y/N). I want to see where this goes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I haven’t felt like this for a long time, I want to see where this feeling takes me.”

“Okay,” She concedes, doing her best to stop the tears falling, “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

The smile that spreads across Anthony’s face makes it all worth it. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, to her cheek before finally kissing her in earnest. She hums against his mouth; getting lost in the feel of him.

“It’ll be worth it,” Anthony whispers. “All of this is worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” (Y/N) states quietly, pulling him back in for another kiss.

----

Lady Danbury was one of two women in London that could throw a memorable ball. The other being Violet Bridgerton. For her theme this year, Lady Danbury had chosen the works of the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare. For what could be more romantic than dressing as characters immortalised in his plays and sonnets?

Anthony would not tell (Y/N) one whisper of his costume; kept it a secret from her despite her barrage of questions. As revenge, she kept quiet about her costume, refusing to tell the man the colour of her dress.

The two walk into the ballroom with (Y/N)’s hand resting on Anthony’s forearm; her nerves rattle as she walks further into the room. She knew she had no reason to be nervous; Anthony and his family would protect her from whatever form of gossip falls her way, but she could not help the turning of her stomach as she walked passed many disappointed mothers who had hoped Anthony would pay their daughters the slightest bit of attention.

The music is loud; the laughter lightening the atmosphere and the dancers in full swing as (Y/N) begins to feel comfortable. Having taught many a child Shakespeare, (Y/N) spent a lot of time trying to decipher the characters in attendance tonight. She had already seen three Violas, four Benedicks, and six Olivias.  

“I have to go talk to someone,” Anthony says apologetically, interrupting her guessing game, “I won’t be long. Will you be okay without me?”

(Y/N) nods. “Go. I’m sure I’ll find someone to talk to.”

Anthony presses a lingering kiss to her cheek, whispering as he does so, “A marvel amongst women.”

“You’re nothing but a flirt,” She laughs, batting the love of her life away. “Go talk business.”

“As you wish,” Anthony laughs, mock-bowing before leaving (Y/N) to wander the ball alone. Moments pass before she finds someone she recognises. “Colin,” She greets happily, “Who have you come as?”

“Romeo Montague,” Colin answers, stretching his arms wide to show off his rather fetching garb.

“How wonderful,” She laughs, watching the Bridgerton strike a pose in his costume.

“Who knows,” Colin teases, “Maybe tonight I’ll find my Juliet.”

(Y/N) laughs once more, batting the man away when he wiggles his eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Off with you,” She snorts, “I’m sure there are plenty of ladies for you to dance with.”

Colin departs with a bow of his head. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at the antics of the younger man; Colin knew full well of the line of ladies waiting for his signature of their dance cards, but something warms in (Y/N)’s chest when she watches Colin walk straight to Penelope Featherington.

“They’d make a fine pair if he would pull his head out,” A voice full of humour sounds from behind her.

(Y/N) startles. She turns to find Anthony watching her; his lips curled in a manner that suggested he was holding back the laughter he so desperately wanted to let out.

“You made me jump,” She hisses, batting his outstretched hand away.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Anthony coos, pulling (Y/N) into his embrace by pulling on one of the many skirts about her waist. (Y/N) flushes at the term of endearment, but also at the many pairs of eyes now watching the young couple.

“You’re forgiven,” She sighs. “Who have you dressed as?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Ferdinand,” Anthony answers, “From The Tempest.”

“How odd,” (Y/N) muses, “I’ve dressed as Miranda from The Tempest.”

“‘Admired Miranda!/ Indeed the top of admiration, worth/ What’s dearest to the world!’”

“Only you could quote Shakespeare from the heart,” (Y/N) states wryly.

Anthony preens, puffing out his chest slightly. “All the Bridgertons can. We would do dramatizations of the plays.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughs, picturing Anthony as a young boy, dressed in breeches with a make-do ruff around his neck. The very image brings a fond smile to her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Anthony questions, wanting to be privy to the thoughts running through her mind.

“You,” She flirts, hooking her arm through Anthony’s as they start to take a turn about the room.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Anthony states pompously though his heart races at her words.

Her laughter chimes as Anthony steers (Y/N) around the room, pausing only to grab two glasses of lemonade from the drinks table. She sips at it delicately, not risking a spill of a single drop on her outfit.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Anthony murmurs into her ear. “Truly. I would have been lost without you.”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” (Y/N) teases, enjoying the blush that begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. She briefly touches a gloved hand to his cheek, smiling fondly at the brunette. “I’m glad I came too.”

Anthony clears his throat; clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it up. He takes her drink from her, placing it on a nearby table. As ever the gentleman he was raised to be, Anthony bows towards the women he vows is the love of his life and offers his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Always,” She answers with a breathtaking smile, taking his hand to be led onto the dancefloor for the start of the new song. Couples on the floor take up the position of the quadrille as upbeat music sounds through the hall.  

It’s hard not to smile as Anthony takes her hand to begin the first steps of the lead couple. The first dance figure is performed before copied by the other couples in their square.

Anthony keeps a tight hold on her as he begins the next set of dance figures; spinning (Y/N) out before drawing her back in. Laughter falls from her mouth, setting his heart alight with the love he feels for her.

She catches the eye of Lady Featherington through one of many of Anthony’s spins. The Lady smiles knowingly, raising her glass to the young woman spinning in the arms of the Viscount.

(Y/N)’s breath freezes in her chest; she makes a choked sound and her steps falter. Luckily, no-one but Anthony seems to notice, but he recovers his hold on (Y/N) fairly quickly. It’s the end of the song; couples slowing on the floor, the audience beginning to clap their approvals.

“Darling?” Anthony calls quietly, breaking her out of her reverie. His hand remains in her hold; refusing to let him take even a step without her.

“Take me somewhere we can be alone,” She pleads, suddenly overcome by the sheer amount of people milling about the hall.

Anthony doesn’t need to be told twice, leading (Y/N) away from the dancefloor with a guiding hand on the small of her back. Anthony catches Benedict’s eye as he leaves the hall; his brother offers him a single nod to which Anthony relaxes – Benedict would make sure no-one would follow or interrupt, there was something important Anthony had to do.

The night air is cold against her heated skin as she inhales hurried breaths. The stone of the railing is cool under her fingers as she grips the stone tight; needing something to tether her to this place. It feels like a dream; a total dream that she would find herself costumed as a character from a Shakespeare play brushing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country.

At this time of night, the gardens are dark, but she can still make out their heavenly fragrance perfuming the air, providing the perfect backdrop for this night.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks, removing his jacket and settling it over her shoulders.

(Y/N) pulls his jacket tighter around her; inhaling the comforting scent of musk and sweet orange washing over her. “I’m fine now, it got to be a bit too much in there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Anthony murmurs, “I saw Lady Featherington.”

(Y/N) cringes internally. Her face is a mask of polite interest as she murmurs, “Oh? You saw that did you?”

“She only acts as if she knows everything, darling,” Anthony reassures, settling his hands on (Y/N)’s waist, desperate to be touching her.

“I know,” She murmurs, but his words do nothing to settle the panic tying her chest into knots.

“We’re fine,” Anthony promises; hands rubbing up and down the sides of her bodice. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” She repeats, sighing heavily, leaning back into his embrace. His chest is strong against her back, but she doesn’t get long to admire his strength. He turns her in his arms, peering down at the expression on her face.

“You’re who I love. I couldn’t give a damn what the rest of London society thinks.”

“I love you as well,” She answers, a small smile on her face, letting his words wash away any and all of her worries. “You do have a way with words.”

“Flatterer,” He teases, dipping his head to kiss her.

(Y/N) gasps at the first press of Anthony’s lips against hers. She had kissed him before; a hurried meeting of mouths before their chaperone caught up to them. This kiss differed from that; languid, unhurried. Anthony took his time to memorise the feel of her lips against his; the small whimpers sounding at the back of her throat.

Each brush of his lips against hers spoke of what he found it hard to put into words. He had never been a wordsmith; could never write poetry or recite the romances of the past, but with every butterfly kiss placed on her lips in time to the shuddering of her heartbeat could Anthony translate the sheer scale of what he feels for her.

She reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers carding through the dark brown locks. Anthony’s grip on her waist remains firm as he presses her further into the railing. The gentleness of Anthony’s kiss soon turns to a burning passion as his hands splay across the small of (Y/N)’s back, pressing her to him.

As Anthony’s kisses begin to travel the expanse of her jawline, (Y/N) is suddenly grateful for the railing behind her. If he was to let her go now, not only would she feel the keen absence of his touch, but she would surely sink to the floor. The feel of his mouth, pressed hot against her, has her knees feeling unsteady.

“(Y/N),” Anthony whispers, nuzzling the side of her neck, “(Y/N)…”

“You keep whispering my name,” She murmurs into the night air; her ragged breath leaving behind white plumes.

“Marry me,” Anthony all but pleads, pulling back from (Y/N)’s neck to gaze into her eyes. “Marry me and always be mine.”

It seemed that time had stopped and lost all of its meaning; there was no party, no gardens, no laughter of lifelong friends. No. In this moment there was only Anthony.

“Yes,” She whispers, laughter beginning to fall from her mouth as fresh as a morning rainfall. Once it starts, she cannot find it in herself to stop. Tears soon join the laughter as a smile breaks across Anthony’s handsome face. “Yes,” She repeats, “I will marry you.”

********

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[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

An Unfortunate Predicament - Part 2

I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of likes on my last post, and so I was inspired to continue yesterday's fic and write a part 2... The ideas flow while I'm writing the lead-in portion, and then I get to the tickling part and my brain goes ----does not compute---- and short circuits, so... hopefully this turned out ok!

Part one is here

Word count: 2300

* * *

You weren’t sure if he actually expected that you would willingly come down to greet the Avengers when they arrived home that evening, just so that you could keep your end of the deal. Regardless, you weren’t dumb enough to come out of your room when you finally heard the commotion that was your teammates entering the tower (mostly because Thor’s boisterous voice echoed in every corner of the building.) Just to be on the safe side, you remained in your room for the rest of the evening, scrolling through your phone and watching some TV to keep yourself entertained.

The following morning, you awoke to your stomach growling so loudly you thought Wanda could probably hear it through the wall in her room next door. Having hidden away for the entire evening, you realized you hadn’t eaten an actual meal last night, having only munched on some chips you had stashed away in your desk for when you got hungry while you worked. Reluctantly, you knew you would have to actually exit your room if you wanted to get some breakfast.

Besides – he must have forgotten by now, right?

… Of course not, you remembered. Loki doesn’t forget when someone crossed him, and he certainly didn’t forgive either.

Despite your knowing it was probably a very bad idea, you slipped on your softest pair of socks in hopes they would help muffle your footsteps before pressing your ear to the door, trying to hear whether there was anyone talking or shuffling about outside. Satisfied when you were met only with silence, you gradually cracked the door open and peeking cautiously out into the hallway.

Empty. Perfect.

As quickly as you could while still ensuring your every step was soundless, you tiptoed your way to the kitchen down the hall, pausing at the doorway to listen for any signs of movement. Nothing. Perfect. You leaned forward and peeked around the door frame, your weight shifted to the balls of your feet in case you needed to make a quick exit. Your eyes scanned the room from corner to corner, even glancing under the table and at the cabinet doors to assess for anything that might indicate someone was hiding in there.

Ok, so maybe you were a little paranoid.

Seeing nothing out of place, no cabinet doors cracked ajar or anything, you let out a breath and stepped into the room. You reached the fridge and opened the door slowly so as not to allow it to make that suction noise it always did. Someone had stolen the last yogurt cup apparently. Slightly annoyed, you scanned the fridge trying to decide what you wanted instead. You settled on a bowl of cereal, grabbing the bottle of milk and turning around to get the cereal box out of the cabinet.

“Eep!”

Heart leaping into your throat, you let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a squeak when you found yourself face to face with none other than the god of mischief himself, his face mere inches away from yours. In your shock, your fingers slipped from around the handle of the milk bottle. It would have exploded all over the floor had Loki not reached out and caught it with his cat-like reflexes before it hit the ground. He leaned toward you to place the milk bottle on the counter directly behind you, boxing you in with your back against the countertop.

“You didn’t show up to the common room last night.” He had a deep, menacing edge to his tone as he made this simple observation, his narrowed eyes and wide smirk only reinforcing the fact that you were in deep trouble.

Fight or flight instinct took over, and you rapidly ducked under his arm and started to sprint away from the trickster. Unfortunately, he had predicted this move, his hand latching onto your upper arm before you could even take two steps.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Ahah… well, you see, I have a really important assignment I have to get done, and I just came down here to grab some breakfast to take back to my room while I work, and…”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?” he chuckled.

“… yes?” you replied, your voice increasing an octave with nervousness. Loki shook his head, giving you a pitying look.

“Darling, I am the god of lies and mischief. I know a lie when I hear one.” You tried to jerk your arm abruptly out of his grasp in hopes it would catch him off guard, but he merely tightened his grip on your bicep. “I do believe we have some unfinished business, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Really? Because I thought we were done with that, actually…” you stammered, frantically scanning the room for some way to escape. Your eyes darted back to Loki, catching his gaze as he realized what you were doing.

“Sorry, but there’s no way out of this,” he declared. In one fluid motion, Loki had scooped you up off the floor into his arms, holding fast despite your kicking and squirming. You hadn’t realized you could become any more flustered around the god, but he had proven you wrong just now, your face burning hot. He started to make his way out of the kitchen, careful not to slam your head into the doorframe as he carried you out into the hallway.

“Loki! Put me down this instant!” you demanded, kicking your legs to try to throw him off balance.

“Hmm… no, actually, I don’t think I will,” he teased, tossing you up just the slightest bit so he could gain a better grip on you.

“Where are you taking me, then?” you growled. You could hear faintly the voices of the other Avengers in the common area, growing slightly louder as Loki continued to stroll along with you still captive in his grasp. “Really? You’re still going to make me announce that you’re ‘the superior prankster’ to the team? Don’t you think that’s sort of lame?”

“No, darling. I have more effective methods of humiliating you.” His eyes flitted down to glance at your face, his smirk expanding across his.

Was it possible to die from blushing so hard?

When Loki had finally reached the opening to the common room, the rest of the team glanced up at the two of you with immediate expressions of confusion.

“Good morning, lady Y/N! Why is my brother carrying you? Are you injured?” Thor asked, genuinely concerned.

“No! He’s holding me prisoner! Help!” you cried, starting to squirm again to try to get him to put you down. Tired of having to keep hiking you up to keep from dropping you, Loki finally lowered your legs so you could plant your feet on the floor. He wrapped an arm around you tightly, pinning you to his side so you couldn’t run off.

“Is that true, Loki?” Thor inquired, squinting at him.

“I just thought you’d like her to be here when I inform you all that I found her on the ropes course yesterday,” Loki announced. To your confusion, the entire team let out groans of frustration.

“What the hell?! We’ve been trying to decide who was going to make you try it with all of us! You never wanted to join in!” Peter complained. You raised your eyebrows in shock.

“Wait, what? Why are we changing the subject, here?? Do none of you care that he is holding me captive??” you protested.

“Sorry, Y/N, but this is unforgivable,” Tony sighed with mock disappointment, shooting you a mischievous wink. “The ropes course is a team-building activity. There’s no ‘I’ in team.”

“But… what… ugh. You guys are unbelievable,” you groaned, shaking your head.

“Don’t worry – that’s not all I learned about our devious little mortal yesterday,” Loki began. You immediately tensed up, heart pounding impossibly faster, although you weren’t sure if it was because of what you knew was coming next or because you were mortified to find you actually liked the unusual pet name he just used to refer to you.

“Oh really? Do tell,” Bucky urged, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees in anticipation.

“You see…” Loki reached over and grasped your wrists, yanking your arms behind your back so he could hold both wrists with just one hand. You looked up at him and bit your lip, shaking your head rapidly in desperate, silent protest. He merely grinned, wiggling the fingers of his free hand in the air at you to taunt you even further. You had to fight to keep yourself from allowing anticipatory giggles to slip out. “… our little friend, here, is devastatingly ticklish.”

Without further ado, Loki’s hand darted down to your side, squeezing rapidly as laughter immediately began pouring from your mouth. You twisted your upper body in hopes you could break his hold, but you quickly realized there was no escaping the vice grip he had on your wrists. Defeated, and weakened from laughter, your knees buckled, and you slowly sank to the floor. Loki only followed you down, finally letting go of your wrists in favor of freeing his other hand up to torment you. He moved his hands to your belly, scratching at it in the most maddeningly light and rapid way, eliciting a shriek from you.

“Oh, no way! She really is ticklish!” Peter exclaimed over your laughter.

“Damn. She’s worse than this kid,” Tony observed, patting Peter on the shoulder as he blushed and glared at his mentor.

“WHY AREN’T YOU HELPING MEHEHE!” you shouted, throwing your friends a betrayed look.

“Sorry, Y/N, but you’re just too damn adorable to make him stop,” Bucky apologized, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Meanwhile, Loki had pressed one of his shins down on both your legs, leaning on you to hold you down as his fingers traveled up to your sides. He drilled his thumbs into the front of your lowermost ribs, digging his fingers into the sides of your ribcage simultaneously. You supposed you should have known that someone with his mischievous title would be good at tickling, but the way his fingertips sought out every single one of your weak spots was causing you to slowly slip into madness.

“Why don’t you try her knees?” Wanda suggested with a smirk.

“Wanda!! Why are you helping hiHIHIHIM!” your voice pitched up an octave as Loki began to pinch the soft skin just above your kneecap, sending ticklish shocks up your leg.

“Thank you for the suggestion,” Loki said casually, removing his shin from your legs so he could reach around and flutter his fingers against the backs of your knees. Without his weight on you, you were free to kick your legs and squirm to try to escape. If you accidentally kicked Loki in the process, well, that was just an added bonus. At least, you thought so, until he wrapped his fingers around one of your ankles and dragged a finger down the sole of your socked foot to test your reaction.

“NOHOHO LOKI STAHAHAP!” you pleaded, jerking your leg wildly without success. Loki shot you a positively evil smile before lightly scratching five fingers up and down the bottom of your foot. You covered your face with your hands to hide the fact that you had never felt shyer and more embarrassed in your life, muffling your laughter behind your palms.

“Aww, lady Y/N, there’s no need to hide!” Thor insisted, kneeling down beside you and pulling your hands off your face.

“Ah, brother! Why don’t you help me hold her down? She is making this increasingly difficult,” Loki suggested, moving back up to torment your ribs again.

“Certainly, brother!” Thor obliged, tightening his grip on your wrists, and pinning them above your head. You shot him the biggest glare you could possibly muster in your frazzled state.

“THOR! That’s BETRAYAL!” you exclaimed. “What the h-“ Loki started to scribble his fingers into the soft skin under your arms and the remainder of your sentence died in your mouth, your body shaking in silent laughter. At long last, Loki finally took this as his cue to let up, tracing feather-light fingers along your sides to keep you giggling.

“What an unfortunate weakness you have. So easy to exploit,” he teased. Your blush spread down to your neck and up to the tips of your ears. Luckily, Thor let go of your wrists so you could cover your face again, doing anything in your power not to see the arrogant look of victory on Loki’s face.

“Whyhyhy Loki?” you groaned as he finally stopped torturing you. You immediately rolled onto your side and curled up in a ball, rubbing the residual ticklish tingles off your sides.

“Well, darling, I had to make a statement… Don’t mess with the god of mischief,” he warned, referring back to the prank you’d pulled when you hid his books.

“U-understood,” you acknowledged firmly, your breathing finally returning to normal.

“Well – that was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. My day is made,” Tony teased, reaching down to pat you on the shoulder and causing you to flinch away involuntarily. “Relax, kid! You clearly need a break, I’m not that mean!”

“Sorry… reflex,” you mumbled. Loki stood and offered you a hand to help you up off the floor, which you took after a moment’s hesitation. “You… better not do that again, or I’ll… I’ll… punch you.”

“Really, darling? That was the weakest threat you’ve ever made,” he snickered. "Clearly you're losing your touch." Throwing your hands up in frustration, you turned around to walk back to your room, suddenly realizing you were still in your pajamas. “And I can’t make any guarantees,” he called after you, “so you’d better behave yourself!” You turned around and stuck your tongue out at him, eliciting a laugh, before you turned down the hallway and made your way to your bedroom door.

Note to self, you thought – Loki doesn’t do mercy.

[addictedtostorytelling]

Hey!

I love your CSI gifs, fics and metas.

I’ve just watched LLV again for the first time in ages. The ‘I’ll miss you’ scene killed me all over again. That goodbye is so sad. I think it’s the last time that Grissom checks to see if is someone watching him with Sara.

Grissom in LoG and beyond seems to be more in love with her and less concerned about who knows about their relationship.

I’m sure you’ve a meta about what changed with him during his sabbatical. Could you point to it?

Thank you!

hi, anon!

thank you for your kind words! i'm so glad you enjoy my stuff. 💕

i do have a post on the gsr dynamic circa the events of episode 07x11 "leaving las vegas" and grissom's sabbatical here, if you're interested.

that said, since said post is more focused on the logistics of grissom going away (and whether or not sara knows in advance that he is), i will also direct you to this post, which talks about the content of grissom's unsent letter to sara, which speaks to the state of his mind and heart during the time while he's at williams.

i will also add, in specific answer to your question, that i think that by the time that grissom leaves on his sabbatical, he realizes that both the manner and very fact of his leaving are hurtful to sara and have caused her to doubt his level of commitment to her/their relationship, which of course was never his intention but is now the complicated reality.

unfortunately, since his love language is primarily one of gesture rather than of word, he's not sure how, from 2,500 miles away, to repair whatever damage he has done to her/them.

during the five weeks while he's away, he workshops some ideas for making things right between them, including writing her a love letter and sending her a cocoon as a love token—only the latter of which notions he acts upon—however, ultimately, i think he comes to the conclusion (perhaps on a more subconscious level than a conscious one) that his best bet is just gonna be to make it absolutely clear to her once he gets home exactly how he feels.

—and especially because being away from sara for so long has only drawn into sharper relief for him just how connected to and in love with her he is.

as he talks about in his unsent letter, while he’s away from her, he thinks about her all the time and misses her terribly.

while he had already had marriage to her on the brain for a long, long while even prior to this point, realizing just how wonderfully, inextricably tied up in hers his life has become while he is far from her really makes him start to contemplate that possibility in a realer way than he has perhaps allowed himself to before.

he's starting to truly get to a point where it feels utterly ridiculous to and untenable for him to have to pretend like she's not the most important thing in his life—where he just plain doesn’t want to do so anymore.

as i talk about in this post,

my sense is that by the end of s7, both grissom and sara are growing increasingly restless with the status quo [of their "secret dating" arrangement], and grissom in particular is becoming less and less cautious about keeping their secret*...

* for example, there are a few times throughout the season when grissom rather recklessly expresses affection for sara in plain view and/or within earshot of their team members (see here and here), not being at all discreet. he also doesn’t do a very good job of hiding the fact that he is no longer living his old “bachelor hermit lifestyle,” to the point where some of his coworkers even suspect that he maybe has a girlfriend, though of course they don’t yet know that his girlfriend is sara.

both of them have been “all in” with each other from day one, and the longer they’re together, the more they want to commit on every level; however, for as long as their relationship must remain a secret from the world, they can’t really go forward building a full life together, and after two years of cohabiting on the dl, they’re starting to really feel that constraint.

though keeping their romance a secret at work does allow them to continue to be employed on the same team with grissom as sara’s boss (which is a setup that is very amenable to them), it also both prevents them from doing “small, everyday couple things,” such as being seen together in public, socializing as a pair, having people over to their place, etc., AND from doing “big, life-changing couple things,” like getting married, buying a house, having kids, traveling together, etc. 

now, maybe that arrangement would be okay if they were both completely comfortable living their “secret dating” lifestyle forever. after all, not every couple does want to get married, join bank accounts, own property together, have babies, etc.

but the thing is, both of them do in their heart of hearts want to take many of those next steps together. 

while neither one of them believes that marriage is prerequisite for love or sharing a life together in a more general sense, they do both want to get married to each other just as a matter of personal choice. though it’s uncertain if they might want children were they at liberty to have them, the fact that they do end up buying a house once they get married in canon (even with grissom living on a different continent than sara 98% of the time) speaks more certainly to the fact that that’s something they’d probably do if given the option. 

moreover, even beyond these domestic issues, they want to be able to live life to the fullest together—and, of course, to be able to do so, they would need to be able to be seen in public as a couple, make financial/legal/medical decisions as a team, and acknowledge their relationship with each other to their friends and found family members.

they want to be able to stop lying (even by omission) about what’s most important to them to the people they care about.

while of course he knows that much of the awkwardness of their parting falls directly onto him for failing to anticipate how his decision to leave might sit with her on a personal level, he knows that at least some of it does also come back to the fact that they are still, even after two years of being together, not fully at liberty to express either to each other or the world the full extent of their commitment.

so whether consciously or not, i think from that point forward, that’s something grissom very much wants to change.

he doesn’t want sara to ever have to doubt again the extent of his care for her.

he wants to be free to show her (and eventually everyone else, too) just how serious about and in love with her he is.

and that’s wherein the difference in his post-sabbatical behavior lies:

between his desire to make up for how his leaving hurt sara AND the way his separation from her highlighted to him just how much he never wants to be without her AND his mounting impatience with the limitations of their secret dating arrangement, grissom comes home in “i’m in love with sara sidle, and i absolutely want her to know it, never mind if anyone else notices” mode.

while of course he’s not yet to the point of coming right out and admitting to their relationship to the rest of the world—as there are still both practical and personal reasons to maintain what discretion they can—he is less concerned with hiding his feelings for her than he has ever been before, taking a kind of “if people realize, then they realize” approach to the issue, which is why we see him follow her down the hall like a lovesick puppy in episode 07x15 “law of gravity,” become increasingly brazen with his displays of pda with her in episodes like 07x18 “empty eyes” and the flashback in 07x24 “living doll,” openly express his love for her in episode 07x21 “ending happy,” etc., etc.

just like between s4 and s5, grissom experiences the epiphany that he cares less about his own fears than he does about making sara feel loved, i think that in the wake of his s7 sabbatical, he experiences the epiphany that he cares less about maintaining the status quo of his and sara’s secret dating arrangement than he does about making sure she knows that she is his #1 priority.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[erin-bo-berin]

Enemies Closer

MASTERLIST

Happy smutty Spencer Saturday! This fic has been hidden in the depths of my brain for way too long. I knew I wanted to do an enemies to lover fic for a while but didn’t have much more for it until recently. The title comes from the famous saying “keep your friends close and your enemies closer”.

I want to say a big thank you to all of my followers who sent in quips, jabs and bantery remarks. I tried to use them all because they were all so wonderful. Thank you to @dreatine @andiebeaword @sammy-jo1977 @redbullchick and the numerous anons who contributed. Also a big thank you to @multifandommandy for coming up with the idea of the reader interviewing the little girl, it really helped move the story along and add to it. I appreciate all your ideas and help 💕

Okay, enjoy the 10k words of sassy, smutty Spencer Reid. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (smut)

Word Count: 10,088

Spencer was walking back to his desk when he heard JJ’s voice.

“Really? When?”

There was a pause on her end of the phone conversation. She looked up and saw Spencer, immediately waving him over.

Spencer’s interest was piqued. He wondered what was going on, especially since there was a huge grin on her face. He approached her desk just as JJ spoke again.

“That sounds great, mom. I can’t wait.”

Spencer smiled. JJ and her mom were extremely close and he always looked forward to her visits—she made the best triple chocolate chip cookies he’d ever tasted. He opened his mouth to tell her to say hi from him, when she practically read his mind.

“By the way Spencer says hi.” 

JJ shot him a wink, grinning at the fact that she knew him well enough to know exactly what he was about to say. He chuckled to himself. They definitely were close enough to know what one another was thinking.

“Sounds good. See you then. Bye.”

JJ hung up her phone, turning in her chair to face him fully.

“Is your mom coming to visit?”

“She is,” JJ smiled, “And she’s bringing your favorite triple chocolate chip cookies.”

“Bless that woman,” he chuckled.

“There’s also something else,” JJ trailed off nervously, a flicker of worry in her blue eyes.

“What?”

“Y/N’s visiting too...and she’s kinda stuck with me, or well us for the next week. So if we get a case, she’s coming with us.”

Spencer groaned loudly.

“Why?”

“Mom has a business seminar in downtown D.C. and you know Will took the boys to Disney World this week. I’m not going to make her sit at home alone for a week.”

“Why? It would be for the greater good of humanity. I’ll even be willing to chip in for a hotel room for her,” Spencer said, hoping JJ would actually take him up on the offer, “Particularly one across the country.” 

“Spencer,” JJ eyed him warily, “Emily already said it was okay. She knows to stay out of the way while we work.”

“Yet she’s always in my way.”

“Spence, she’s not that bad. Why do you hate her so much?” she asked.

“Last time she visited she “accidentally” spilled an entire pot of coffee on my favorite work shirt!” Spencer protested.

“Just like you “accidentally” locked her in an interrogation room?” JJ raised a brow.

Yeah, that hadn’t been his finest moment. But she had driven him crazy that day.

“She wandered in there on her own. I was just helping the situation along,” he shrugged innocently.

“You’re lucky she didn’t burn the building down,” JJ mumbled.

“Yeah, well, she pushed me to my limit that day. Sorry.”

“What is it with you two? You fight worse than her and I ever did.”

“She’s annoying, rude and drives me crazy. I honestly can’t believe she’s your sister, let alone related to you. JJ, you know I love you, but I just can’t stand her. We’re just two completely different people that probably will never get along.”

“Alright, alright,” JJ held her hands up in defeat, “At least try to be on your best behavior?”

“No promises,” he grumbled.

“Hey, look at it this way. At least you get cookies,” she stood, patting his arm before walking away.

He was positive even cookies wouldn’t make up for this.

•

“Y/N while you’re here, can you please try to be nice to your sister’s coworkers?”

You suppressed a groan.

You were currently in the elevator with your mother at the FBI in Quantico, riding up the numerous floors to the Behavioral Analysis Unit, where your sister JJ worked. In your arms were a stack of containers, filled with sweets your mom had made for the team.

There were her famous triple chocolate chip cookies made with milk, dark and white chocolate chips, some apple cobbler, cupcakes and even a strawberry pie. JJ’s team were suckers for Sandy Jareau’s delicacies.

“Mom, I love the team. They’re like extended family, you know that.”

“You know what I mean.”

Your mom gave you a look that you swore only mothers could perfect. It was partly calling out your bullshit and part disciplinary all at the same time. It was amazing, really, 29 years old and you were still getting the “you better not act out” look from her. What were you, eight?

“I mean that lovely Dr. Reid. You’re always so mean to him.”

“He starts it.”

Okay, maybe you were eight.

“Y/N.”

The warning tone in her voice was all you needed to keep your mouth shut.

“All I’m saying is I don’t want another call from JJ saying you’ve gotten locked in an interrogation room and almost got arrested for assaulting a FBI agent.”

“Okay that was one time!” you said, exasperated, “Granted, it wasn’t my finest hour. But still. It’s not like I’m that bad all the time.”

“Really?” your mom looked at you, all knowingly, “What about that one time at JJ’s housewarming party?”

“I swear I didn’t glue his shoes to the floor!”

In your defense, that had been Derek Morgan, back when he was still working in the FBI, prior to his resignation. Of course though, no one believed that he had done it, apparently including your mother.

“Whether you did it or not, that’s not the point. You would’ve done it given the opportunity.”

You couldn’t deny that. 

“Just don’t stress JJ out any more than she is. She said when the two of you are fighting it’s like trying to corral two feisty chihuahuas.”

You sighed, defeated.

“I’ll try to be on my best behavior mom.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

The elevator dinged, alerting you that you’d arrived at your designated floor and the metal doors slid open to reveal your sister and of course, Spencer.

Spencer Reid, the biggest nemesis of your entire life.

He was absolutely infuriating. 

Tall, imposing, three PhDs, IQ of 187, Doctor Spencer Reid. That’s right, he wasn’t just Agent Reid, he was Dr. Reid. It was eye roll inducing.

He was a know-it-all, quite literally. If anyone said something even the slightest bit wrong, he didn’t hesitate to correct them. A person could breathe wrong and he’d probably correct that.

He constantly spewed facts. That was annoying enough in itself. You had no idea how JJ put up with it. But then again she was best friends with the guy. That blew your mind enough in itself.

If he wasn’t so annoying, he might actually be attractive. With a stature of over six feet, he was lean but without being a beanpole. His light brown curls always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and/or never taken a brush to his hair. His eyes were definitely interesting though. You could never tell if they were brown, green or maybe even hazel.

Not that you’d been paying that close of attention. Nor did you care.

He had significantly more facial hair than the last time you’d seen him. Not a bad look for him, you had to give him that.

JJ once told you that a college class he’d taught for two weeks was filled with nothing but young girls auditing his course. She said it had confused Spencer. It confused you too cause you didn’t see how he was that attractive. He was kinda cute, if you liked the whole snobby, genius who doesn’t brush his hair, smartass type.

Oddly enough, you’d known him for half your life, yet couldn’t recall how or when you started hating him. It just seems like it had been that way all along, when in fact, it hadn’t.

“Mom! Y/N!” JJ exclaimed, grinning wide.

You felt a burst of happiness in your chest. You’d missed your sister. Despite the 11 year age difference, you guys were close growing up.

You were still a baby when your older sister Rosalyn had committed suicide, so you didn’t remember much about her, sadly. It was really hard on JJ as she was the one to find her. But as she’d told you much later, you’d helped her grieve. Reliving memories and keeping Rosalyn’s memory alive in sharing stories with you helped her heal after such a traumatic situation. It was often that you’d wished you’d had the chance to know your oldest sister, but with her death came an impenetrable close bond between you and JJ.

JJ immediately wrapped her arms around your mother, hugging her tight. You gave a nod of your head, your arms too full to be able to hug her at the moment.

“I’ll just go put these in the briefing room,” you said.

You turned, aiming to head through the glass doors of the BAU’s entrance, but instead ran right into Spencer.

“Here, I got it,” he took several of the boxes out of your arms so you could see properly again, “If only to save you from injuring anyone else.”

“My knight in shining armor,” you muttered sarcastically.

“Watch where you’re going next time.”

“You watch where you’re going. Besides, I didn’t need your help,” you retorted.

“Obviously, you did,” Spencer mumbled, following you through the doors.

You hadn’t even made it all the way through the entrance when you heard your mom and JJ sigh in unison. You heard JJ’s words loud and clear, as well.

“They’re already bickering less than five minutes in. Must be a new record.”

It kinda was. Usually, the two of you managed to avoid each other until the inevitable crossing of paths occurred. Today, though, you both had started in, right off the bat.

You placed the numerous arrays of desserts on the round table, knowing by tomorrow they’d pretty much all be gone.

“You’re welcome for the help,” Spencer snarked, setting down the few containers he’d carried.

You couldn’t help it, you rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t ask for it. So there’s no reason to thank you.”

“It’s the polite thing to do. Oh, wait. I forgot you don’t know how to be polite. My bad.”

You glared at him, the hatred stirring in your gut.

“I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure to see you again, Y/N, but it hasn’t,” Spencer said.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go greet your mother who actually deserves and appreciates my kindness.”

“Kindness, my ass,” you muttered as he walked away.

He turned, almost to the door.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you smiled in a fake, sweet matter.

He scoffed, turning and walking away.

Only when his back was turned did your fake demeanor drop and you stuck your tongue out at him.

This man would be the death of you yet.

•

“Penelope just got us a case. Luckily, it’s right here in our backyard so you can just sit in while we work. But please try to control your mouth.”

“JJ, I’m almost 30 years old,” you replied.

“Yes, but you still have a sharp tongue.”

“I promise not to make a scene, cause any trouble or be in the way. I know you have to work Jayj.”

After a round of greetings and hugs from the team and promises to stay longer when she returned from her business seminar, your mom had dashed off, leaving you at the BAU.

You looked up to see Emily Prentiss, JJ’s friend and boss motioning for her to join them in the briefing room.

“The team has to be debriefed about this case. Are you going to be okay here?”

You spun back and forth in her desk chair, motioning to the book you’d brought to read.

“I’ll be fine. Go work,” you shooed her.

JJ bounded off and up the stairs to the meeting and you picked up your book, ready to be entranced by the wonderful fantasy world of your book, far away from your reality.

-

“Why do people read that garbage? It does nothing but fills a person’s head with nonsense. It’s stupid and a waste of time. Although, now that I think of it, that’s probably a perfect fit for you.”

You peered up over the edge of your book.

You’d just gotten to a good part in your book. Your heroine was just getting ready to destroy the enemy and his lair, saving her love interest from the clutches of evil. It was a shame you couldn’t throw Spencer in the cage that your heroine was saving her lover from. Now that would make the book perfect.

“I’m reading. If you don’t mind.”

“Well it offends me. At least read something good. War and Peace is a good recommendation. Good story. I read it at breakfast last weekend,” Spencer said.

You turned up your nose. Leave it to Spencer to brag about his ability to read 20,000 words a minute and offer atrocious book recommendations in the same sentence. That in itself was offensive enough to you.

“This is why you don’t get dates, isn’t it?” you snipped.

He ignored the quip. 

“I’m supposed to ask you for help with the case.”

Now this was interesting. You raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think I want to help you?”

“You do realize the entire world doesn’t revolve around you, right?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed, “There’s kids that are going missing.”

That sobered you quickly. You dropped any anger you had at him, for the moment, realizing how serious the matter was.

“How? What’s happening?”

“Four kids have gone missing. We can’t figure out how or why. They haven’t shown up yet, so we’re hopeful that they’re still alive,” Spencer said, lips narrowed into a thin line.

“What do you need my help for then?”

“Because to understand what happened to them, we need to profile these kids.”

•

“Okay so we know from his parents, six year old Erik Yates was incredibly shy,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard where the pictures of the four missing children were hung.

“He wouldn’t have talked to his own school teacher, let alone a stranger,” David Rossi said.

“But his best friend, Carlos Hoffman also went missing with him. They were having a sleepover, so he’d been at Erik’s house,” Emily added.

“And Carlos was the more outgoing of the two, wasn’t he?” you asked.

“Yup,” Tara said, flipping through her notes, “According to the parents, wherever Carlos went Erik was always close behind. So if they encountered a stranger, if Carlos was willing to go, Erik would likely follow.”

“I don’t know about that,” you piped in, “I’ve seen friendships like that in my class. Even if the kid is quiet, if they know something is wrong, they either say something to their friend or they just don’t do it period. I find it hard to believe that Erik would go along with someone he wasn’t comfortable with.”

“Says the one that’s not a profiler,” Spencer mumbled from where he was standing, examining the evidence board.

JJ shot him a look, before returning to the conversation. You pretended not to hear that one and for once, bit your tongue. You wouldn’t accomplish anything by arguing with Spencer at the moment.

“So let’s go back to the top,” Matt said, “Mrs. Yates went to the door and there was someone there either selling something or had an excuse made up for the unsub to guilt trip money out of her. She leaves to get her purse. The kids are in the living room playing. Then suddenly, by the time she gets back, all three are gone.”

“That’s how her story goes,” Luke said, looking through interview notes.

“What about the other children?” you asked, “How were they taken?”

“One was kidnapped at the park, the other at the grocery store,” Spencer answered.

“What if it’s someone familiar with their routines?” you asked.

You weren’t anywhere close to being a profiler, but you knew enough from JJ to sort of get by in this conversation.

“A lot of my kids and their families have strict routines. Usually because it benefits the child and/or they have other children that they keep on a schedule too. Wouldn’t that mean that it’s someone that they know?”

“It could,” Emily said, “But unfortunately that doesn’t narrow down much because the unsub could also just be stalking these families before the kidnapping. The unsub could potentially be a complete stranger to them.”

“Have you asked the parents of the children if they could think of anyone who could do this? Is there anyone that might overlap with these families?” you inquired.

JJ had opened her mouth to answer you, but of course, Spencer had to add his two cents. 

“Are you an idiot? Of course, we did,” Spencer snapped, “That’s always the first thing we do.”

You bristled. Even when working together, he couldn’t be civil. He had the nerve to try and insult you and make you feel stupid, even though all you were trying to do was help.

“I’m not an idiot, Spencer,” you grit out.

“Oh really? You sure do act like one sometimes,” he retorted, writing something on the board.

Your defenses snapped back into place and you were ready to shoot back a remark when JJ interrupted you.

“Hey, hey, you guys. Quit it before I have to send you both into separate corners for timeout. We’re all on the same team here, trying to accomplish the same thing. Let’s just focus.”

“Matt, Dave, JJ, I want you to go and reinterview the parents. Y/N has a point. We need to make absolutely sure there’s no one in these families lives that connect with one another,” Emily ordered.

“Luke, Tara; both of you go to the schools. See if there’s been any strangers lurking around. We can’t rule out a sexual predator just yet, but it would help vastly if we could.”

“Penelope, you and I are going to work on a deep dive of these families.”

Garcia’s face scrunched at Emily’s order; she hated diving into people’s personal lives, but unfortunately it sometimes came with the job.

“We’re going to make sure that these parents aren’t holding back any secrets that could possibly help us.”

Emily turned towards you and Spencer next.

“Spence, I want you to start on a geo profile, see if we can figure out the vicinity of the unsub’s hunting grounds. Maybe we might even be able to find where he’s holding them.”

“On it.”

Spencer was already grabbing a map, spreading it across the round table.

“Y/N, I want you to help him.”

Spencer’s head snapped up.

“Hell no. Emily please-”

She held up her hand.

“I don’t want to hear it. That’s an order. If you disobey, I will put you behind a desk for a month.”

He relented, but you could tell he wasn’t happy about it. Not like you were pleased at all by it either.

“Try not to burn the room down while you’re working,” she instructed, walking out to meet Garcia in her lair.

Once she left, Spencer spun towards you.

“Let’s get one thing clear. You’re not to bother me while I work. You stay out of my way. I don’t need your help, nor do I want it. I can do my work just fine without you. I’ve been doing it for 15 years,” he snapped.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Spencer. Even I can tell when your IQ gets slashed to 60.”

“That’s the best you got, Y/N? I didn’t realize they let bimbos into the FBI. Oh wait...that’s right. I’m the one that’s the actual agent here. What is it you do again?”

“I’m a kindergarten teacher. You know that, you dumbass or else I wouldn’t be here helping you.”

“Oh, guess there’s no sleeping to the top in that field. Although, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Your fists clenched. Spencer made you mad like no other could. Not even JJ could ever make you this mad.

“Just sit down and shut up while the adults work, okay?” he sneered at you.

“I’m not a child!”

You crossed your arms defensively. You weren’t about to let him get in all the insults. Ignoring him never worked, he was too obnoxious. So you just played it like he did, by slinging insults like dodgeballs at him.

“Well if you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like a child!” he threw back.

His eyes were blazing, his cheeks gone pink from his anger. 

“Funny because you act more immature than my kindergartners.”

“WILL YOU TWO CAN IT AND GET TO WORK?!”

You both jumped at the sound of Garcia yelling from the bullpen. She made the motion that she’d be keeping her eyes on you two. You threw one more scowl Spencer’s way before flopping down on the sofa on the other side of the room.

This week was going to last an eternity.

•

Two days passed with no luck on finding an unsub, but they’d managed to put a profile together based on what little they did know.

The entire team was worried and on edge. Of course, that made the situation between you and Spencer even more volatile.

“Are you sure you’re an actual qualified agent? All you do is stand in front of a room full of police or your team and say smart things and gesture with your hands,” you mimicked Spencer, doing exactly what he was just doing earlier while they gave the profile.

“I do not look like that! You look like a baby dinosaur who doesn’t know how to walk,” he jeered.

“Yes, you do. All I’m saying is these civil service exams must be really easy to pass nowadays, huh?” you smirked.

“You know I’d ask if you could really be any more infuriating, but I’m afraid you’d take that as a challenge,” Spencer huffed, “Besides I’m supposed to be “nice” to you, since you’ve been so helpful.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you grinned mischievously, “I’ve been what?”

“I’m just quoting what Emily said. In my opinion you’ve been more like a pain in my ass,” he mumbled, looking through one of the case files.

“Oh sure because without me, would you’ve figured out that the unsub is a woman?”

“Probably. Don’t pat yourself on the back, sweetheart. You’re no match for us real profilers, Y/N.”

“I may not be, but you’ve met your match with me, pretty boy,” the nickname falling from your lips with deep sarcasm, “You can’t help but fight with me. For some reason I get under your skin and frankly, I enjoy it. It’s nice to know you can actually squirm, Spencer Reid.”

His lips pursed and he was about to speak when the phone rang. He answered it, putting it on speaker. Garcia’s excited voice came through it.

“Reid, gather the team. You won’t believe what I’ve found.”

•

“So it turns out, one of our families did have a secret. Although, it was something we weren’t even looking for,” Penelope said.

“What’s that Garcia?” Tara asked.

“The family of the first missing child: Daisy Rowe, had a nanny once. Her name is Kali Dye.”

Garcia hit the remote button to pull up the woman’s picture on the big screen at the front of the room.

“What does she have to do with our case?” Luke asked.

She stared at him, exasperated.

“If I could finish what I was saying, you’d know,” Penelope griped.

“Okay, okay,” Luke chuckled, “Carry on.”

You lived for Luke and Penelope’s playful banter. It was like the complete opposite of you and Spencer. They liked each other at the end of the day—not to mention everyone knew deep down they were definitely attracted to one another. Their banter was flirty. Yours and Spencer’s was anything but.

“As I was saying,” Penelope continued, “Kali was the nanny to the Rowe family back in 2016 when Daisy was only two years old. There was an incident where apparently she turned her back on little Daisy playing in the backyard. Daisy got too near the pool and almost drowned. She was in the hospital for a few days afterwards. The parents were obviously furious. I’m guessing Mrs. Rowe told all her friends about it because according to my research, Kali’s nannying career was basically ruined.”

“So you think this is an act of revenge? Did she nanny for any of the other kids she kidnapped?” Emily asked.

“No, that’s where it gets weird. She seems to have no connection to these other children,” Garcia said.

“Well we know who our unsub most likely is,” JJ said, “But how are we going to find out where she and the kids are?”

“I checked for that. There’s no significant places that she would take them, her old family house isn’t even in the state and besides it’s been sold years ago,” Penelope answered.

Emily’s phone rang as the team continued to throw around ideas of where to find Kali. 

“Prentiss.”

You watched Emily’s face quickly change expressions, from neutral to shock, to worry, back to businesslike.

“Okay, bring her to Quantico. We’ll need to interview her.”

Emily hung up, turning to the team.

“The second child kidnapped, Eden Jenson just showed up at a police station in D.C. She managed to get away and ran for help. We need to interview her, but she hasn’t spoken yet. The chief of the police station is having one of his detectives drive here so we can interview her,” Emily filled the rest of the team in.

“I’ll talk to her. I’m pretty good at getting kids to talk,” Spencer said.

“Actually, I think we should let Y/N do it,” JJ said, looking at Emily.

“What?! She has no experience interviewing a witness, much less a victim!” Spencer exclaimed.

“I worked in art therapy when I was getting my degree as a teacher. I still use some in my class, plus I’m a teacher,” you said defiantly, “I know how to talk to kids.”

“I agree with JJ,” Emily said, “But Spencer, sit in with her just in case you need to intervene.”

You were sure he was going to do plenty of that.

•

An hour later, you and Spencer were sitting in front of a little, terrified Eden. Her—what you assumed were once neat—blonde pigtails were in all types of disarray. Pieces stood up everywhere while other strands came loose, hanging around her face. She was clutching her bunny stuffie, which you figured had been with her when she was kidnapped.

She had refused to talk to anyone, shrinking away frightfully at any imposing adults. You had to restrain yourself from literally pushing Spencer out the door when she shrunk even more into herself when she saw Spencer’s tall frame.

She’d been previously asked if she was hungry or thirsty in which she barely nodded. Now, she sat a bit less rigidly as she ate her Goldfish crackers and sipped on her juice box.

“Eden, my name is Y/N and this is my…friend, Spencer.”

You had to admit, you had a rough time getting that one out. 

“We just want to talk to you, okay?” you said.

The little girl just stared back at you, wide eyed.

“Do you like to color?” you asked.

Still no response.

You pulled out some paper and a pack of crayons from a bin next to the desk. You pushed them across towards her.

“Could you draw something for us?”

It took a moment of Eden staring at the items before she opened the box and picked up a crayon.

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions while you color?”

You didn’t expect an answer, so you weren’t surprised when none came.

“Are you six years old? Six is a fun age. Are you in kindergarten or first grade?”

Eden looked up at you, from underneath her lashes, just briefly, before returning to drawing.

“I’m a kindergarten teacher myself. I’m used to seeing kids your age all the time. It’s spring break though and I miss my kids terribly. Do you miss going to school?”

Spencer shifted in his seat. You knew time was a delicate thing right now, but you were trying to get her to trust you.

“Eden?” 

She looked up again. If she was surprised to hear Spencer speak for the first time, she didn’t show it.

“Could you describe the place you were at?”

Fear flashed in her eyes and she dropped her crayon, hugging tightly to her bunny.

You glared at Spencer.

“Just keep drawing, Eden. Okay? We’ll be right back,” you said, standing up, your hand a death grip on his arm.

Once the two of you had stepped out of the room and the door was closed behind you, you whirled on him.

“How can you be so stupid? I thought you were supposed to be a genius!”

“Y/N, you know we’re running on limited time to find those kids. We don’t know if Kali will hurt them or not!”

“I realize that. I’m trying to make her comfortable enough to talk about it.”

“Avoiding it doesn’t seem to be helping either,” he grimaced, hands on his hips.

“You saw what happened when you brought it up! She was terrified!”

“When dealing with a traumatized child you should tell them information about the situation they were in. It’s best they learn it from a trusted adult. Besides, it’s most likely they want to talk about it, but just don’t know how to bring it up.”

“And how would you know all of this, doctor?”

“Because contrary to your beliefs about me, I actually know how to do my job and how to do it well. I’ve dealt with things like this many times before. 60% of adults report being traumatized in childhood. 26% of children in the United States alone will witness or experience a traumatic event before the age of four.”

You blinked, unable to process so much information at once.

“Are you even human?” 

“Are you?” Spencer shot back, eyes narrowed.

“You know, with all things considered, I’d thought you’d gotten the idea that I really hate you.” you sneered.

“Really? And here I thought that was your version of flirting,” he retaliated, sarcastically.

“Moron,” you muttered under your breath.

“Now, if you’re through calling me names, I’ve got work to do,” he said, reaching behind you for the doorknob.

“Wait,” you grabbed his arm, “Just let me try again first? Please? If I get stuck or need you, I’ll let you know.”

It was some of the most civil words you’d said to him in a long time. But you didn’t want to give up on this little girl. You wanted to help her and prove to Spencer and yourself if you were being honest, that you could do it.

He must’ve noticed your serious tone and pleading eyes because he relented. He nodded and you turned to go back in.

Eden was waiting for you when you returned, back to clutching her bunny.

“Don’t you want to finish your picture?” you asked, sitting down in front of her.

She pushed it across to you.

“Oh are you done?”

She nodded.

You picked up the picture, noticing four stick figures. Two seemed to be girls, two seemed to be boys. They looked like they could represent all four missing kids.

“Are these you and your friends?” you asked gently.

She didn’t say anything for a beat, then came a soft, timid voice.

“They aren’t my friends...at least not until a few days ago.”

“My friends here, they found out that you didn’t know these other three children. Is that right?”

Eden nodded again.

“Do you know the woman who took you?”

“No,” she said, equally as quiet as before.

“You’re doing a great job, Eden,” you smiled at her, hoping to encourage her, “Just a few more questions, okay?”

Another nod.

“Can you describe where you were?”

“I...I don’t know,” her voice trembled, as if she were going to cry.

You heard the door open up behind you and you turned to see Spencer. He gave you a terse shake of his head, as if telling you now was not the time to snap at him.

“Eden?” Spencer came around to her side and crouched by her, “You remember me, right? I’m Spencer.”

She nodded hesitantly.

“I want to try to help you help Miss Y/N here. To tell her what the place looked like that you were at.”

“But I don’t remember,” Eden said, frowning.

“I think you do. You know how when you’re afraid, you hide?” Spencer asked gently.

Eden nodded her answer.

“Well, that’s kinda what your brain is doing. It’s scared, so you think you can’t remember. What I want to do is have you to close your eyes and think back to before you were taken.”

“No, I’m scared,” Eden whimpered, hugging the stuffie.

“It’ll be okay. I’m right here,” he offered her his hand, which she took reluctantly, “I’ll be right here the entire time. If things get too scary, just squeeze my hand and we can stop. Alright?”

“Alright.”

She closed her eyes, listening to Spencer’s voice.

You were amazed at how soft and gentle he was with her. It was like seeing all of his razor sharp edges he displayed around you, smoothed out. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever heard him like this.

“Just focus on the sound of my voice,” Spencer whispered, “You were playing at the park. What were you doing?”

“Playing on the swing with my bunny,” she said.

“Okay, that’s good Eden, you’re doing wonderful. What do you hear?”

“Lots of kids playing. They’re very loud.”

“What happens next?”

“There’s a lady behind me. She asks if I would like to play in the sandbox with her. I told her yes but I didn’t want to get bunny dirty.”

Eden is trembling now and you eye Spencer warily. He holds his free hand up and you don’t say anything, just yet.

“Very good Eden. Did you go play in the sandbox?”

“No. She took my hand and led me away from the swings. I asked her where she’s going because the sandbox was the other way.”

“Do you want to stop, Eden?” Spencer asked.

“N-No. I a big girl like mommy always says.”

“Okay. What happened then, sweetheart?”

“She grabbed me and put her hand over my mouth. I tried screaming for my mommy, but I couldn’t. She took me to a car.”

“Can you remember what the car looked like?”

“Um, blue. It was blue. It had a lot of doors. It was long too.”

Spencer looked like he realized what she was describing.

“Did the middle door slide open and closed?”

She nodded, her eyes still closed.

“It was big inside with lots of seats. That’s all I saw before she covered my eyes.”

It sounded like an SUV or family van.

“When you were in the car, did you ride for a really long time? Or a short time?”

“A short time.”

You jotted the note down.

“One last question honey. Do you remember anything about the room you were in? What did it look like?”

“Like...like my bedroom. Only much dirtier. And old looking. There’s...there’s flowers on the wall. There’s a lot of toys, but I don’t want to play. I want to go home. Me and my friends are so scared. She’s coming back, she's coming back!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m right here.”

Eden’s eyes snapped open and he enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly as she trembled.

She didn’t let go of him until her parents arrived.

•

After kicking the information over to Garcia and her being the goddess she is at finding even the most hidden information, she found the house.

The team had found her car, registered to Kali, but with a false last name. From there, Garcia looked for any run down buildings or homes for rent within 10 to 15 minutes of that park. The team agreed that Kali wouldn’t have bought a house for the simple reason of too much work. She didn’t seem to be that dedicated to a well thought out plan. That was when Garcia discovered an old house rented under the name of Kali Rowe, the same last name of the family she had been a nanny for.

You stayed behind while the team went out to rescue the children and hopefully bring Kali Dye into custody. 

They did.

All four kids were now safely reunited with their parents and Kali had been arrested and hopefully was going to get the help she needed.

Since you hadn’t been there, JJ had filled you in afterwards when everybody had gotten back. You were sitting next to one another in the briefing room, talking, while everything settled down. 

Kali Dye had been so distraught over the loss and destruction of her nannying career. Apparently at one point, she had been a wonderful nanny. What had happened with Daisy, truly was an accident. Whether she had had a mental breakdown or suffered from an unknown or untreated mental illness beforehand, they didn’t know. But she soon became desperate to prove she was a good nanny.

She kidnapped Daisy first, to prove her point. Then three other children that she’d followed, learning their schedules. 

She had taken good care of them, at least in her mind. In reality, she hadn’t hurt them or touched them one bit. She fed them, gave them all attention and all the toys they wanted, to play with.

It was a sad situation, really. But you were glad that the families had a happy ending and their children were back safely in their homes tonight.

“You did good little sis,” JJ smiled, “Keep it up and you may just have to think about switching careers.”

“No thanks,” you chuckled, “I’m happy teaching kids, not seeing them in life threatening situations. I don’t have the heart for that.”

“Spence said you did really well getting Eden to open up,” she said.

“I’m surprised he actually knows how to compliment a person, let alone me,” you scoffed.

“Y/N. Come on. What’s your deal with him? This has been going on for years now.”

“I don’t know. I just can’t stand him.”

“That’s a cop out and you know it,” JJ said, “He’s a good guy. Besides, you used to have a crush on him when you were younger.”

“Ew, did I?” 

You wrinkled your nose, trying to remember. JJ had joined the BAU when you were only 14. A lot had happened in high school, let alone the 15 years since she’d first joined. You didn’t visit her very often because of school and all of your other extracurricular activities, so you hadn’t met the team until about a year after she started.

“You don’t mean the summer after my freshman year, do you?” you asked, “Cause back then he was a cute little dweeb and it lasted like two seconds anyway. I had a case of raging hormones to the point I had a crush on just about anything male with two legs.”

You rolled your eyes, disgusted at the fact she’d even think that you’d have a crush on Spencer. Although deep down, deep, deep, deep down, a little part of you knew that she’d hit the nail on the head.

“Why do you hate him though? He’s my best friend. I love him and I want you two to get along.”

You snorted.

“Yeah, I know you love him. Remember, you told me that you told him that you’ve always loved him? That he was your first love?”

You bit your lip, trying hard to keep the jealous edge out of your tone. This is what you’d tried hard to avoid all these years. You hated that you felt like this but you’d been covering up your true feelings for him and the situation, with anger all these years. If you kept yourself at a distance, you were less likely to get hurt.

How wrong you were.

“Is that what this is about? Because I told Spence I loved him?”

“No.”

Maybe.

“Y/N.”

She gave you the same look that your mother had given you in the elevator just days before.

“Jeez, you’ve got mom’s “look” down pat,” you mumbled.

“Please tell me the truth. Is my confession why you hate him?”

Her eyes pleaded with you and you couldn’t help but cave. She was your sister and your best friend and you knew she cared.

“No. I don’t know, maybe partially. But I disliked him way before that anyway. He’s just a know-it-all smartass, that annoys the shit out of me and is just like every other guy to fall head over heels in love with Jennifer Jareau.”

You grimaced, “For a guy that has an IQ of 187, he sure doesn’t know how to be different from other guys.”

“Okay hold up,” JJ held up her hands, “First of all, he is not head over heels in love with me.”

“JJ, please. You’re not an idiot.”

“I’m serious. He may have been once, but he’s not anymore. We’re best friends and that’s it. Besides, we worked out that mess over a year ago. He’s even dated since then.”

“The kid actually dates? I’m shocked,” you said, putting a hand on your chest in mock surprise.

JJ ignored your antics, continuing on.

“Second. He’s actually a really great guy, Y/N. He’s a real sweetheart, really. It’s just a side of him that you don’t see.”

“Yeah like the dark side of the moon,” you muttered.

“Just give him a chance and try to be nice? You know what mom always said. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Besides, if you want to go for him, that’s fine.”

You laughed outright at that. As if that would happen.

“On that note, I think I’m gonna head back to your place,” you said standing.

“I have to stay a little later to finish up some work. Can you get home okay on your own?”

You assured her you could and you grabbed your purse. 

“Y/N?” she called, as you were about to the glass doors.

“Yeah?” 

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

•

If you thought you were gonna get a reprieve after that uncomfortable conversation, you were sorely mistaken.

The moment you stepped out of the BAU, you saw Spencer standing, waiting for the elevator, his hands clutching the strap of his tan satchel as he waited.

“Ah, there she is. The woman who saved the day,” he quipped sarcastically.

“Fuck off Reid. I’m not in the mood.”

“You know, I’m actually shocked that you’re good at something besides bitching.”

You ignored him, your teeth clenching.

“I’m surprised you held your tongue as long as you did earlier. Bet that’s a record for you.”

The elevator doors opened and you got on without a word, Spencer following you.

“What? No comebacks? Amazing. Has Spencer Reid actually won for once?”

You whirled on him, dropping your purse to the elevator floor in the process.

“No because you’re full of shit. You’re the most annoying, stubborn ass, infuriating, egocentric, smart aleck in a fancy suit I’ve ever met!”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened. He pulled his satchel over his head, dropping it too, to the floor. He pushed the emergency button of the elevator with such anger, it was amazing that he didn’t break it. The elevator suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” you screeched.

Your body was thrumming with anger. You could and likely would pummel him at any second.

“You’re not leaving this elevator until you tell me what the fuck your problem is,” Spencer glared.

“My problem?” you huffed.

“Yes because I have to deal with you jumping down my throat every single time I see you. You’re the most stuck up, spoiled, self centered, bitchy little brat I’ve had to deal with!”

“Ha! You sure you’re not talking about yourself?”

“You know what I think your problem is?” he challenged.

“Go ahead, try me. I’d love to hear.”

“I think, you don’t know how to deal with how you’re really feeling. So you hide it under anger. You lash out every time your feelings threaten to surface. It’s become a defense mechanism. It’s all you know. You fight with me because it’s the only way to protect yourself; you throw words as your daggers. Simply because you can’t get me out of your mind. I push you to limits you don’t want to think about. You may swear and declare that you hate me but in reality, you’d be thrilled if I took you right up against this elevator wall.”

His voice grew deeper with every word that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Are you profiling me? Cause that’s one hell of a reach.”

“Is it though? You wanna know how I figure that? You told me the other day that I met my match. That I can’t help but fight with you because you get under my skin. Well you were right. I do enjoy it and I think you do too. Because it turns you on. It does the same thing to me. You get under my skin yet at the same time all I can think about is how I want to fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”

“You think I’m gonna fall for that shit from just another guy who’s crazy about JJ?” you sneered.

For the first time, he actually looked just the tiniest bit surprised.

“You think I have feelings for JJ? If I had feelings for her, do you honestly think I’d spend all my time and attention on you?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“JJ isn’t the one that occupies my brain, no matter what I try to do, Y/N,” he said through gritted teeth.

His face was mere inches away from yours now. Close enough to see an array of scattered freckles on his face. A few under one eye, a tiny one on the side of his nose, one on his forehead.

His stubble had gotten heavier in the last few days, becoming more scruff than stubble. His lips were naturally plump, an asset that would be the envy of any woman. They were also a natural shade of dark pink, maybe even leaning towards red. 

Anger heated his eyes. Or was it desire? You wondered if you looked the same way. Right now, they looked more green in the brighter light in the elevator, but you could still see rings of brown around the edges of his eyes. They were also filled with mischief as if he were up for a challenge.

“You really think you’re going to distract me by putting your tongue in my mouth and getting my panties wet?” you hissed.

“Is that what you want?” 

A smirk formed on his lips. He was definitely challenging you.

Your legs were trembling now. Although if you were to admit it, you weren’t entirely sure if it was from anger or arousal.

You pressed your lips together, refusing to say anything, almost afraid what would come out of your mouth. He had you cornered up against the wall now.

“Maybe I should just find out for myself,” he said, propping his hands on either side of the wall by your head, “Make you moan in my mouth while I finger you.”

The anger that was coursing your veins earlier had definitely now turned into desire. Your stomach churned with it. You could feel his body mere inches from yours and the heat from it was making your entire body temperature feel that much higher.

“It’s not like I haven’t imagined making you moan my name,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, his tongue moving out over his lips in a quick swipe.

Your breathing had become shallow and you were throbbing with need. Before you could think of what you were doing, you were already unbuttoning your jeans.

“For once in your life I wish you’d shut up and just do it,” you grunted.

He grabbed your face roughly with both hands, his lips colliding with yours. They were hot and rough against yours, this kiss so hungry and animalistic that it was unreal.

His body was pressed against yours as he pressed you against the cool, metal wall. You could feel his arousal pressed against your thigh and you unwittingly moaned into his mouth. You had a difficult time wrapping your head around the fact that you’d gotten him so hard.

Then again, you were having a hard time wrapping your mind around anything that didn’t involve him.

His tongue moved with yours, ironically increasing your desire, making you wetter. Just like you’d voiced earlier. Damn, the guy sure knew what he was doing.

He pulled your jeans roughly down your legs until they were enough out of the way that he was satisfied. His lips attacked your jaw, then neck, being anything but gentle, but it was working you up more than anything.

Your hands gripped his arms, your teeth bearing down into your bottom lip, resisting the urge to give in to what he wanted: hearing you moan.

He pulled away from you making you suddenly desperate for his lips on your skin again. He pried your hands away from him and held them against the wall, his hips pressing into yours.

His suit pants were a lot thinner than your jeans, so you could feel his erection pressing into you, dangerously close to your throbbing core where all of a sudden, you wanted him the most.

Spencer’s fingers ghosted over the fabric of your underwear, causing you to inhale sharply. It felt good and you wanted more.

You reached for his hand, trying to push it against your core, but he pulled it away, shaking his head.

“No. This is all you’re getting until you admit it.”

His finger trailed up the center of your panties, having just enough pressure to slightly feel his touch. You groaned at his teasing. If your past years of banter had been foreplay then you were more than ready for him to have you.

“Admit what?”

“That you want this,” Spencer stated simply.

His fingertip swirled lightly over the fabric, just above your clit. Light enough that you didn’t get any real friction from the touch and you bucked your hips, desperate to feel it.

“I think it’s fucking obvious,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”

His smirk was wolfish. You knew he wasn’t going to give in unless you did what he said.

“I want this,” you groaned.

“What’s that?” he tipped his head to the side, “Can’t hear you.”

“I want this,” you said, a notch louder, gripping his wrist.

“This?”

His fingers dipped into your underwear and his thumb pressed hard against your clit.

“Ah, fuck yes,” you moaned.

He grinned, his finger dipping into your wet warmth.

“Seems like my tongue in your mouth did indeed make you wet,” he chuckled lowly, pulling your underwear off with his other hand.

His fingers teased you as you writhed and moaned, clawing at the elevator wall behind you. He had this amazing way of rubbing his knuckles against your walls as his fingers pumped in and out of you.

“Holy shit, fuck Spencer,” you whined.

You were so turned on, you hardly had any recognition of what was tumbling out of your mouth. It sure seemed to please Spencer, though.

He kept you on your toes though, slowing his fingers just when you thought you were reaching the brink of your orgasm, twisting them so gradually, it was almost painfully pleasant. You swore your eyes almost rolled back in your head when his fingers curled inward in his direction, catching that sweet spot at just the right angle.

He was kissing you as you moaned appreciatively in his mouth. His hands were quite literally magical.

His fingers finally sped up, his thumb focusing all its attention on your clit. You could feel your release quickly approaching and you were ready to succumb to it. You wanted Spencer Reid to make you cum so hard you’d be begging for more.

He did just that.

Your high hit you as you released on his fingers. Your eyes screwed shut, your head banging against the wall. You actually think you stopped breathing for a short second before air rushed back into your lungs and you released a long moan.

“Oh my god, Spencer,” you groaned, reaching for the waistband of his pants.

He’d given you one hell of an orgasm and here you were, ready to beg for more. Especially if they came while he was buried to the hilt inside you.

“That was hot as hell,” he muttered, kissing you again, “It’s sexy seeing you spend all your energy on an orgasm instead of yelling at me. It’s healthier for your body, too.”

He smirked, his teeth pulling on your lower lip gently before pulling away. His hands were working with yours to push his pants down and his boxers too.

“Are you willing to admit you want me to fuck you against this wall now?” he growled.

“Yes, yes. Fuck yes, please.”

Man, if he wanted you to be his bitch ages ago, he probably should’ve just fucked you. One orgasm at his hands and you had turned into a writhing, begging and moaning heap.

But still, you couldn’t help but wonder if he could make you feel so good with his hands, that it would most likely be ten times as amazing with his dick.

He lifted you up, holding you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he pushed into you. You felt yourself stretching in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time and you couldn’t hold it back; a long, low moan of gratification left your lips.You hated to admit it, but he felt fucking fantastic inside of you.

By his own confirming groan, you could tell he felt the same way as you. At the back of your mind you couldn’t help but wonder why this hadn’t happened years ago. 

His hips rocked against yours, slowly at first as his mouth found yours. He was as ravenous for you as you were for him. 

Your fingers dug into his back as his thrusts became faster and harder. He was quite literally fucking you into this metal wall and you were loving every second of it.

Your emitted moans were coming every few seconds with every slap of your skin against his. His own grunts and groans came from deep in his throat, making you even hotter.

“S-Spencer,” you stuttered, pulling his face back to yours.

You have him a brief kiss before smirking up at him.

“I’m the spoiled little brat that’s got you moaning like a little bitch,” you panted.

Your words made him groan as he gripped your sides. He must have excellent control because he managed to get a hold of himself, slowing his hips to where he was tantalizingly pulling out of you and pushing back in.

“Still hate me, Y/N?”

“Right now, yes,” you groaned, trying to pull him deeper within you, wanting the previous speed and depth back.

“Now?”

“Ye- ahhh,” a breathy moan came from you as he resumed his harsher and faster thrusts.

“I don’t hate you,” you groaned, lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

Maybe voiced thoughts during sex were the truth because you actually didn’t hate him. Especially right now.

“Fuck, Y/N, yes baby,” he groaned.

He was close to his peak, you could tell. His fingers were on your clit, circling furiously. He was going to make sure you got your orgasm, before he got his. Who knew he was actually so decent?

Your whimpers, moans and groans were rising in pitch. You halfway hoped no one could hear, but at the same time didn’t care. Let the whole building hear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Spencer, I’m coming, I’m-”

With that, the coil of pleasure that had been building up snapped like a broken rubber band, shooting through your entire body. 

You may have screeched too, you’re not entirely sure. You were completely lost to the bliss of your orgasm and even more so when he came apart not long after you. If you had thought he was attractive before, he was a hundred times more sexy when he was orgasming above you, all caused by you.

Your movements slowed, your chests both heaving. He held onto you carefully, as if he was afraid to set you down just yet. Probably a good idea considering you felt like you’d lost all function in your legs.

You laughed incredulously, unable to believe what had just happened. That had simultaneously been the craziest yet hottest thing you’d ever done.

Spencer’s smirk was replaced with a more shy, happy smile. It was a better look than the scowl he’d worn for you for so long.

It was like the moment that first orgasm hit you, all the anger, all the hatred, all the negative feelings you’d felt towards him drained from your body. You didn’t have the willpower or the desire to hate him anymore. Not that you ever really had.

“I meant what I said,” you said quietly.

“What’s that? You said a lot of things,” he chuckled.

“That I don’t hate you.”

He took a few moments in silence, parting from you and gently setting your feet on the floor again. He took his time getting decent again, as well. You worried at your bottom lip as you did the same, nervous that you’d said the wrong thing.

“So I was right? About the defensive mechanism and everything?”

“Yeah,” you nodded somberly, “I horribly misjudged you; thinking you were stuck up, full of yourself, better than anyone else, the kind of guy that was like all the others and in love with my sister.”

“If anything, I would think what just happened would prove more than anything that my sights are set on you.”

He had a point.

“Why did you hate me though?”

“I was thrown off by your reaction to me. I thought you were a self entitled, spoiled brat and that you thought you were better than me. Seems like we both vastly misjudged one another.”

“It’s kinda a good thing though,” you said.

Spencer looked at you, baffled.

“It is?”

“Well yeah, cause if none of that happened then that wouldn’t have happened either,” you gestured to the place where moments before the two of you had been a tangle of limbs.

“Good point,” he chuckled.

“Uh, Spencer?”

“Hmm?” he looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“You might want to get the elevator moving again.”

“Oh! Right.”

He laughed, hitting the emergency button to restart the elevator.

“I apologize for giving you so much grief though. I’d do anything to make it up to you,” you said.

“How about letting me take you out then? You’re still here for a few more days, aren’t you?” he asked.

You smiled.

“I think I can make all the time in my schedule for you, Spencer.”

His answering smile was enough to make you smile in return.

Oddly enough, the elevator had gone down and back up without stopping, returning to the floor the BAU was on.

“That’s weird,” Spencer mumbled.

The doors parted to JJ waiting to get on.

“Hey, what are you guys still doing here? I thought you left an hour ago.”

Huh, so it’d been an hour. 

She got on the elevator, standing between the two of you.

“Elevator issues,” Spencer answered, before you could think of what to say.

“So you’ve been stuck in the elevator together this entire time?” JJ asked.

“Yup,” you answered.

“I guess it’s a miracle you two didn’t tear each other apart then,” she muttered, hitting the button for the ground floor.

Yeah, there might’ve been some tearing involved.

Behind her back, you and Spencer shared a secret smile.

TAG LIST: @dreatine @reid-187 @groovyreid @reidslibra @suvikamahes98blr @fuckthealarm @whatspunispun @iamburdened @cindywayne @thomasfoockinshelby @tinyminy88 @theitcaramelchick @missprettyboy @hushlilbabydoll @sammy-jo1977 @theonlyone-meeeee @haileymorelikestupid @lemonypink @multifandommandy @teamkiall @redbullchick @ifeelloved @one-sweet-gubler @nanocoool @delightfullyspeedyearthquake @unsteadyimagines @ughitsbaby @inkwiet @pennythetechgoddess @capt-engr-ssa @sixx-sic-sixx @spencersdolore @reidsstudies @disney-dreams-world @chocolatecalzoneherringbonk @mggwhore @andiebeaword @cupcake525 @be-the-bravest @gretaamyk @likelovers @hopebaker​

[ot7always]

Yes, Sir

Word Count: 4.1k

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers AU, smut, fluff

Warnings: dom!Yoongi, sub!Reader, sir kink, degradation, choking, hair pulling, spanking (hand and belt), dirty talk, unprotected sex, overstimulation, spit kink, squirting, aftercare

Rating: 18+

Summary:  After being promoted to head of another department, you thought your days of needing to deal with Yoongi were over. As it turns out, you were wrong. He still loves to hold his experience over your head, despite no longer being your boss. Let’s just say, after all the times he’s had your blood pressure through the roof, you really did not expect to end up back under him.

A/N: This fic was commissioned by the lovely @meowxyoong for @ficswithluv’s ChangesWithLuv project to raise money for the Black Lives Matter movement, as well as other movements supporting the Black community. Please check it out if you haven’t already! I hope it lives up to your expectations!

Lastly, huge thank you to @wwilloww who beta-read this for me yesterday and gave me tons of useful feedback!! Also tagging @dee-ehn so we can thirst together.

Masterlist

--

Yoongi, head of Marketing. You, head of Sales.

It’s almost like Romeo and Juliet.

Fitting, because you really wanted nothing more than to throttle him.

That’s how the story goes, right?

--

Min Yoongi had to be the devil incarnate. There was no other explanation for the emotional turmoil he put you through each day. While he’d never been outright mean to you, the perceptive asshole knew exactly what to say to push your buttons, despite having no recollection of ever deserving such a thing. It was torture.

You’d worked closely with him for three years before getting promoted, moving from Marketing to Sales. At first, you enjoyed his presence. He mentored you kindly yet sternly, and who wouldn’t want to be mentored by someone who looked like that? But you should have known it was too good to be true. It only took months before he became a constant thorn in your side.

--

Summoned into his office towards the end of the workday, you shut the door behind you as you moved to stand in front of his desk, hands clasped at your front. You eyed your boss, glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through the analysis you’d submitted that morning. You’d worked hard on it for weeks, determined to set yourself apart from your peers. You were confident that it showed in the completed product.

“Sir?” you called out to him after he failed to raise his eyes from the sheets.

“A little long, don’t you think?” he drawled without looking up. You couldn’t tell whether he was unhappy with that fact.

“I was just trying to be thorough, sir…” your voice trailed off, suddenly insecure about the very thing you were so confident about only hours ago.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were trying to impress me,” he smirked, dark eyes finally meeting your gaze. You balked at the statement, unsure if your blood was boiling out of embarrassment or vexation.

“Just doing my job, sir,” you stated, voice clipped. Why were you here? Just so he could tease you? If you weren’t trying to keep a favourable relationship with the higher-ups you would question him about his professionalism.

He continued staring at you for what felt like a lifetime. You shifted on your feet, face hot but determined not to be the first to look away.

Finally ending this strange pseudo-staredown, Yoongi flipped your report shut and placed it in the corner of his desk. The prolonged silence had you feeling a bit dazed.

“It’s good. Thank you. You can go,” he declared abruptly, spinning around on his chair, effectively cutting short any response you may have had.

Brows furrowing in indignation, you spun around on your heel and made your way out of his office, forgoing any attempt to shut the door quietly.

Asshole.

--

Sitting at your desk after a long day of meetings, you yearned for nothing more than a long, hot shower. Things at work had been crazy lately, the company organizing a large collaborative ad campaign that had you working extra hours everyday. It was extra exhausting considering you always had to sit through senior staff meetings with Yoongi, who loved to ask you questions he already had the answers to as if to trip you up.

Quickly organizing your desk before you planned to leave for the night, loose sheets scattering around had you sighing lightly to yourself. Stapler, stapler, stapler…

No stapler.

Are you serious? You swore you literally saw it on your desk this morning –

Yoongi. That bastard always loved to take your stuff, seemingly enjoying the chase of having you hunt him down and demand he return it to you. Well, you really weren’t in the mood for that today. You’d already been in the office for 10 hours, and you really just wanted to go home. Mouth set in a firm line, you set out to march your way straight into his office, only down the hall from your own.

Bursting into the room, you were startled to see him still sitting at his desk, typing away at something furiously despite your interruption.

“Yes?” he inquired, amusement lacing his tone as he raised a brow at you. He pissed you off, but did he have to look so good doing it?

“You know what I want,” you said bitterly, eyes lighting with barely-concealed anger as you spotted your stapler on his desk. Quickly stepping up to grab it, you were taken aback when his hand reached out to halt your motion, fingers gripping around your wrist.

“Excuse me,” you huffed, appalled at his actions. Sure, he loved to tease you, but he didn’t usually opt to touch you like this. Reaching forward to snatch it with your other hand, your fury grew exponentially as he grasped your other wrist too.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you snapped, irritation crystal clear in your voice. Glancing up to meet his gaze, what you saw there was dark, staring into you with unparalleled intensity. That look accompanied by the fact that your wrists were still in his grasp had your breath quickening slightly, butterflies churning in your stomach. You tried to pull away, but he must be stronger than he looks because you couldn’t move an inch.

“Sweetheart,” he pouted, but the hardness in his gaze made it evident that it was definitely for show. “I miss the days when you treated me with a lot more respect.”

Confusion washed over you then. Since when did you not treat him with respect? Sure, you could be a bit brusque, but you couldn’t recall any time where you spoke to him any worse than he spoke to you. Frowning, you opened your mouth to question his statement, but he continued before you could speak.

“’Yes sir,’ ‘no sir,’ ‘yes please.’ You were so adorable back then,” he reminisced, head tipping back to look at the ceiling. “I think about it a lot.” He returned his vision to your face, reading you as he begun stroking the soft skin of your wrists with his thumbs. “You were such a good girl for me before,” he murmured lowly, eyes full of hunger.

Your eyes widened in shock. Surely you misheard. He couldn’t be stood here telling you he fantasized about you, right? …Right? Your heart felt like it was about to leap out of your throat. You couldn’t deny that you’d done the same once or twice… or more… but that was just your horny brain talking. Not your rational one.

“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he implored, an ounce of insecurity somewhere deep in his voice. You didn’t know what to say. How were you meant to process something like this? This is definitely not how you planned for this encounter to go, and you simply stared at him, disbelief colouring your features. You dropped your gaze to his hands still clasped onto you. Yes, you wanted him, but how would this affect your professional relationship? How could you sit through meetings next to him if all you could think about was him inside you?

Taking your silence as answer, he dropped your hands and backed away as if he had been burned. “Sorry, I thought – I just,” he stuttered out, nervousness and shame evident despite his previous actions. “Sorry, I don’t know what possessed me-”

“Yes,” you blurted out, unthinking, bending forward over his desk to grip at his hands. Curse your horny brain. “I do want it,” you pleaded, searching his eyes for the desire that was present only moments ago. As if a switch was flipped, his expression became ice cold. Yanking you forward by your arms, you gave a surprised yelp as he pulled you as close to him as possible, your hipbones digging painfully into the edge of his desk.

“What was that?” he growled, the animalistic sound sending a wave of arousal through you. You gritted your teeth, determined not to give into him so easily. Not a patient man today, Yoongi’s right hand whipped out to place itself at your neck. At its presence you let out a low moan, leaning your head back to bare your throat to him.

“Thought about this, have you?” he chuckled darkly, thumb stroking up your jaw. You shuddered at the touch, teeth biting into your bottom lip in anticipation.

“I may have,” you mumbled, desire replacing any shame you might have felt at admitting your fantasies. At your words, the grip at either side of your throat tightened, squeezing just enough that you struggled to take in air. The brutal action sent a new rush of wetness to your panties, but you continued to hold his stare.

“You know what I want,” he taunted, mockingly using the exact words you’d so assuredly said to him earlier. His hand tightened its hold slightly, your eyes fluttering shut as you attempted to hold back a moan at the situation you’d gotten yourself into. You could not, however, say you weren’t enjoying it. Realizing there was no way he would let up on you, a minute later you finally relented, desperate for his touch elsewhere.

“I want it, sir,” you gasped out, struggling to catch yourself on the desk as he suddenly released you. Bent almost 90-degrees over his desk, you worked to catch your breath, papers and other supplies digging into your chest. Glancing up, you found Yoongi smirking down at you, hands in his pockets as his eyes swept over the sight of you prone across his workspace.

“Stay just like that, princess,” he uttered lowly, your walls clenching around nothing at the name. He circled around to the other side of the desk until he was no longer visible, standing somewhere behind you. About to stand up so that you could see him properly, your breath huffed out of you in surprise when a hand harshly shoved your chest back into his desk. Your struggle against his strength was fruitless.

He used his other hand to yank your skirt up over your ass, exposing the lacy tops of your stockings and your black thong. Part of you was grateful at the dark colour, hoping the arousal already pooled there wasn’t visible to him behind you. He groaned at the sight.

“You mean to tell me you come to work dressed like this and don’t expect to be fucked like a filthy whore?” he jeered, hand tracing over the curve of your ass. You shivered at the touch, pushing back into it ever-so-slightly. The unexpected harsh sting of that same hand delivering a cruel blow to your left asscheek had you quivering.

“Such a bad girl,” he tutted, rubbing at where he had hit you before delivering an even harder smack to your other asscheek. The sensation burned, but the fire of your heat only grew with each passing moment. Hitting you again and again, your mind became unable to focus on anything besides his actions, moaning out as his next hit was dealt closer to your thigh, the ache heavy but so, so good.

“Say it,” he ordered, tone leaving no room for argument. Though, it felt as though with every blow your ability to argue left you, slowly but surely. Seems like your rational brain left for the night, you thought. Obviously unhappy that your focus was no longer on him, his ruthless hand made contact with your cunt  instead, tears springing to your eyes.

“I won’t ask you again,” he cautioned, and it was at that point you decided to throw your pride away. As you’d already said, you wanted this, and like hell if you were going to ruin it now.

“I’m a bad girl, sir,” you whispered, but thankfully it seemed that was enough to appease him.

“And bad girls get punished, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed out, face hot. Despite your embarrassment, you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on. Your panties were pulled down to your thighs, and you resisted the urge to try to hide.

At the sight of your folds glistening with arousal, Yoongi let out a moan as he roughly dragged his thumb across you, spreading the wetness. The touch had you moaning out, desperate to press back into him if not for the hand holding you down.

“This needy little cunt is sopping already. You like it rough, don’t you?” he goaded before abruptly sticking his thumb inside you. You whined at the contact, walls gripping at his finger, wanting more of him to fill you up.

“Please, sir…” you begged, moaning wantonly at his slow, unsatisfying movements.

“What was that?” he chuckled, removing his thumb to replace it with two of his fingers, scissoring apart and thrusting roughly.

“Fuck me,” you pleaded, overcome by pleasure, needing so badly to be stretched by a cock instead of his hands. When he pulled away from you entirely, you whined out.

“Such a needy little slut, aren’t you?” he sneered, “You haven’t even gotten your punishment yet and you think you deserve to get fucked?” He unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of his pants and doubling it within his grasp. You jumped at the feeling of the cool leather stroking your ass gently, swatting lightly as if to test the motion.

“This is for every time you’ve ever talked back to me. Every time you’ve turned me on with your tight ass blouses and tiny skirts. You drive me absolutely insane,” he barbed, “Five on each side and you’ll get rewarded. ‘Red’ if you need to stop, ‘yellow’ if you need me to ease up. Repeat it back to me.”

“Red to stop, yellow to ease up,” you panted, squeaking when a hand came down on your ass.

“Sorry, I don’t know who you’re speaking to,” he berated, part of you cursing your slip-up after doing well for so long.

“I – Sorry, sir,” you stammered, eager to please him so that you could get what came next. At your words, the belt came down on your left asscheek, and though the force behind it was weak, it was the loud noise of leather on skin that startled you. After giving you another of the same intensity, you almost thought he was going soft on you. Boy, were you wrong.

Satisfied with your reactions thus far, the belt came down harder, reaching the same strength as Yoongi’s hand earlier. Compared to his palms, though, the impact of the belt felt so much deeper, the pain radiating from the hit leaving you trembling. Two smacks of the belt hit you mercilessly in quick succession, causing you to cry out, only remaining standing thanks to the desk supporting your upper body. Your ass felt like it was on fire, but you could feel your arousal running along your inner thighs. You were sure if he thrust into you right now you would be more than ready to take him.

When he hit you again in the same spot even harder than before, tears sprung to your eyes. Your breath was coming out in pants, but you knew this would all be worth it in the end. Another two hits on the opposite cheek had you choking out a moan. You went limp, body instinctively wanting to curl away from the source of pain but the edge of the desk digging into your hips reminded you that such a thing wasn’t possible in your position.

“One more. Can you take it?” he inquired, taking in the shaking of your body and your loud gasps for air. One more. Despite the overwhelming sensation of pain radiating through you, you knew you could do it. You knew you wanted nothing more than the pleasure that followed. You nodded frantically.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped out, bracing yourself for a hit that never came. You burrowed your brow. Several more seconds passed, and you wondered whether he changed his mind. You should have known he was too cruel for that.

Just as you had let your guard down, the hit came, hard and unpitying. You let out a squeak, breath catching in your throat. Relief at your punishment being over quickly made its way to anticipation at the sound of the belt hitting the floor.

“You took it so well,” he cooed, “Are you gonna be a good little whore for me and take my cock too?” You moaned at his words, whimpering when you felt three fingers enter your dripping hole.

“I was gonna take the time to stretch you out, but it seems like this needy little cunt is ready for me already,” he snickered before removing his fingers. He sunk other hand into your hair, harshly yanking your head up and shoving his fingers into your mouth when you gasped. You sucked on what you could as he pressed his fingers as far as was possible, smirking when you gagged around him.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight…” he said wistfully, “Maybe next time I’ll stuff this pretty mouth.”

Removing his hand from you, he moved to unzip his pants, pulling them down just enough to remove his cock, slicking himself against your folds. When he started pushing into you slowly, you wanted so badly to thrust yourself back on him, but a firm hand held you down at the hips. His painfully slow pace had you whimpering for more.

“Please, sir, I need it,” you cried, desperate for the friction of him inside you. You couldn’t feel shame anymore, could only feel him fucking you, but you needed more.

“Your little cunt wants to be pounded, huh?” he growled, suddenly shoving himself all the way inside and starting up a brutal pace. “Just remember you asked for it even though I tried to ease you into it,” he said, punctuating his words with cruel, deep thrusts that left you reeling. His roughness left your mind blank, and you swore you could feel him in your stomach. All you could do was lay there open-mouthed, small moans and whines making their way freely from your mouth.

“You don’t seem to be talking back now, do you? I’m going to fuck you so dumb you won’t be able to say anything, you little whore.” True to his words, you couldn’t even form a coherent thought as he was pounding into you, your walls clenching around him as cries left your lips.

Suddenly, hands pulled you up so that your back moulded against his chest, one hand holding you up at the waist, the other wrapped around your throat. He squeezed in time with every thrust of his hips, and you felt utterly boneless in his grasp. Feeling lightheaded, you surrendered yourself entirely to his hands and his cock, mindless except for the feeling of him. After being wound up so long, you were already so close to falling over the edge, walls squeezing tighter and tighter as you approached your end.

“Gonna cum for me already, hm? Do you think I can’t feel this pussy gripping me for all it’s worth? Well, go on, cum for me then,” he commanded, hand around your waist moving to rub mercilessly at your clit. At the sudden onslaught of pleasure, you cried out loudly as the orgasm hit you in waves, Yoongi’s thrusts never pausing. When his strokes continued, your moans became laced with pain, cunt too sore to take the beating he was giving you.

When he pulled out of you abruptly, you thought it was over, but he turned you around quickly, seating you on his desk and sliding back into you without missing a beat. You whined at the stretch to your sore walls, but the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, teeth biting into his bottom lip as he thrusted against you had you thankful. You were moaning shamelessly, head tilted up to admire his features when his hand reached up to squeeze at your jaw, forcing it to open to relieve the pain.

When he pulled his own face close to yours, you didn’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t him spitting in your mouth, saliva hitting your tongue. You stared up at him wide-eyed, mouth only closing when he pushed your chin upwards.

“Swallow,” he demanded gruffly, eyes looking like they were going to devour you whole. A shiver went up your spine at possessive action, following his instructions and sticking your tongue out to show him once you were done. The moan you received in return was loud, thrusts quickening to further chase his pleasure.

“Such a good little whore for me, you’re getting better at following instructions,” he grunted out, pulling you forward to change the angle. With each thrust he was rubbing against that spongy spot inside of you, your head falling back as you let the sensation run over you.

The wave snuck up on you again, his thrusts relentless, the grinding of his pelvis against your clit every so often had your eyes rolling back. You were so sore, but it felt too good to stop. As he changed to shallow thrusts that had him only grinding against you, you felt that intense tightness in your abdomen. As he alternated between thrusting shallowly against your g-spot and slamming all the way in to grind against you, you shook in his hold, unable to catch your breath before another rush of pleasure had you weak.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, the release you felt was immaculate. Walls pulsing with seemingly no end, your orgasm left you seeing stars, all the tension in  your body gone in exchange for mind-numbing bliss.

Your heat clenching around him had Yoongi groaning lowly, thrusts shallow and sloppy as he felt his own end approach. When he looked down and spotted the wet spots on the stomach of his button-up shirt, his mind blanked. Shoving himself all the way inside, he muffled his moans into your neck as he came.

You let out a small mewl when he pulled out of you, the day’s exhaustion hitting you all at once. He hushed you, guiding your body down to the floor to rest against his desk, disappearing momentarily as you shut your eyes. Returning with wet paper towels, he dabbed lightly at your inner thighs and between your legs.

Eyelids fluttering open as you felt a hand in your hair, tired eyes met concerned ones as Yoongi inspected you from head to toe. “You okay?” he asked simply, hands moving to fix your misplaced panties and skirt. You nodded despite your fatigue, pausing when you spotted wet spots on Yoongi’s shirt. No way –

“You squirted,” he smirked, looking satisfied with himself, the devil in him returning for just a moment. At the confirmation, your face felt hot, your hands moving to hide as if that would quell your embarrassment.

“Hey,” he called softly, hands pulling your own away, “Don’t be embarrassed. It was hot. I like making you feel good,” he said. His words brought a small smile to your face, though you still couldn’t help but to feel a bit shy.

“Have you done something like this before?” he questioned, any judgment absent from his voice. You assumed he meant the spanking, the belt, the… everything, you guessed. Shaking your head in denial, he smiled gently at you.

“Will you come home with me?” he asked, watching you closely to gauge your reaction. His question had you pausing. Home? With him?

“Why?” you responded, wariness clear in your tone. He couldn’t blame you for your disbelief. After all, it wasn’t normal for someone to spend all his time teasing you, then suddenly fuck you into next year, then ask you home.

“I want to make sure you’re okay. And I wanted to cook you dinner. And I was hoping you would stay and talk. Please?” he urged you, gaze imploring. While you were sure this wouldn’t instantly fix the irritation you’d had with him all this time, he really did seem sincere. And you honestly weren’t sure if you could walk on your own anyway. If anything, this seemed like a good first step to repairing your relationship.

Of course, sex would be the thing to fix your despise for this man, you thought. Curse your horny brain once again.

“Okay,” you sighed, relenting. It was the least he could do to make it up to you, right?

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2021 - October 7th - Blindness

Gift fic for @sassydefendorflower

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Head Injury, slight descriptions of blood

---

Slade dodges under the swinging blow of Blüdhaven’s newest sewer monster; born from whatever chemicals a rat has gotten into near some chemist-based super-villain’s old hideout. Now, while it’s not everyday Slade goes out of his way to take down various monsters across the ‘Haven, this time… he feels a little obligated to.

Yes, he is the reigning champion of being Nightwing’s least favorite and most powerful villain, but unfortunately Nightwing is Slade’s favorite and most interesting opponent. He came to the ‘Haven to give the kid a head’s up that he has a mark in the city; a regular challenge he likes to set for the kid to try and stop him. However, when he didn’t find Nightwing along any of his normal routes, nor in his apartment, he turned to the news to see if the kid had left for Gotham or some other city without him noticing; preparing to postpone this mark until he was back in his patron city and away from other bats.

It was then he noticed the breaking news that a giant, sewage themed rat was wreaking havoc under Blüdhaven’s streets in the downtown areas, near a major subway platform. Nightwing was spotted going in, telling people to stay out, and he hasn’t been seen since.

Of course, Slade went to the fight, and it’s a good thing he did. When he got there, he found Nightwing limp in the creature’s tail, held inches from it’s long and jagged front teeth. Blood trailed down the side of his skull in a steady flow. Slade knew immediately he was unconscious.

He took out one of his pistols and shot at the rat, but the monster was so large and feral it hardly did anything when it went into its arm. It dropped Nightwing like a sack of flour onto the ground, snarling as it turned to it’s newest threat, drool dripping down it’s snout. Slade pulled out his swords and faced it head on.

The creature, while lacking any intelligence, was fast and powerful. Even Slade had trouble ducking under its tail that it used like a club and avoiding its powerful legs and jaw. While it’s disappointing to see Nightwing taken down by a creature as low as this, he can’t exactly blame the kid when it takes himself several minutes to finally get his sword through the thing’s tail. He cuts off the appendage, then while the monster screeches in agony, he pierces its throat.

It goes down twitching and gurgling, its blood bubbling down into the sewer's already questionable streams of water. He whips his swords out, getting off a majority of the wretched blood, then heads over to his unconscious person of interest.

Nightwing doesn’t move as he kneels down beside him, in fact he’s still in the rather undignified position he had been dropped in. Frowning, Slade moves Nightwing into a better position that won't strain his spine and smacks his face lightly to wake him up. He doesn’t even twitch, causing Slade to frown more. His head is still bleeding, which is worrisome. He grabs a tube of smelling-salts from his pouch—usually used to wake up people he’s previously knocked out to get some information out of them—and firmly places it under Nightwing’s nose. A solid few seconds pass before Nightwing’s eyes shoot open under his domino mask; his hands fly out to his face to stifle coughs and he rocks forward so he’s sitting instead of laying down.

Slade doesn’t try to make conversation quite yet, more worried about that head injury. He holds Nightwing by the jaw to tilt his head and get a better look, but Nightwing reacts like the touch was electrified. He smacks Slade’s arms away and jumps to his feet, stumbling back and holding out a single escrima. Slade doesn’t know where the other one went.

“Sit back down,” Slade growls, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Nightwing flinches at the initial sound of his voice, his mouth dropping open in shock before lowering his single weapon slightly.

“Slade?” he asks, his voice slurred.

Slade resists sighing, and lifts his eyebrow. Who else would it be? It’s not that dark here, even with Slade’s heightened senses. Nightwing doesn’t relax completely though, as if waiting for an answer. Not for the first time that night, another spike of worry rises in his chest.

“Kid, sit down or I’ll make you sit down.”

Nightwing almost goes boneless after that, breathing a single ”thank fuck” before sinking to his ass and putting his head in his hands with a groan.

Now Slade does sigh, even rolling his eyes as he does so, as he once again approaches Nightwing and grabs onto his face to look at the wound. Nightwing hisses and flinches out of his grasp.

“Don’t,” he says, “I already know how bad it is.”

Slade hums, folding his arms across his chest. “How bad is it then?”

Nightwing remains quiet for a moment, biting his lip, perhaps internally fighting with himself on whether or not it’s a good idea to tell one of his biggest enemies about how injured he is. Eventually, Nightwing makes the smart choice and speaks anyway, knowing Slade will find no pleasure in ending him if he's already down.

“Head feels like a war-drum. Feel like ‘m gonna throw up. Voice slurred… ears ringing… I-” Nightwing hesitates. Then sighs. “I can’t see.”

“You can’t see?” Slade repeats, kneeling down to once again take Nightwing’s face in his hands. Nightwing fights the grasp, but this time Slade holds strong and takes off the mask, revealing unfocused electric-blues.

“Nothing, it’s all black,” Nightwing whispers, a slight wobble in his voice that Slade is sure he’s trying to keep down.

He grabs a small flashlight from his tools and shines it in Nightwing’s eyes, frowning as there’s hardly any reaction in the pupils. He clicks off the light and releases Nightwing, thinking of options.

He’s sure the last thing the kid’ll want is to get dumped at the hospital, but Slade’s no medical expert, especially with something as fragile as a normal human’s brain.

He sighs, as only one option realistically reveals itself. The last thing Slade wants to do is risk Nightwing going home all on his own and possibly making this blindness permanent when there could be something that can be done to help him. Nightwing is a competent, talented young man, which is why he’s so intriguing to Slade—and while he has all the faith that Nightwing will find a way to fight even if his sight is forever gone, Slade also knows the loss of sense will be a major blow to the kid’s moral for months to come. He’s seen how far Nightwing can fall with helplessness and depression plaguing him, and honestly the thrill of fighting him leaves when his fire is replaced with a desperateness to prove to himself that he’s still worth something. He needs Nightwing to have a steady support system, and help for this injury.

Nightwing is going to hate him for a while after this, but Slade has no choice. He doesn’t fight against Nightwing to kill him, but because those fights are the only thing that brings a fun challenge. For how human Nightwing is, he fights like a beast, and Slade can’t lose that.

“Up,” he says while returning the kid’s mask; he grabs Nightwing by the arm and lifts him to his feet. Nightwing groans, but doesn’t fight too badly as Slade firmly wraps his arm around Slade’s shoulders. “Where is the best place to exit this place without being spotted?”

Nightwing, with the complexion of the inside of an avocado, talks him through on where to go. He looks one small fit of nausea away from throwing up all over Slade’s armor.

Luckily, he keeps it in his stomach—perhaps the discomfort in his body being something more desirable to deal with than a vomit covered Slade—and by the time they make it out of a small, boarded up and abandoned, exit to the subway line, Slade lets the kid take a break by the nearest dumpster. Nightwing, the poor thing, must have lost everything he’s eaten today in those fifteen minutes.

Now that he’s out below Blüdhaven’s night sky, he’s now the one in charge of leading the way. Nightwing stumbles along blindly—hah—never letting go of his weak grasp around Slade’s neck and shoulders.

Finally, they make it to where Slade has parked the car he had taken into the city. The windows are all tinted to near-illegal levels, but Slade still stuffs Nighting in the back-seats and hands him a bucket he had in the trunk that previously held a few hundred bullets from when he bought them in bulk.

“Throw up on the seats and I’m making you buy me a new car.”

“Bet this one was stolen anyway,” Nightwing mumbles, curled up in the backseats with the bucket touching his stomach like a flu-ridden child.

Slade scoffs and closes the door after reminding him to keep his head down but to stay awake. He takes off his Deathstroke mask, then the top bits of his armor, and shoves them in the truck. Then, after he gets in the driver's seat, they’re off.

Getting out of downtown Blüdhaven should be the hardest part of all of this; both for Slade’s navigation skills and for Nightwing’s gag-reflex. Eventually, however, they make it out of the twists and turns of downtown and eventually make it onto the main roads of the city—still crowded with cars coming too and from various ass-awful shifts of work. Nightwing remains quite agreeable in the backseats, responding that he’s awake every time Slade calls for a status report (about every five-ten minutes), and groaning at every turn no matter how slow Slade takes them.

However, that agreeableness quickly leaves the boy when Slade enters the on-ramp connecting to the north-south interstate.

Kid almost makes himself throw up by how quickly he scrambles to a sitting position; ignoring Slade's commands to lay back down.

“Turn around,” Nightwing growls. And it’s a strong growl too, reminds Slade of a chihuahua. Shaking and all.

“You’re currently blind, you have no idea where-”

“I know the roads of my city, Slade. And you’re leaving it.”

Slade sighs and merges into traffic, then uses one hand to shove Nightwing back town onto the seats. “Keep down, a cop will see you.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Slade remains silent.

“Tell me it’s a secret mansion somewhere and you have your own personal doctor that can help. Or you know a guy that happens to be down south. Or-”

“I’m taking you to Gotham,” Slade says, ripping off the band-aid.

Nightwing looks all sorts of emotions in the span of a few seconds. The one he settles on, however, is anger.

“No.”

“Batman gets injured all the time,” Slade begins to explain, but Nightwing looks frantic now.

“No, don’t take me back- I’ve worked so hard to get him to see that I can do things without him- and he has a new kid now and-”

“Suck it up,” Slade growls. “Deal with it. I’m not like you, kid. I don’t know how to take care of a normal human, and I definitely don’t know anyone who can because I have no need to. What you need is a doctor that can treat you off the record, who knows about your nightlife. Batman has that, doesn’t he.”

It’s not a question, but Nightwing’s silence is still an answer.

“Whatever your old man thinks of you for coming back injured doesn’t matter in the end. Nor does the new kid. What you should worry more about is what I think of you after this. You’re not fighting Batman, you’re fighting me.”

“What if he doesn’t let me fight after this?” Nightwing… Dick whispers as he finally lays back down on the seats. He’s taken his mask off and is rubbing his eyes, perhaps quelling tears or a headache. Perhaps both. “What if my sight doesn’t come back? What if he retires me?”

Slade remains silent for a second, then answers as firmly as he can. “I’ve known plenty of formidable enemies who are missing a sense. You’ll find a way to get back up, and if he doesn’t let you then I’ll just have to break in, kidnap you, and train you myself.”

That startles a laugh out of Dick. “I thought you were no longer trying to get me to be your apprentice.”

Slade shrugs, allowing a smile on his lips, selfishly comforted that Dick couldn’t see it. “You have a lot of potential, kid, I’d rather you use it against me than not at all. I’ll train you and release you like the bird you are, and we can get back to the same ol’ dance we have.”

Dick takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah… okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

-o-o-o-o-

Slade parks the car in an old neighborhood in Gotham that has a considerable drop in crime compared to the rest of the city. All things considered. Though, the sun is beginning to rise and Slade’s positive the Bat knew he was in his city the second he drove into it. Dick knows this too, as he’s telling Slade to hurry up and get out of here despite the boy still looking green around the gills. Slade grabs his mask and armor, then turns to the stolen car he’s about to abandon and opens the back door near Dick’s face.

Suddenly, and rather embarrassingly, he doesn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Dick is a freaky empath sometimes and gives an exhausted smile.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll get through this.”

“Good,” Slade replies. “I won't let you quit.”

His grin widens. “Never.”

Then Slade closes the door and takes off quickly, only pausing on a distant roof to watch a large black figure and a smaller red-and-yellow clad child approach the car and catch sight of the injured bird inside.

From there, Slade turns and leaves, not looking back.

He’ll see Nightwing on the battlefield again. No matter what, Slade will make sure of it.

[skellebonez]

I AM SORRY FOR THIS SKELLE BUT I MUST: 5 (kidnapping them was the only way I was going to get them here),6 (let's make a deal, shall we?) and 41 (can you teach me how to do that) with the demon bull fam and mk with a little hint of 64 (I may have eaten seven of them already). NOW GO HAM MY DUDE

Oh I had way too much fun with this one. I took S2E4 (spoilers mentioned for that!) and some tweets made by one of the show producers on the same day as fuel for a very silly idea I had. I don't write what can be considered "Crack treated seriously" (or at least semi-seriously, this is not a 100% serious fic) often but when I do I go hard. This is more focused on MK and others than SpicyNoodles so it's a bit more gen fic than a full on ship fic as well.

Kidnapping them was the only way I was going to get them here/Let's make a deal, shall we?/Can you teach me how to do that?/I may have eaten seven of them already.

"Red..." MK started off slowly, watching as his boyfriend's face flushed and twisted in embarrassment. "Can you tell me why your mother showed up at my apartment and used her wind vortex thing to teleport us here without an explanation? And then left us in your..." He looked around, noting that aside from the excessively large throne and two smaller thrones beside it this room looked like a... "Living room? On a couch?"

"I can-" Red Son started, raising a hand before pausing a frowning deeply. "Actually, no, I can't explain. This is just weird, even by my parent's standards. I have no idea what is going on, but since you're still here..." He shrugged with a hopeful smile, shaky through the uncertainty. "Maybe it's not bad? I mean, if Mother was truly upset or wanted to do something bad surely she would have not left us to our own devices. Maybe she’s... uh... happy I finally have a boyfriend?”

At the pointed raise of an eyebrow from MK that hopeful smile faltered a bit. Happy Red Son had a boyfriend for the first time in a couple centuries? Under different circumstances he wouldn't doubt that! Happy when that boyfriend was MK?

Oh he did doubt that.

He knew that they shouldn't have been sneaking around the way they had been. It had made sense at first, two people on opposite sides of a feud lasting centuries who discovered they actually enjoyed spending time together more than fighting each other. One who decided he very much would rather not follow through with any kind of domination and see his family hurt, who realized "actually my sworn nemesis isn't so bad", and another who decided "my life is already weird enough, why not give this befriending my enemy thing a shot".

And then one thing lead to another and before they knew it their secret friend meet up became a secret boyfriend meet up. They'd managed to keep everything under wraps for a while (except from Mei because, well... she was his best friend! He couldn't not tell someone and she would have found out fast if he wasn't obvious, and she had quickly become a mutual source of support for both of them), though MK knew Pigsy and the others knew something was up. They didn't question him, though, aside from the occasional good natured jab. "Wow MK, you seem happy today. Got any plans?" and that sort of thing. They seemed to trust him to make his own decisions, as long as he was happy and healthy and eventually told them. (Sun Wukong, however, may have caught in a little when he jokingly asked if MK had gotten a boyfriend and MK had choked on his drink. He never brought it up specifically after that but he was smart. Too smart.)

Red Son, on the other hand, was fantastic at keeping secrets when he tried. Or MK thought he was... the last few months gave no indication that either of his parents had discovered their little sneaky rendezvous. Then Princess Iron Fan broke into his apartment and, well, here they are. Clearly something had gone wrong somewhere along the line.

Before MK could follow through with any questions of whether or not there could be a fate worse than instant death that involved lulling him into a false sense of security, the two men froze at the sound of quickly approaching voices.

“Could this not have been done another way, my dear?”

“Kidnapping them was the only way I was going to get them here, you know that. Noodle Boy is not that gullible, contrary to what we first believed.”

Ah... shit... Red Son’s parents.

Mk quickly ran through all the possessions he had in his apartment and wondered if he had time to text Mei or Pigsy the world’s fastest will and testament and if that would be legally binding. He just hoped he had something for Pigsy to handle the Phantom Orderer they'd had for the last year.

They always ordered on the app and prepaid and managed to leave him a sizeable tip in his tuk-tuk after he dropped off the food at whatever random location they indicated.

"Good," PIF's voice rang clear, far faster than he could even attempt to pull out his phone, and MK turned to see that she was casually lounging on the shoulder of the Demon Bull King. She jumped down, her wind lightening her fall so much so that she barely made a sound when her feet touched ground. "You've made yourself comfortable."

MK couldn't bring himself to move, as much as he very dearly wanted to run away as quickly as possible. Yes, he was The Monkie Kid and had progressed far enough that he could probably escape without much problem. Yes, he and DBK had had an understanding after the White Bone Spirit and Lunar New Year Festival (though he still didn't know if PIF ever found out about that one). Yes, Princess Iron Fan had shown little interest in him before and had even worked beside him with no complaints (she didn't even care enough to attack during the Food Wars thing!). But that was all before she apparently found out he was dating her son behind her back while they were technically still enemies.

He was glad at that moment that she had grabbed them before they went to get lunch... his stomach was doing back flips that would make a gymnast jealous.

"Uh, yes Miss-Mrs-Muh-M- Princess Iron... Fan?" MK couldn't help but stutter awkwardly, holding onto the hem of his jacket and worrying it as he tried to keep his composure. He looked beside him, watching as Red sat straighter and kept an even expression on his face that he couldn't quite place. His hair seemed to spark softly.

Though she raised a brow at this, PIF didn't comment on that at all. Instead she made her way to the other couch across from them as opposed to what was clearly supposed to be her throne, leaning forward right her elbows on her knees and her fingers laced together in front of her. DBK stopped behind her, seemingly content to stay standing.

"Noodle Boy... you prefer to go by MK, is that correct?" She started, and he nodded slowly in confused response. "Hmn... so. You've been dating my son for quite some time. Many months... no, a bit over a year if I am not mistaken in how long his behavior has changed." 'Oh shit' went MK's brain. "You must be quite serious, if you're willing to go through so much just to see each other. Late night meetings. Secret hideaways. Sneaking onto Flower Fruit Mountain, even." 'Oh SHIT' it repeated in horror. "That's quite the dedication to show toward anyone... I hate to admit it, but I am quite impressed." 'OH SH-wait what?'

"Bw-huh?" Was what MK managed out, half a sound that was almost a word and half a squeak of confusion.

"The fact I myself remained oblivious until only a few weeks ago is quite something. Let's make a deal, shall we?" She continued, sitting back straight and looking like the proud Princess she was and not like a woman sitting on a couch that looked comically small in front of her enormous husband. "You and Red Son no longer have to hide your relationship from us and in exchange..." she paused, as if relishing the building tension between herself and the couple before her. "You will come over at least once a week so we can get to actually know you properly."

MK froze. Red Son froze even more.

Then his entire head lit ablaze as he jumped up and gestured at his mother with a gaping mouth. "Th-that's it!? I-I was... I was RIGHT!?"

PIF barely reacted to this, merely lounging sideways as she put her elbow on the arm of the couch and rested her cheek on her hand.

"Whatever you were right about, I suppose you were. But yes," she shrugged, honestly looking... kinda happy? "Has this been about a year ago I perhaps would not have understood what you saw in Nood-MK. But I can see how happy you have been lately, and there's something about him that is like... what did you say he was like, darling?" She turned to DBK, who shrugged himself with an unreadable expression.

"A ball of sunshine given human form."

... that was not what MK ever expected to hear from the Demon Bull King's mouth...

"Yes, that's it," she nodded as if this was completely normal and ignored how Red Son flopped back down onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. "I'd hate to admit it, but you've grown on us through out sparse interactions. Somehow. And we have been eagerly waiting for the day we could finally welcome someone into our son's life. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?"

She seemed... serious. MK may not know her that well, but it was clear to anyone when she wasn't being so.

"Uh... o-ok? Sure?" MK said softly, nodding in amazement as DBK and PIF actually smiled at this.

This was the strangest day of his life, beating our every single demon fight and even the day he got the Monkey King's staff. But he'd take this strangeness over the alternative 500 times over.

"Excellent," DBK nodded himself, there was a lot of that about. "That seems to have worked out n-"

Everyone paused at a loud grumble echoed the room, all turning to Red Son as he flared up in embarrassment this time.

"Don't look at me like that, we were supposed to eat half an hour ago and I am starving," Red Son grumbled as he sat up, not looking anyone in the eye. "I don't suppose we could. Eat now? Please?"

Despite the situation, MK couldn't help but smile at his pouting.

"I could bring us some food from Pigsy's?" MK offered in an attempt to contribute. Something. "I mean, I know Red likes it and you kinda seemed to like it the one time you tried it and... uh... yeah."

"Actually... I may have eaten seven of them already..." PIF admitted, looking away in embarrassment. "l've tried not to give into the temptation, but your father's noodles from the Food Wars were so... I just can't resist ordering some secretly after 5 or so weeks!"

"So you're the phantom orderer!" MK gasped out in shock, but after a moment he frowned and rubbed the back of his head. He had a bit of an idea. "Well... I could... make some for us instead?" He ammended his offered softly. "I may not make it exactly like Pigsy does, but I can get pretty close as long as you have the ingredients! And you wouldn't have to worry about me going there and coming back! We can eat like. Immediately!"

"I think that sounds acceptable," PIF said with a nod as she stood, but MK could see a bit of excitement sparkling in her usually cold eyes. "Come, Red Son. I need to discuss some upgrades the Bull Clones have been asking for with you. Your father can assist him in the kitchen until we are done."

Red looked over at MK and only stood to follow his mother once he nodded, giving his father a pointed look before exited the room. MK, in the meantime, looking up at DBK with a gulp and followed him as he lead the way toward their kitchen.

It was... well, bigger than he was used to. But pretty normal, regal size and decor aside. And it seemed, once he was given the nod of ok from his host (and wasn't that a bizarre thing, DBK and PIF being his hosts on a home visit to his boyfriend's parents... he was going to need to get used to that) he checked the fridge and counters and found he had just about everything he needed to make what he had in mind.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" DBK asked after a moment, startling MK into nearly dropping the sauce he needed for the broth. "Not the recipe itself, just..." He gestured to the counter. "Red Son has a bit of a proclivity toward cooking and he's been trying to get me involved, but we've never cooked anything like. That."

His words were awkward and stilted, but MK could tell he was trying. The same way he could tell PIF wasn't kidding with her offer. They just seemed to... want to get to know him as a potential... son-in-law... huh.

"Sure, but you're gonna want to shrink down a bit for this."

Lunch turned out amazing and, while awkward (much like most of the day)... it was nice not to have to hide their dating for once. And Red actually seemed pretty happy! Though he learned quickly that the Monkey King was still a bit of an (understandably) sore subject that was best avoided. For now.

Maybe not forever though.

(When PIF very not subtly dropped him and Red Son both off inside Pigsy's Noodles after their lunch, the only response he got was a "oh, so they finally found out huh? Looks like things went well" from Pigsy and Tang. Maybe he wasn't as sneaky as he thought he was...)

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt.8]

Pairings:  Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x  Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death.

A/N: **TW: A certain death is finally explained in this chapter. It is the second half of the chapter. It’s not in crazy detail but there is some important plot stuff mixed in.  I decided to post despite someone stealing my work. 😤 Thanks to my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky​​​​ for looking this chapter over for me. Enjoy the sad I guess. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

Stepping away from music for those ten months turned out to be the best thing you could have done for yourself and your career. Without the small reprieve, you doubted you would have found your way back to teaching, and you loved teaching. Not that it had been intended as a break at the time you walked away. You had every intention of never looking at another sheet of music again, but then Bucky came home and things became more complicated and somehow easier. You doubted that he knew what he was doing, and why should he? It wasn’t as if he had planned on coming home to pick up all your broken pieces so he could help put you back together. He did -- whether he realized it or not -- help you get some of your old life back. The bit that you could take with you into this new one. You even called a few of your former students and asked their parents if they were interested in picking up their lessons. Most said they would love to pick up where you left off, and a few said they found someone new in your absence. You couldn’t blame them. The world had continued while you chose to stand still.

Bucky must have noticed a difference because he told you he liked how pretty you looked when you were smiling. 

Lessons started with the school year, and fall was here before you could blink. You were surprised to find you weren’t dreading the holidays as much as you thought. It would be the first holiday season since you got the call and you had expected it to feel like the rest -- hollow and grim. Along with Easter and Memorial Day, you had skipped celebrating Steve’s birthday. There was a small cake you shared with Bucky, three bites in, and you couldn’t force any more falsities down. You spent the rest of the night in your room. It was one of the rare nights you hadn’t slept next to Bucky since he had been home. You needed the night to yourself, and he understood that. By morning, your wedding ring had found its way from your ring finger to a chain that Steve had given you years ago. It felt strange at first. From the moment Steve slipped it on your finger, it rarely left your skin, and when you did, it always felt like there was a piece of you missing. That feeling didn’t show up this time, but you imagined there weren’t many more pieces of you that could go missing. You didn’t want to make it a big deal, so you kept it tucked inside your shirt. Of course, Bucky noticed the absence right away. He never questioned it. 

It was a step forward (or maybe backward you weren’t sure some days). They were small, slow steps taken, but at least you were moving.  

You’re not sure when it happened, but one morning you woke up and everything didn’t hurt as bad, you guessed it started right around the time Bucky came home. While moving forward was necessary (as everyone continued to remind you), there were days when it felt like a betrayal. You are moving on, and Steve can’t come with you. A little guilt blackens your heart every time you smile on those days; so you falter and take those arduous steps back. It lessens with every laugh and smile Bucky draws out of you, but it’s there under it all, and there’s the fear too. You’re afraid if you move on and keep up with the rest of the world you will forget. You will forget everything you and Steve had, and it will be as if you were never anything at all. Bucky shook his head when you confessed that to him late one night with your forehead pressed firmly against his shoulder, fighting your sleep and the nightmares you were sure would follow. 

“You’re holding on to the past, Y/n. You gotta let it go. I’m not sayin’ you have to stop lovin’ him, but you gotta let go of the part of Steve that’s keeping you from moving on and being happy. Or it’s going to continue to tear at you until there’s nothing left.” 

“And if I forget him?” 

“You won’t, Trouble. You can’t forget a love like that. Trust me, I know.”

Bucky didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t dare ask. He’s never mentioned anything about falling in love in all the years you’ve known him. You’ve never seen him hold onto a woman for longer than a month and the idea of Bucky being in love, holding on to that love all these years without ever getting to know it turns your stomach inside out and shades your heart a bitter green. You’d rather not dwell on those feelings long enough to understand them. 

Neither of you spoke about it again, and you were thankful. You didn’t think you could handle discussing Bucky’s long lost love when you could barely pick out an outfit. You’ve been staring at your clothes for an hour now, and everything either looked awful or felt wrong. Maybe you needed to buy new clothes and start from scratch. Every piece you owned had a memory stitched into the fabric, and you didn’t need to be reminded of things you would never have again. Bucky pulled a grey flannel out of his closet, and you reached across the bed, yanking it right out of his hand to slip over your head. That would have to work for today. Bucky rolled his eyes and turned back to the closet to grab a blue Henley for himself. 

You always did like the way he looked blue. 

“I can go see Sam so you can have some time alone with Tasha and Wanda.” 

You didn’t say anything. Just gave a simple nod of the head, refusing to look up from the pile of clothes on the bed that now needed to be put away. You could leave it. The girls would be here any minute, and with Bucky gone, you could deal with it then. Bucky reached out to wrap his fingers around your wrist and gave a gentle tug, forcing your gaze to follow the motion up to meet his eyes. He ran his thumb over the soft thumping in your wrist and stared at you for a while as if he was working something out. 

“Or,” Bucky suggested gently. “I can stay right here and work on my bike.” 

Your lips curled up in a small smile despite your brain’s wish to keep them in a permanent frown. 

“Okay,” You agreed with an easy smile. You slipped your wrist out of Bucky’s loose hold and made your way towards the door, stopping before you crossed the threshold and looked back at him with a deep frown replacing the pretty smile you were wearing only a second ago. 

“You don’t have to babysit me, y’ know?” 

Bucky’s laughter was followed by an exasperated groan. Of course, that was why you were upset. 

“Yeah, I know. You’re just fine on your own.” 

There was no fighting the grin Bucky’s words caused. “Yes, I am. But… you can hang around if you want to.” 

“I’ve meant to clean up my girl anyway. I’ll hang around today, Trouble.” 

Bucky assurance made your heart rest a little easier and maybe his too because he looked relieved when you nodded. The doorbell broke your silence and forced you to leave his side; you barely made it to the top of the stairs when you heard Bucky mutter, “Pain in my ass.” There was a fondness in his voice that made your heart leap. 

Even though you were back to teaching you made sure not to overwhelm yourself; Tuesdays and Thursdays you worked late into the evening. It was nice to have something to look forward to, and Bucky always had something to eat ready when your last student left around 8:30. That was nice too. 

Natasha had called earlier in the week wanting to come over Thursday night, and you had to explain that you went back to work. There was silence on the other end of the line, and silence was never good with Natasha. She was probably mad you didn’t tell her and that you were keeping things that important hidden, but it wasn’t something you wanted to advertise. Besides, Friday was as good a day as any to have the girls over. No one had to work the next day and took some of the pressure off. Everything felt normal when Natasha and Wanda arrived; you shared a hug or two. Okay, three. Wanda liked to hug, and she showed you the muffins she baked while Natasha held up a bottle of something that looked as if it could melt the glass it came in. You didn’t know what you expected. You hadn’t thought you would feel so excited to see them. Not because you didn’t love them, but having excitement around anyone but Bucky has been rare these last few months.  

Sometimes the unexpected was good. 

You chose to sit on the window bench that happened to overlook the side yard where Bucky had his black and chrome bike parked and was sitting on an old milk crate hard at work. That didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha. Not that anything ever does. 

“So are you two living together now?” 

You slowly draw your gaze up from the wine glass in your hand to look at Natasha and Wanda, who was skillfully avoiding your eyes as she blew on her tea for far longer than necessary.  

“Yes. Is that a problem? It’s not like we talked about it or anything. It just sort of happened.” 

Natasha shrugged in answer to your question and waited for you to go on. She wanted more of an explanation, so you rolled your eyes and explained why Bucky was staying with you. 

“He didn’t have anywhere to go when he came home.” 

Natasha smirked at the suggestion that Bucky would have been homeless if he hadn’t come to live with you, and you knew right away what you said had been a mistake. “Besides his mom’s, right? She lives twenty minutes from here. What about Sam’s? Or at my place with Clint and I? And I’m a hundred percent certain Sarah Rogers would have taken him in if everyone else in his life let him down for some unknown reason.”  

You turned to look back out the window right as Bucky looked up, catching his eye, and you felt the panic in your chest lessen. Bucky gave you that pretty smile and scrunched his nose at you before going back to work. You fought to keep your smile small and lost the battle before it even got started. Wanda’s voice pulled you back into the living room; it was gentle as if she was trying to offset Natasha. 

“I think what Nat was trying to ask is if you are planning on staying here together, or is he going to get his own place eventually?” 

“We haven’t talked about it. I suppose he will at some point, though...” 

You frowned at the thought. Why did that bother you so much? 

“He doesn’t have to do anything, you know?” Wanda added at the sight of your upset. “He might want to stay here.” 

“Maybe, but he has to move on eventually,” you added, dread filling your voice from the mere thought of Bucky leaving you. “He can’t stay here just to keep me from falling apart for the rest of this life.” 

They were right. Bucky will eventually want to get back to his life. He can’t babysit you forever.  There was going to come a time when he will want to date, fall in love, and get married. Maybe even have kids. Do all the things that you were supposed to do with Steve. The thought of Bucky leaving you to have that life with someone else made you sick, and you know it’s selfish. It’s unfair to expect him to stay there with you because you don’t want to lose him to someone else. 

“How are you doing?” Natasha sounded a little softer this time, sensing your unease. “Are you sleeping?”  

“Yeah, I started sleeping in Bucky’s room with him. It seemed to help.” 

They stayed quiet but shared a look. You weren’t fond of whatever that was.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” Wanda rushed out far too quickly, but Natasha was quick to cut in, and by her tone, you could tell she’s been feeling this way for a while. “I’m just wondering how long you are going to keep punishing yourself?” 

Natasha stared at you and Wanda swore under her breath. They talked about this before coming over. That was clear by the glare Wanda was settling Natasha with. You briefly wondered how often your friends discuss you like that. More often than you approved of, you were sure. 

“I’m not punishing myself. I’m allowed to be sad. My husband died--”

“You’re right. You are allowed to be sad. Just like you’re allowed to find new things that make you happy and start putting your life back together.” 

“I’m fine, Nat. I don’t need anything new. I have our house and my music--” 

“And, Bucky?”

While she was right, you did have Bucky, in a sense. Bucky wasn’t new. You had a feeling what she was suggesting would be very new and not a notion you wanted to entertain.

“Natasha--” 

“It’s okay to be happy again, Y/n. It’s okay to let your heart get put back together and heal. It doesn’t cheapen what you had with Steve. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love him, and it doesn’t mean you are betraying him. You aren’t doing anything wrong by letting yourself find happiness again. Even if that happiness is found with Bucky.” 

You had a feeling what Natasha was hinting at, but hearing it outright like that made you a little queasy. Did people, your friends, talk about you and Bucky like this? Is that what everyone was worried about, who would get you next?  

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t act stupid Y/n. You’re a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.” 

“He’s been my best friend since I was thirteen. It’s not-- It’s never been--” You took a deep breath and told them both, firmly. “He’s my best friend.”  

Wanda pinched Natasha’s thigh and grabbed your hands from where she sat on the floor between you and Natasha. “All Nat is trying to say is if you wanted to find happiness again... with Bucky or anyone for that matter, it’s okay. You’re not doing anything wrong by moving on.” 

“It’s been nearly a year since you lost Steve. It’s time to start picking up the pieces, Y/n. With Bucky or without. You can’t stay stuck in this in-between, and you can’t go back.”

You turned your gaze back out the window to catch Bucky staring at you. He quickly looked back at his bike and fiddled with the wrench in his hand. It reminded you of all those days he would hide you in Shop class so you could skip Geometry with Mr. Coulson. The memory makes you grin. The girls might be half right. Maybe you couldn’t go back, but that didn’t mean you wanted to let it go completely.

----

Three hours after Natasha and Wanda left, you found yourself wandering around the house with what you thought was purposeless. It started in the kitchen, and you slowly made your way through your home, somehow ending up in the doorway to Bucky’s room. Your heart must have told your feet where to go and left your brain in the dark. His hair was still wet from a fairly recent shower. The ends were darker than the rest and shiny from being wet. It wasn’t long enough to tuck behind his ears, but it was long enough that he could slick it back. His beard had become relatively thick due to his laziness these last few months. To be fair, most of his attention has been on you. When he mentioned trimming it a few weeks ago, you wrinkled your nose at the thought, and at the time, he had laughed. 

He never did trim it after that. 

Bucky glanced up at you, hovering at the threshold to his room, and he smiled, crooking his finger for you to come in. You pushed off the doorframe and made your way over to where he was resting on the end of the bed, wet towel lying on the bed next to him. You wanted to tell him it was getting your side of the bed all wet, but you thought better of it. 

It’s not your bed, after all. You have your own you should probably start to sleep in and let Bucky get back to living his own life. 

“Have a good time?” Bucky asked. There was a softness in his voice he saved for you and you alone. 

You shrugged.

“Tasha called me stupid on the way out. Got any idea what that is about? Should I be scared?” 

You grinned and brushed a fallen strand of hair back to lay with the rest. “I don’t know, but being scared is always a safe bet when Nat is involved. How’s the bike? It looked like you got a lot done.” 

“She’s good. Just cleaned her up a bit and changed the oil. You know, I like fiddling with her a bit, and she’s been sitting at my mom’s collecting dust.” 

You cupped his cheek and gently rubbed his cheekbone with your thumb. He nuzzled your palm right away, eyes falling closed, and he seemed to relax a fraction. There was tension in his shoulders you hadn’t noticed before, a darkness that has never lingered in his eyes this long, and his smile never quite reached his eyes anymore. He’s spent all this time taking care of you, and you never once noticed how badly he was struggling. 

He was lost just like you. 

“Hey.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of your voice and quickly pulled away from your touch as if he remembered he shouldn’t be doing that. You slowly drew your hand back, letting them drop to your side and choosing to sit next to him instead. 

“Wanna talk?” 

“‘Bout what?”

He looked dejected, troubled. A little scared, too. 

“What’s been weighing on your heart.” Bucky dropped his gaze, his tell for waiting to drop the subject, but you pushed a little more. “I didn’t see it before. I was too wrapped up in my shit, but I can see it now. The guilt and the hurt.”

If he honestly couldn’t talk, or didn’t want to, you would drop it. 

“Y/n, you don’t want to hear about that.” 

So it was about Steve’s death then. You had a feeling. 

“If I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t have asked. I need to hear it, Bucky, and I think you need to talk about it as well.” 

It took a long time before Bucky made any movements at all. He shifted further away from you, tossing the towel onto the desk chair and turned to face you. You mirrored his position tucking one leg under you on the bed and letting the other hang off the edge. He was still quiet, gathering his thoughts and a little courage, too. You nudged his barefoot with yours and he gave you a small smile.

“Steve was… He was walking in front of me. Like he always does-- like he did, and Sam was on our left.” Bucky licked his lips, tossing words around his head to find the right ones. This was harder than he thought it would be. 

“I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been. That’s my damn job. I was too busy staring at the damn…” Bucky stopped short, and the look of guilt he gave you said he feared you already knew his crimes and found him deserving of judgment. 

“At what, Bucky?” 

Bucky dropped his eyes and shook his head. 

“You’ll hate me.” 

“Bucky… I could never hate you. Nothing you could do would make me hate you.” 

Bucky closed his eyes, squeezed them shut really. He didn’t want to see your face when he said what he had to say next. “I was staring at your scarf. It was sticking out of his collar, poking up right out of the back of his BDU’s and all I could think about was you, and how I could never have-- I was distracted.”

He reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes with the palm of his hand. You had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him close. Bucky needed to get this off his chest and you needed to hear it. 

“Next thing I knew, there was a shot fired and then about ten after that. Maybe more. I don’t know. Steve was down, and at first, I thought he dropped to take cover, but my damn ears were ringing, and shots were flying everywhere. I tried to yell out, but I couldn’t hear my voice over the noise. Sam was trying to drag me away, but I couldn’t leave him lying there…” 

Bucky’s words became stuttered and choked. You could follow along, but you had to piece together the holes Bucky couldn’t fill. He explained how Steve had taken the bullet for him, how he had been distracted and didn’t see it in time. Bucky told you that he had pulled Steve undercover, and Steve had begged for Bucky to take care of you for him. Bucky left out the reason Behind Steve’s choices that day. You didn’t need to know that when Bucky asked why he did that, Steve told him with that stupid lopsided smile, “You’re my best friend, Buck and Y/n... S-she can go on without me. She can’t live without you though.” 

You wiped your tears away with shaking fingers. Bucky blamed himself for Steve’s choices and you couldn’t let him go on thinking he was at fault for something he had no control over. Scarf or not. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“Yn...” 

“No, Bucky. It wasn’t your fault. If it had been the other way around, you would have jumped in front of him. We both know you would have.” 

“But if I was--” 

“It’s not. Your fault, Bucky.”  

You crawled into his lap and pulled his head to your chest. Bucky tightened his arms around your waist, clutching at the thick fabric of his shirt still clinging to your skin. “I don’t blame you, and I know Steve wouldn’t,” You cooed softly in his ear. ”He would do it a hundred times over, and I know you would do the same for h-him.” 

Bucky tucked his nose into your neck and took a shaky inhale. The two of you sat like that as the glow of the room slowly faded from orange to dark blue. Bucky’s quiet sobs had settled into barely-there sniffs along with your own. There was a new heaviness resting on your chest, but despite the pain that came with knowing the truth, it gave you a tiny bit of closure. He never said if he believed you or accepted your forgiveness. You prayed he did. You hoped now he would be able to forgive himself, too.

“Bucky?” 

There a beat of silence. Bucky rubbed his beard against your neck making you shiver. You could feel a faint smile on your skin when he finally spoke. 

“Yeah?” 

Bucky slowly lifted his head, so the two of you were sitting nose to nose now, you were so close that when you whispered he could feel your breath against his lips, “I’m glad you came home… to me.” 

Maybe now, you could both heal and move on to something new. 

“Me too, Trouble. Me too.”

Previous // Next

[arewelonely]

wolfstar fix-it fic.

I was doing a rewatch of the hp series and got so frustrated... so wrote this to help fix everything. this takes place on The Night, so take care of yourselves if need be.

thank you @rivkahstudies for betaing:) all the love.

cw: brief vomit, mild blood, discussion of character death.

—

Remus landed with a gut punch, the winds of his Apparition spitting past his ears as his pupils dilated.

His breath halted, his throat caved in on itself. His heartbeat ran past his eardrum.

James. Lily. Harry.

The second floor of their house opened to the sky, the roof blown off into smithereens. The doorway was wide open, door shattered in pieces on the lawn. Remus couldn’t tell if lights were on in all the rooms or if a fire rampaged. Either way, crackling came from everywhere, sizzling in the leaves on the trees and coming from deep inside the house as the Potters’ possessions burned.

Debris cluttered the yard, an ashy blanket smothering the trees in the front, the now-charred mums at the doorway, the jack-o’-lanterns along the path. Remus took hesitant steps forward, eyes darting from one smoke-filled window to the next.

His gaze fell on four jack-o’-lanterns in his way–a gasp pushed itself out of his mouth and he clutched his chest.

A deer, a wolf, a dog, and a rat.

He struggled to swallow. Spun abruptly. Bent over, emptying his stomach. Fuck. The vomit splattered on the crisped grass and Remus heaved again at the noise and again at the smoky smell.

He brushed a hand across his face and coughed before turning away and walking towards the door–he needed to get to James, to see if he was okay, needed to find Lily, needed to protect Harry if his parents couldn’t–

A figure emerged in the doorway, panting out the smoke.

His stomach flipped.

He stopped breathing again and shot up his wand arm, directly at Sirius and Harry.

Where was James, where was Lily, he needed to get to them, couldn’t imagine what they were feeling, their best friend–

Sirius’ pants were stained with soot as he stumbled out of the house with Harry in his arms, eyes finally lifting once he stood out of the hazy smoke. His eyes flared when he saw Remus, torso twisting away and wand flying up as if to shield Harry from him. Remus’ jaw dropped.

“You will give Harry to me,” Remus said, each word deliberately leaving his mouth. He knew his arm shook with the urge to do something and spells raced through his brain, but he did not have faith in himself to hit only Sirius and not Harry. He did not have faith in Sirius to not use Harry as a shield–fucking Merlin.

“No, you will back up,” Sirius ordered right back. His eyebrows narrowed and he jutted his wand arm out again. “Get back.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Remus’ voice rose. His eyes pricked and his throat clenched. “Give me Harry right now, you fucking two-faced arsehole, you do not deserve to touch the son of the man who named you his godfather, betraying ass, hand him over!”

“I was not the one who betrayed them, Remus!” Sirius screamed back. “It was Peter, the slimy fuckwad who–” his voice broke, his wand shaking.

Before Remus could respond (fuck if Sirius thought he would believe this bullshit), Harry patted Sirius’ chest and leaned around to get into Remus’ viewpoint.

“Moony?”

Remus let out a shaky breath. Harry had blood on his forehead, but otherwise looked alright and whole, his body settled in the crook of Sirius’ arm. “Hi, Harry.”

The two men stared at each other, chests heaving, the only sound the crackling of their friends’ house in the background and the plants on the property shedding their leaves to the sky.

Harry patted Sirius’ chest again and Sirius slowly looked down at him, apparently hesitant to let Remus exist unscrutinized.

“Mama?” Harry gazed up at Sirius with wide eyes.

Sirius’ jaw jutted forward. His nose twitched. He looked back to Remus, his Adam’s apple jerking.

Remus gasped, stepping back. A jolt ran through his stomach, across his cheekbones. Sirius opened his mouth as if to say something and Remus lifted his wand higher. “Both of them?” he spluttered.

Sirius’ arm tightened around Harry and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth hard, eyes glancing up to the sky before returning to Remus’ again.

“Give Harry to me now,” Remus started forward. His hand gripped his wand so tightly, he could almost feel splinters in his palm.

Sirius twisted away again and shook his head fiercely. “It was not me!”

Remus let out a scream. “How could it have been anyone but you? You were their fucking Secret Keeper, Sirius! You betrayed them–”

Sirius’ head shook. “No, no! We switched it to Peter. Last week.” His voice broke out. He shifted Harry again. “Last week, we switched.”

Remus scoffed, heat rushing behind his ears. “You expect me to believe that bullshit? I’ve seen you multiple times since last week, Sirius, none of you told me–”

“I–” Sirius’ whole face winced, his mouth trembling. “We–I thought you might be working with them!”

A heavy gasp punched out before his mind had even worked through the logic.

He fell back again, his lungs empty. His wand remained facing Sirius, although who knew how much good it would do now, vibrating while his other hand covered his mouth. While he stared off into the dark forest.

His ears rang. Merlin. Merlin. They thought–

“What possible evidence could you have for such an outrageous accusation?” Remus roared.

Sirius jerked his head towards the woods desperately, eyebrows knit together. “You’ve been away with them for so long, so secretive, I–”

“I’M WORKING FOR THE ORDER!”

“–We live together, I didn’t want you finding out we switched and then–”

“And then what, I go on and tell someone? I put our friends’ lives in danger?” He scoffed and steadied his wand again. “This is a load of absolute shit, give Harry to me before I stun you both.”

“You will not stun us, and you are not getting Harry!”

The boy in question must have moved because Sirius flashed his eyes at Remus and then broke the eye contact, shifting to his godson briefly.

“You want me to accept that Peter betrayed us all, that he… murdered–”

Remus just couldn’t say it, not out loud, not in front of their son.

Sirius’ nostrils flared and then he was screaming back. “I did not betray my brother!”

“He was all our brother–”

“HE IS MY BROTHER!”

The shout echoed around the property. Sirius’ gaze remained steady amidst the twitches of his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth as he tried to keep his composure.

“Where is Peter?”

“I don’t know, when I got here there was no one except for…” Sirius shook his head and swallowed, clutching Harry tighter again. Remus could hear small whimpers.

“Why did you come here? You were supposed to be at the Burrow.”

“I just wanted to check in–”

Remus shot him a glare. “Out of the blue?”

“I had a feeling–”

“A feeling?” Remus shouted. “You expect me to believe a fucking–”

“Why are you here?” Sirius screamed.

“I–” Remus faltered. He shook his head. “I… something was…”

Sirius’ face crumpled. “Something was wrong.”

Remus was no longer sure whether he was breathing or whether the two just shuddered sorrow and anger back and forth. His chest felt empty like never before and his arm, still raised in front of him, shook fiercely.

The woods rustled to Remus’ left and he flinched, pivoting instantly to redirect his wand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sirius had done the same, twisting Harry even farther away from this new source of danger.

Fuck, Remus couldn’t do this. He needed to get Harry away from Sirius, away from whatever was about to happen here–which took priority? He risked a glance at Sirius and found him returning the gaze. Strong brow, eyes set.

Remus stopped breathing.

Their friends… were dead.

Their friends were dead.

“Hullo? Who’s there?”

Remus adjusted his stance to prepare to duel and squinted into the woods. A tall, lumbering mass came into the light, ebbing and flickering from the house. Remus tensed, eyebrows furrowing.

The person stepped forward more, brandishing an umbrella in front of them. Remus’ lungs deflated halfway–Hagrid.

He walked closer, umbrella dropping to his side. “Oh, it’s just you lot, and little Harry’s okay, I–” Hagrid’s words faded as he was met with the two wizards’ still wielded wands.

“How do we know it’s actually you?” Sirius’ voice was clenched. He sounded like he did at Order meetings when Dumbledore gave out dangerous missions that meant separation for their friends.

“Why are you here?” Remus asked.

Hagrid nodded, “Professor Dumbledore sent me here to see if… He…”

Remus noted Hagrid’s red cheeks and the dripping eyes. Hagrid lifted his sleeve to his face.

“He had charms on the house to alert him if anything happened. Dumbledore wanted me to get Harry if need be.” Hagrid sniffled and watched the house for a moment before tearing his eyes away. He nodded. “I’m to bring him to his aunt and uncle’s, now.”

Remus hadn’t decided yet what he thought of this situation, this Hagrid situation, this Sirius situation; the situation in general lay in a damp mess across his brain–

But Sirius instantly exploded:

“There is no fucking way that is happening!”

“Dumbledore says it’ll be safest for him, away from–”

“Safest? They’re horrific, the whole lot of them!” Sirius turned his stoic glare at Remus briefly, then faced Hagrid again–

“Professor Dumbledore wants him protected–”

“I AM HIS GODFATHER!” Sirius screamed. Harry gave a whimper again and Remus could hear his squirming against Sirius’ jacket. Sirius’ jaw clenched and he lowered his voice to a growl: “Dumbledore can eat shi–”

Hagrid’s eyes darkened. “Do not speak ill of Dumbledore, now!” He started forward. Sirius lifted his back foot ever so slightly.

Remus moved instantly. He strode to Sirius, their wands still pointing at Hagrid’s now raised umbrella.

Sirius would not run in the other direction. Remus would not let him leave with Harry.

“Stand back,” he ordered Hagrid. “You do not get Harry.” Remus ignored Sirius’ pulsing next to him. Sirius would stay silent. Remus would deal with him once Hagrid was gone.

Harry wiggled in Sirius’ grasp again, his arms reaching over Sirius’ to get Remus’ attention.

“I need to take little Harry now,” Hagrid said. “Dumbledore said not to wait around here. More… You-Know-What’s could be coming.”

Remus grit his teeth. Hagrid had a point. He glanced over at Sirius, who adjusted the weight on his feet again.

“You will not leave without me,” Remus growled as low as he could.

“Harry does not go to–”

“I know.”

Hagrid cleared his throat and stepped forwards. “Now, I’m here on official business for Professor Dumbledore, I need to follow his orders and take Harry–”

“To the flat,” Remus muttered, and gripped onto Sirius’ arm hard, fingertips clenching into his boyfriend’s skin. He knew Sirius was already holding fast to Harry, and he spun them and the world. It all turned into a blur of red and orange against the char of their friends’ destroyed home.

––– 

Harry started sobbing the second they landed in the main room of their flat.

“I know, I know,” Sirius murmured, “Apparating doesn’t feel good. It’s alright, you’re okay now.” He looked down to where Remus’ fingers still dug into his forearm, then up to his face.

Remus startled back. Their eyes froze for a moment, Sirius bouncing Harry on his hip. Remus bit his lip at how deeply bloodshot Sirius’ eyes were. Tears welled up around the edges, or perhaps they had been there the whole time and he had just been too far away to see.

Harry let out another bawl, the volume rising rapidly, and Remus turned to the door and then the fireplace to cast extra wards. He wanted no one entering, not Voldemort coming back to finish the job, not Death Eaters carrying out his bidding, not Dumbledore coming to take their nephew. Remus glanced over his shoulder at Sirius settling Harry on his chest. He cast an extra ward: he wanted no one leaving this apartment tonight, either.

He returned slowly to Sirius. He braced himself. He extended his arm, palm face up, open wide.

Sirius stared at it, murmuring something soothing to Harry, and then he stopped in the middle of a sentence. Remus saw everything click for him just as Harry began to wail more loudly.

“No, no,” Sirius said. He shook his head as he swayed back and forth for Harry.

Remus gave a firm nod and extended his arm further. His wand dangled in his hand at his other side. Sirius glared at it.

Harry screamed.

Sirius opened and shut his mouth a few times. His eyes bared wide and his head shook minutely.

Harry screamed and rocked back and forth in Sirius’ arms, almost tumbling out of Sirius’ clutch.

Sirius shifted Harry fully to one hip, dug his wand out of his pocket. “Fuck you,” he spat. He slapped it into Remus’ hand and turned around, instantly recommencing his talk to Harry.

Remus sighed and pocketed both wands, walking slowly over to the attached kitchen. He poured two glasses of water. He sipped from his and placed the other on the table by the couch… Sirius glanced down at it and then back to the fridge. Sirius closed his eyes on a dark roll. He opened them at Remus.

“We have milk?”

Remus stared at Sirius and watched him rub circles into Harry’s back. Harry whimpered. “I… I can check.” He gave Sirius a once-over and then went to open the fridge again, waiting half a beat as the cool air rushed over him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sirius said. “I can’t, you have my fucking wand, but… I’m not going anywhere.” His voice wasn’t raised, perhaps even a little lower than usual, but the hurt was there all the same.

Remus knew that Harry liked to sleep on their chests while they talked, Lily said it was something about the rumbling sensation being similar to pregnancy. Harry’s sobs were already just sniffles, and Sirius went back to mumbling to him as he watched Remus. And Remus knew he was being watched, even with his back to him, as he got the sippy-cup from the cupboard and poured some milk.

“You’ll forgive me,” Remus responded. He returned to the living room and walked close to Sirius, doing his best to keep his breath steady. “Hey, Harry, hi, bud.”

Harry turned his face from Sirius’ chest–soot around the edges, blood on his forehead, teary shine around his eyes and all on the apples of his cheeks.

“Want some milk?” He held the sippy-cup close so Harry could grab it.

Harry’s face reddened and contorted, and Sirius shifted him before Harry’s wail could rise again to its full volume. He took the cup from Remus, their fingers entangling as the cup transferred hands, and Remus watched as Sirius’s Adam’s apple bobbed before he resumed his talk to Harry–

“Here, bud, come on, we’re gonna go and wash up, okay? You’ll have some milk, I’m going to get a nice warm washcloth–”

Remus rushed to the bathroom ahead of them. He yanked open the cabinet and pulled down the supplies–washcloth, wizarding healing balm, Muggle healing balm.

He sat on the edge of the tub as Sirius came in, cradling Harry and perching on the toilet. He took the washcloth Remus handed to him.

“Mm, nice and warm, hm? Have some milk, I’m just going to wipe this off, here, and then…”

Sirius halted. He frowned. Harry’s eyes lifted from his sippy-cup to watch as Remus leaned in closer.

On Harry’s forehead. The blood was not just a non-magical gash, or even a spell that had bounced off of something else and accidentally hit Harry. A zigzag, a lightning bolt, etched deep. Dark magic, aimed at Harry. Magic with the intent to hurt a one year-old.

Sirius’ hand curled into a fist around the washcloth. His jaw set and his arm shook until the pressure on the washcloth caused some water to wring out on the floor. Remus watched Sirius’ lips quiver and his eyes go dark looking at his godson’s injury. The wound was wet, and even after Sirius passed the washcloth over it a few more times, the scar still filled with blood.

Remus cleared his throat. “Here, we’ve got some ointment for you.” He lowered his gaze to Harry’s eyes.

The green was piercing.

He pressed a smile on to his face. “Is it okay if I dab a bit on?” He tilted the container so Harry could see, waited for the nod behind the cup.

He used the numbing Muggle balm first, then the wizarding one. He wasn’t sure the wizarding medicine would do anything drastic, as this… Yeah, this was an intensely magical scar. Remus pushed back Harry’s hair and smoothed the bandage. Voldemort had truly tried to murder a one year-old after murdering his parents.

Remus’ fingers stilled.

Voldemort had tried to murder a one year-old after murdering his parents. Why could he not succeed?

“Alright now, time to go to sleep, alright?” Sirius’ voice was soft and gravelly, his head ducking around so Harry could see him. Remus fixed the lids on the medicine.

“Padfoo…”

“Mhm? It’s bedtime now, let’s go get you all cozy…” Sirius lifted Harry up so his head lay on his shoulder and dropped the washcloth in the sink on his way out. Remus watched from his spot on the bathtub as the blood trickled down to the drain.

“Want Mama…”

“I know, bud. Sleepy time now, though, okay?”

“Dada…”

Remus dropped his head to his hands as he heard Sirius take a shuddering breath. They were in Remus and Sirius’ bedroom, now. Remus could picture Sirius’ face trembling.

“Night night, Harry. I love you.”

“Love you, Padfoo.”

Remus’ head fell in between his knees and his eyes gave up trying. His tears dropped to the ground. His shoulders shook. He did his best to keep his breathing down, both for the baby in the next room and for the man trying to help the baby to sleep. But a few sorrowful noises crept out anyway, from deep in his throat where he had no control.

He wanted to sob without care for the people in his apartment. He wanted to lock the bathroom door shut and stand in the shower until the heat burned him away. He wanted to walk into his bedroom and stare at the man inside and feel reassured, but instead he sat and cried as silently as possible and listened as Harry’s breathing steadied and Sirius walked to the doorway of the bathroom.

Remus watched Sirius’s feet as they shifted weight.

“I left–” Sirius coughed. “I left the door open,” he continued hoarsely. “Just a bit. I wanted to be… if he needs anything.”

Remus nodded. He peered at Sirius’ face. He blinked up his lashes, the tears dripping off.

Sirius convulsed, instantly, his mouth scrunching and the corners of his eyes turning down.

“Re.”

His voice was a shell of itself and the two stared at each other and knew the other needed a hug–no, not a hug, that was too proper a sentiment for what they needed. The two stared at each other and knew the other needed human contact, arms wrapped around each other and fingers digging into the other’s back, pressing closer until their heartbeats could echo each other. They needed to shove their noses into the crook of their boyfriend’s neck and shake and hold each other up as the other struggled to stand. They needed to stumble to their room and crawl under the covers on either side of Harry Potter and grip hands and stare at him and each other.

But Sirius had thought (or still did think) that Remus would betray them all.

And Remus had thought (and his stomach wouldn’t stop insisting) that Sirius had betrayed the boy and girl they had grown up with.

This was a difficult, deep in his gut feeling to push aside.

Sirius cleared his throat. “I don’t know where…” he shuddered. “I don’t know where to find Peter. I want to–”

Remus stood abruptly and walked forward. “You aren’t leaving.”

“No,” Sirius frowned, “I know, I’m not leaving you and Harry–”

“No,” Remus clarified, “you aren’t leaving because you could send them all back here.”

Sirius startled back. “Remus, I–you seriously–”

“No, I,” Remus pressed his hands to his head. “I can’t do this in the bathroom. Move.” He needed more space, to be able to pace. He looked into his bedroom and saw the bundle of blankets on the bed where Harry breathed softly.

“He’s asleep,” Sirius said quietly from behind him. “He’s peaceful right now.”

Remus could feel Sirius’ heat. If he leaned back, Sirius would catch him.

“You thought I would betray you,” he spat out, spinning to see the instant torture on Sirius’ face.

“I–I did not know. Peter is our friend–” Sirius glanced at the open bedroom door and backed up. Remus knew he was trying to shield Harry from the noise. Remus knew there was no way either of them would use a charm to separate the two of them from Harry right now, even just a Quietening one. Remus didn’t know what to make of it all.

“I am your…” Remus shook his head, hands kneading on his temple. “Fuck, I’m nothing to you.”

“You are my soul.”

“No, I’m not. I am clearly not. I would never harm them, I would die before–”

“You thought I had–”

“I have evidence!” Remus hissed. Sirius’ entire face sunk. “What the hell did you have, Sirius?”

Sirius wept. “I had–we had doubts.”

Remus punched out a breath again. “They doubted my loyalty too?”

Sirius lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “You were away often. You were unresponsive when you were here, it… it was hard to know what was going on with you.”

“You were living with me.”

Sirius jerked his head at the past tense. Remus held the eye contact; he did not get to pull emotions here. He would defend himself or Remus would stun him.

“I figured if something was actually going on, I would figure it out sooner or later, but James and Lily, they didn’t have that–”

Sirius fell to the couch and rested his head in between his knees, palms covering his face.

Remus bit down hard on his lip. James and Lily didn’t have that kind of time.

“They…” The sentence died in his throat.

Sirius met his hesitant stare. “James had fallen by the doorway,” he whispered. “Lily was in Harry’s room. Harry was in his crib, um, just… staring at her.” He shuddered and the tears began a new flow. “He lifted his arms and called my name when I walked in, asking for Lily and James as we…” his voice lowered to just a breath, “passed them.”

Sirius curled forward more and Remus could no longer tell the difference between his own heaving cries and breaths for sustenance.

Remus crouched down in front of Sirius and pulled both wands out of his pocket. He set them on the table and bit his lip.

Sirius looked up through his lashes. Not at the wands, not at the table.

Remus frowned and chewed his lower lip.

Sirius shuddered out another sob and held Remus’ gaze. “I did not murder James and Lily.” He blinked and tears rushed out. “I did not betray our family.”

Remus moved forward, into Sirius and on to the couch. Remus wrapped one of his legs around Sirius’ hips and pulled him close, his hand clutching at Sirius’ shoulders, Sirius grabbing both the front and back of Remus’ shirt, his curled and smokey hair tickling the bottom of Remus’ chin and then taking over all of Remus’ senses as he pressed his face into the top of Sirius’ head. He wrapped his arms around Sirius’ back and the two rocked back and forth.

“Remus, Re–” Sirius sobbed.

“I–” Remus shut his eyes so the whole world turned black. “I’m so sorry.”

Remus grabbed him tighter.

[mae-gi-writes]

The Fine Line | Juyeon (The Boyz Imagine)

Requested! Prince Juyeon! au x Royal Guard! Reader. 

In which you’re stuck with the most disorderly prince of Nuine, Juyeon. 

To anon: this fic took me so long to write and I am so sorry for being so late. BUT i hope that you like the end result and that I made your idea justice! Please do let me know :) <3 Stay safe and stay healthy <3 xx Thanks so much for requesting! 

Genre: fluff, crack-ish? Just all the good stuff. 

---------

"Your Highness ,no."

"Come on Y/N, don't you want to try a teeny tiny piece?"

"I said no."

"Ah come on! It's just a bite!"

"No."

Juyeon finally threw both hands in the air with exaggerated exasperation, "you're really no fun."

"I'm not on duty to have fun, if I might remind you," Y/N snapped, barely keeping hold of her neutral facade when the prince kept acting in such a foolish manner, definitely not like how royalty should behave and yet, the king had stuck her with their youngest son, Juyeon, who knew nothing of royal pride nor did he care about where his family came from.

That wasn't what unnerved her though. What did was the fact that Juyeon thought he was free to do as he pleased, whenever he pleased, and it didn't matter whether he was prince or not. That, in itself, was a motto than did not run smoothly in Y/N's mind.

She was a proud soldier, one that had climbed through the ranks at lightning speed because of her amazing dexterity and talent in wielding weapons as though they were water and she was mother nature.

But she hadn't signed up for this, a.k.a babysitting the most irresponsible royal family member of Nuine.

Except -- she kinda liked him.

And not just as a friend, or a mere man. 

She really liked him, and that only fuelled her hatred. Why would she like such an incompetent man in the first place? It must be the hormones! At least, that was what she had come to the conclusion, before realizing that there was much more to this little crush than she thought there was.

Juyeon sat on the ground of the royal garden, legs crossed as he observed her with alert eyes, "do you ever smile?"

Y/N didn't bother answering him. Though she had a huge urge to just roll her eyes.

"I don't get it. You were so happy and nice when we were young," his orbs were calculating, deep with thought as he surveyed her as though she was a book he couldn't quite decipher, "what happened to you?"

"Life happened. Not everyone gets to spend their days doing nothing like you."

The heat of his gaze did nothing to help, and she found strength in her feet to stop herself from squirming.

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his crossed knees, the prince tilted his head in curiosity, no trace of offence whatsoever on his face despite her harsh reply.

"What?" She barked.

“Did I do something to you?” 

“Huh?” 

Juyeon tilted his head to the other side, “what did I do for you to be so pissed that you have this permanent grudge against me?” 

“I don’t have a grudge,” she huffed. 

“Okay so, why then?” 

"Just because, Juyeon. Not everything I do needs to have a reason.” 

He puffed up his cheeks like a blowfish, “Jeez, you’re really mean Y/N. I just wanted to be friendly, make conversation you know?” 

It might have been true that during their childhood, Y/N and Juyeon had been very close, practically attached at the hip even. Because of her father being appointed head of the Royal Guards serving the Majesty of Nuine, Y/N was always around roaming the halls and lifting weapons much too heavy for her spaghetti arms. But her interest had been there since her young age, her passion for fighting and the natural talent that came with weapon wielding a skill that her family had recognized very early on. 

So it was no surprise that she got enrolled in the nearest soldier academy despite her mother’s protests, following right into her father’s footsteps and gladly acing all midterm tests with flying colours. 

Everything changed one dark night, when her father died.

After that, Y/N had never really been the same. Did she blame the Royal Family for his death? Not really, it was in their job description after all.

But did she resent Juyeon for having lived a sheltered life all his life? Maybe so. 

It was selfish of her. Though, it wasn’t like she could control herself. 

A few days later found the pair in the middle of Nuine's street food market, with Juyeon craning his neck in curiosity over the multitudes of heads inclined towards a stall in particular.

Y/N tugged on his shirt sleeve, "your majesty, I think we should go."

"Oh but wait, this is the best part," Juyeon insisted without peeling his eyes away from the said cook behind the stall. As if on cue, the cook flipped what seemed to be an omelette pancake in the air.

The crowd gasped as the pancake flipped twice on itself, before landing securely on an already-prepared plate.

"Wow!" People burst into applause almost immediately while the chef bowed and extended the pancake to his most recent order.

"Alright," Y/N was already turning, one hand gripping Juyeon's arm in warning, "we've seen enough--"

She was tugged back instead as the prince moved forward until he reached the front of the stall, a crooked grin dancing across his lips as he peered at the cook from underneath his cloak.

"Can I have an omelette please?" Juyeon asked while ignoring the dagger eyes coming from Y/N's direction.

"Tomatoes? Olives? Onions? Ham?" As the cook listed all his ingredients, Juyeon merely nodded along and Y/N let out a trepid sigh. Her foot started tapping on the ground, impatient.

"Juyeon, you know what your mother said about--"

"Oh it's fine, Y/N. Live a little."

"But--"

"If anything happens -- and it won't," he hurriedly added as she opened her mouth to protest, "then I'll take full responsibility."

"And I will lose my job," she couldn't help but mutter under her breath.

------

And of course, considering Juyeon's luck, something was bound to happen.

It was only mid-afternoon -- a few hours after they had returned to the Kingdom, that the prince doubled over due to a stomach ache, coiling so bad that sweat broke over his forehead and his mouth was a tense, thin line of pain.

"I told you so," Y/N tutted while helping him maneuver his way into the bathroom, head practically buried into her neck as he groaned in pain.

"Y/N really? Right now?" he all but groaned against her.

She was about to find a snarky comeback, only for the prince to lurch himself straight at the toilet bowl. Disgusting noises echoed through the room and Y/N turned away from the scene briefly, her own stomach twisting into tight knots. 

Y/N was strong, yes. But have someone throw up in front of her? Even smelling that? No way. She could live without that.

When he was done heaving twice more, now sprawled across the toilet bowl as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded, Y/N crossed her arms over her chest as she judged him with a smug look. 

“See, this would never have happened if you had only listened--” 

Juyeon held up a hand, silencing her, “not now, please.” 

He really did look awful. His usually tan skin was the colour of chalk, fingers holding so tightly over the toilet lid that his knuckles flushed white. As he tried lifting himself from his position, his knees buckled and he would’ve face planted on the ground if not for Y/N’s arms quickly holding him up against her. 

Silently, she moved him back to his bedroom before tucking him underneath his covers, all the while avoiding his gaze that seemed to poke through her countenance with an emotion she couldn’t quite explain.

And then, came the tiniest murmur, “sorry.” 

Y/N paused for a moment. Her eyes fluttered to his face. 

Juyeon gazed back, hooded eyes seemingly genuine to apologize, “I mean it. I’m sorry.” 

She quickly swallowed, “it’s fine.” 

There was a soft pause in which Juyeon’s heavy breaths filled the air. It was suddenly warm in his room, maybe because the thick curtains were now drawn against the slow-setting sunset off the coast of Nuine’s edge, the light a vibrant golden slithering through the wine-coloured drapes. Feeling suddenly vulnerable and out of place, Y/N stood up from her crouching position at his side, causing the man’s eyes to flutter up at her movement. 

“Where are you going?” He asked as she made to move towards the door. When she glanced back, she couldn’t help but notice the confusion on his face as he blinked up at her like an over-sized man child. 

“I thought you’d like to rest, your Highness,” she replied stiffly. 

Another pause. 

Then, in the smallest voice possible, Juyeon mumbled out: 

“Could you--stay? With me?” 

She blinked, “stay? With--” 

And then the words made sense in her head. 

“Uh--” her cheeks coloured instantly at the thought of being so close to a man. Or maybe it was because it was Juyeon, or it was the heat! Right! Totally made sense that it was the heat. Her mouth moved before her brain did: “Sure.” 

What in the name of Nuine are you doing? Her brain screamed at her the moment she sat herself down on the bed’s edge, Juyeon’s body instantly curling up against hers with his head resting upon her lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

 “Uhm--” Y/N’s brain blanked out at the warmth of Juyeon’s head against her thigh, “what are you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” as he spoke, his breath washed against her legs and goosebumps suddenly erupted along the skin there. She shifted uneasily, trying to force herself to stay still despite the fact that there was a full grown man lying down on her like a cat in need of affection.

“Can you pet me?”

His question threw her off guard. She blinked down at him, at the way his eyelashes were casting dark shadows over his cheeks, “What?” 

“My mom used to pet me whenever I was sick,” he murmured, one of his hands grabbing her own before placing it atop his own tuft of hair, “it used to calm me down, make me go sleep.”

“I’m your guard, Juyeon. Not your personal maid.” 

He let out a long sigh, then dropped her hand, “Fine then.” 

The silence that followed felt so thick and coated with an awkward kind of tension that she knew, without reading Juyeon’s expression, that he was currently mad at her. Trust him to be a little brat about it. Usually, Y/N wouldn’t even spare him a second glance. That kind of behaviour was one of a five year old child, one that she wasn’t going to tolerate.

But maybe it was the fact that he was being so dependent, maybe it was the closeness of their two physical bodies and the lack of distance between them. In any case, her heart melted slightly when she felt him shift in her lap and before she knew it, her hand had moved on its own to caress down the side of his skull.

The sight that left Juyeon’s mouth was laden with such satisfaction that it sent shivers running up her spine. He proceeded to nuzzle his nose right into her thighs, causing her to yelp slightly. 

His head snapped up, “what?” 

She recovered quickly though, snapping, “I want to make myself clear, Juyeon. I am not, and will not be, some kind of mistress that you bring to your quarters whenever you feel like it. I’m your Royal Guard.” 

“Jesus Y/N,” the prince turned so that he was facing upwards, gaze landing right onto hers without flinching, “Is that the image you have of me? That I take advantage of everything that moves?”

Suddenly embarrassed, she cleared her throat, “That’s not what I said. I just wanted to let you know.” 

“I know you’re not.” 

“Okay good. Just so that I make myself clear on where I stand.” 

“I wish you didn’t though,” his murmur was a low one, but still one that reached her ears and prompted her to ask, “What do you mean by that?”

Her question was only met with stubborn silence, which made sense, as she might see how Juyeon might have taken this as an offensive use of words. But she’d never been one to beat around the bush and had always been passive aggressive whenever Juyeon was concerned.

Once, she thought that she actually liked him.

And maybe she had. But instead of falling straight into that pool of romantic feeling, Y/N had just brushed it aside, already deciding for herself that it was never going to happen and that she shouldn’t keep her hopes up.

That was, in part, why she was used to being so cold and distant.

It was the only way she could protect herself, make the prince hate her.

She was about to let it go and change the subject, when his words pierced through the air like needles, “what is it about me that you can’t stand?” 

Her hand froze in mid-stroke, still entangled in his dark locks. 

His gaze was so intense she felt him burn holes through her skull.

Y/N cleared her throat. Looked away. 

“I--I don’t hate you,” she finally managed to whisper.

“I know you don’t,” Juyeon’s dark eyes were still surveying her every movement, “but can you be honest with me? What is it with me that you can’t stand? It’s almost like--I don’t know. You don’t even look at me when we talk. You barely acknowledge me sometimes, and you never try. With my brothers it’s like--it’s like you’re this completely different person. You talk to them, you laugh. Why don’t we have that? What did I do Y/N?” 

“You did nothing.” 

“If I did nothing, then why aren’t you looking at me?” 

It feels all too real suddenly; the heat radiating from Juyeon’s body, the intense emotion swimming through his dark brown swirls even though she couldn’t muster the courage to actually lock gazes with him, and the weight of his head on her lap as though they were blissfully in love and comfortable in each other’s presence. 

Her eyes quickly flitted to the golden descending rays dancing along the curtains, anything to keep her away from his probing stare, “I...” 

“What?” Juyeon pressed on, “tell me.” 

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she kept quiet. 

“Okay,” Juyeon sighed once more. Then without warning, he hoisted himself up before his face suddenly zoomed in on hers, so close that she couldn’t help but fall back against the headboard as he dipped his head down so that it was level with hers. 

Her heart speeding up, Y/N tried not to focus on the lack of distance between them. Though that was quite a hard feat, considering he was everywhere she looked.

Sitting there in Juyeon’s bed, with him trapping her from any sort of escape felt as though she was on the brink of a cliff being pressured to jump when she clearly had no intention to. But when she opened her mouth to protest, Juyeon’s eyes snapped up to hers in a way that told her words weren’t going to work, not anytime soon.

She swallowed thickly.

“It wouldn’t have bothered me if it was anyone else,” once he started, it was almost like the flow of words were suddenly too much for him to keep in. He kept on going, voice closing up with emotion, “but it’s you, Y/N. No matter how much I try not to think about it...I do. A lot. And I--I hate it, the way you don’t even seem to acknowledge my existence. I just--I just want to get along with you because I--” 

Before she knew what she was doing, one of her hands had shot out to yank his shirt, with him toppling over before she landed a kiss smack on his lips.

Juyeon stared, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights, jaw slack in naked surprise. 

“Wh--What was that?” he stuttered, a red blushing mess that she would’ve made fun of, if she hadn’t been trying to stop herself from being just as red as he was.

“Look Juyeon, I might hold some feelings for you,” Y/N said it outright though her cheeks were flaming ablaze with heat, “but I just hated you so much, after my dad died. I--I couldn’t look at you without thinking of his death and I tried really hard to loathe your guts. But then...” she shook her head, bit down onto her bottom lip as she chewed on the words that were about to fall from her mouth, “but then, I just--couldn’t. Hate you, I mean.” 

“S-So you--you’re telling me that you-- that you might -- that--” he was gesturing so wildly she thought he might faint from shock. Breathing out softly and pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes shut for a moment, as if to regain his balance. Then, he opened them once more, “you like me. But you hate me.” 

“Tried to,” she corrected him.

“That--That doesn’t make any sense, Y/N.” 

“Yes it does! I liked you, then I hated you. And then I hated that I liked you because I just couldn’t hate you--”  His hands were suddenly at her hips, “Enough talk,” and no sooner had she tried figuring out what that meant that the young man was dragging her over to his lap before his mouth pressed down onto hers in a passionate kiss. 

Y/N tensed for a few seconds, before her body slowly melted in his embrace as his mouth moved slowly over her own, a sinuous dance of lower lip against her upper ones while his arms tightened their hold around her waist. She gasped softly at the feeling of his hard frame against her curves, causing the prince’s mouth to tilt up in a smirk as he progressed the intensity of his kisses. Mouth chasing her own with a hunger she had never been victim to, one of Juyeon’s hands didn’t hesitate to ghost up her arm, along the back of her neck, to mess up her tight ponytail so that her dark hair fell around her shoulders like a curtain. 

There was a soft throaty rumble that signalled his approval of this newfound hairstyle, before he slanted his lips even further by tilting his head. Kissed her deeper, with longer strokes and with his tongue slowly introducing itself into her mouth. It was almost like she was being consumed by his entire being, her breath being taken away every time she tried to as she drowned into Juyeon’s ocean of feelings that seemed to emanate in the form of every kiss, every touch, every line of his body that aligned with hers and set fire to her skin.

Only when her back met with the soft foam of the mattress that realization trickled through her mind like icy water. Unlatching their lips with a soft ‘pop’ and scrambling back against the headboard, she looked up, right into Juyeon’s hungry, predatory gaze, one that swam with full-fledged desire, a thirst that she had never seen on the young prince’s face before.

“Juyeon?” her whisper was breathless, and she felt like slapping herself for sounding so needy. 

“No,” he let out a soft growl, leaning over her body with his arms settling on either side of her head. HIs mouth started a slow, sensual path of kisses that trailed up her neck, leaving fireworks exploding behind her eyelids, “you’re not talking. You’re not telling me off, not now. Not tonight,” he nipped at a small patch of skin right under her jaw and the girl squirmed, desire rippling through her veins and shooting right down south. It didn’t help that every inch of his muscular frame was pressed against hers as though demanding her to beg for what he could give her.

“Please tell me you’re not playing around,” came Y/N’s soft spoken murmur. She hoped that he didn’t hear it. But it was Juyeon, and Juyeon heard everything that concerned him.

“I wouldn’t do this with anyone else, Y/N,” his eyes locked onto hers and she saw his gaze brimming with a vulnerability, a tenderness that shook her to her core and made her heart flip upside down, “you of all people should know that.” 

“So you like me?” she hated how squeaky her voice sounded. He only let out the softest of chuckles, before he leant down to peck her on the mouth, “yes. Yes Y/N. I kinda like you a whole damn lot.” 

[sevensided]

how did you get into writing fic? i'd love to start but idk even where to begin! I loved adats so I was wondering do you have any advice?

Oh my goodness! I am so flattered you’ve asked me this. Yes, I can absolutely help. I’ll throw a bunch of rambling under the cut.

I started writing fic probably when I was... sixteen years old? A lot of my early works were oneshots. I couldn’t figure out how to do anything plot heavy for the life of me, so I just stuck to AUs or whatever I felt like. I wasn’t in any particular fandom -- I really wrote whatever I had ideas for. I remember I tried once to do a plot-heavy story and I received a review absolutely ripping it to shreds. Like, it was so cruel I cried lol. I ended up deleting the fic. Years later, I get what they were trying to say (basically, more substance, less style), but at the time it cut to the quick. Really, it was only when I was in my twenties that I started writing work that was longer and/or better.

The fandom that helped me actually write plot heavy work was a historical-based fandom. As I’m a historian, it was perfect. I got to use my research skills and knowledge to create works that, above all, aimed to feel authentic. I mainly read historical fiction, so I was familiar with how that genre worked. Miraculously, people loved my work. I think I wrote about ~200k in the period of a year? These were several short stories (20-40k) and a few oneshot filler fics. While I was part of this fandom I also helped organise a Big Bang which was a lot of hard work but was extremely rewarding. Along with that, I interacted mainly with other fic writers, so I spent a lot of time chatting to people about ideas and encouraging other writers, and it just created a lovely medley where no concept was impossible or any line of dialogue too difficult. We supported each other and it was truly like a little commune. I gradually stepped away from the fandom mainly because it was just a part of my life at a very specific time, and almost as soon as that time was over, my love for that story/ship faded, but I firmly believe I figured out a lot of how/what I do now purely through that experience.

Regarding ADATS

With ADATS, it stemmed entirely from wanting to “explain” three months in canon (at the end of season three). I was interested in the idea of season four setting up Will/Mike in canon, and I wanted to test the source material to see if I could draw from what already existed to create something authentic. I began with that simple idea: what happened from July to October in 1985? Then I thought about the major themes I wanted to hit -- family, friendship, coming of age, sexuality -- and I nested them around the bigger concept: how do I get Mike from being ostensibly straight to realising he is gay? That meant thinking of two steps: Mike discovering his attraction to guys; Mike discovering his attraction to Will. Those two concepts were separate “arcs” that needed addressing in different ways. Balance was key to weaving them together and making the reader feel like they knew what was coming (and that they felt smart for putting the pieces together) without just rushing through and going “now kiss!” That’s partly why ADATS needs a sequel, lol: because it’s not finished!

Writing process

The first thing I do when I start to get an idea is I write it down. Sounds obvious. But when you have a killer line of dialogue come to you in the shower and you think “I’ll remember that” -- reader, you will not remember it. You gotta get it down ASAP! I do that the whole way through, as generally I’ll be thinking of scenes I’m stuck on and then it’ll just come to me and I’ll quickly jot it down.

The next thing -- or what I do in the meantime -- is start structuring. I plan. I try to plan a lot. Sometimes it’s okay to write “and something happens here to get them here”, because you’ll figure it out later, but for the most part I’ve discovered that planning is like gold and you can’t get enough of it. I break my work up into generally 3-4 parts/sections, and I treat each section like a mini story. So each part needs a conflict and resolution, and it needs to flow into the next section. You need to have a feeling of things evolving and maturing. Once I’ve planned those little bits, I start thinking about the bigger plot arc and how I can drop in hints along the way. I’m probably not a subtle or skilled enough writer to yet pull off that sort of gasping twist you get in really excellent books, but I’m trying to get there. It’s hard, is what I’m trying to say, but that’s okay, because we’re all learning.

Then I generally do aesthetic stuff. Sounds stupid, probably. But nothing helps me get more into a mood than doing a Pinterest board or -- most of all -- making a Spotify mix. I start thinking about the vibe and the general atmosphere, and then I almost exclusively listen to that mix when I’m working. Sort of like muscle memory? Just to get the creative juices associated with that particular selection of songs.

Another thing I’ll do along with plot structure is character structure. This is a biggie. I mean, a story is nothing without characters. So I’ll just jot down a bunch of bullet points of characters and particular aspects that I want to highlight or remember. I hate continuity errors in fiction. Like, if someone says they work on Maple Street but later in the fic they’re working on Pine Street. I hate that. So I keep note of specific things that my main character might notice at repeated points in the story (colours, places, smells, names, sounds -- so they’re all consistent even as the narrative evolves). That’s another thing -- your characters’ motivations. Not everyone is going to be a huge player, but they all do serve a purpose. The most important character is obviously your main character. I personally think it’s important to let your M.C. be an arse at times. They’re going to be mean, they’re going to misinterpret things or fly off the handle... just let ‘em. Let them be wretched humans, and then bring them back and make them realise what they’ve done. Let them learn! I love consequences in fiction, lol.

At the same time, I’ll probably start writing. We’ve already written down some snippets of neat dialogue or descriptions, but now we should start the actual process. For me, I used to start at the beginning. Usually this was the most fleshed out anyway: I’ll have a clear idea of the beginning and the end, but nothing in the middle. These days, if I have a scene in mind that I can’t forget, I’ll just write it. It will possibly get scrapped or rewritten, but that’s okay, because at least you’ve got it down and now you can devote your brain power to something useful (like figuring out what the middle is supposed to be). I’ll have half a dozen of totally out of context scenes just littered in my Word document that I’ll add to as I go along. Eventually, though, you’re going to start writing properly, and that’s when you write your opening scene.

Opening scenes: super important. Every time I write a scene I think: what is the point of this? What do I want the reader to learn or takeaway? Sometimes you do have filler scenes, but they also serve a different purpose (perhaps to establish a group dynamic or to explore/describe a character’s surroundings). Mainly, though, every scene should push something forward in some way, whether it’s character development or a plot point. So, with an opening scene, I always think you have to establish: where you are; who you are; what they are doing; where they’ve come from (in a philosophical and practical sense); and where they’re going (ditto). That doesn’t have to happen in the first paragraph -- that would be silly. But if you sprinkle that information in over time it’ll gradually build up a picture of your character and that way the reader can get an idea of who they are. You basically need to give a snapshot of what your story is about. This also goes back to the character creator stuff: where they are at the start should be different to where they end up. How that happens is, of course, because of plot, and because you’ve structured everything to the nth degree, we’ve got a very clear progression of that character’s growth (/s easier said than done lol).

General advice

Write down everything: every idea, a bit of dialogue, a description, whatever. Write it down. Doesn’t have to be neat. Just has to be on paper. You can’t remember everything, so if you’re spending time trying to hold those things in your head, it’s taking up space for new ideas to come along.

Structure, plan, structure, plan. Sometimes it’s boring and I hate it. Other times, when I’ve not written in a few days and I open the Word doc and think wtf is this supposed to be, I am very grateful for Past Me for leaving such detailed notes. Seriously, it helps so much. Oneshots don’t really need planning, in my experience. You just get those out there. But multi-chaptered stories really do, even ones that “just” focus on a relationship.

Whatever you want to write, commit to it. Space goblins invade Hawkins? Do it. Eleven and Max find themselves in a cult akin to Midsommar (2019) and must escape? Yes. Just... whatever you want to do, remember that you’re writing it for you. Write what most interests you, what makes you when you reread it go AHHHHH I LOVE THIS!! Because that makes it a thousand times easier to actually get on with the writing when you enjoy what you’re doing.

Write a lot. Every day, if you can, or at least at designated times. Occasionally I have a very specific headspace/vibe I have to be in, but sometimes it just hits me and I’ll say to my partner “I need to write now” and just disappear, lol. The more you write the more you write. It’s so, so, so true. Cannot emphasise this enough. When I wrote that ~200k in twelve months? It was because I literally wrote every. day. Or near enough. Remember that some days you’ll write 200 words, and other days you’ll write 20k (this happened to me with ADATS -- part of the reason I finished it so quickly was because I had sprints of writing 10k+ at a time that only happened because I was in the rhythm of it). Write, write, write. Who cares if it’s crap! No one will see it until you are ready. In the meantime, just write!

Probably last of all (although I could go on and on) is connect with other writers. If you’re struggling to start, sometimes just talking about it can help a huge amount. I hope it goes without saying that you can message me whenever you want, anon or not, and I will talk to you. We can talk about ideas or I can beta stuff, whatever you want! Find like-minded people and talk to them about what you want to do. Another thing this helps is in advertising your work when you do publish. I see a lot of first time fic writers get super down because they publish their magnum opus on AO3 but no one comments. Honestly, it’s because no one knows you’ve published! You don’t have to be tooting your own horn every which way, but just actively talking about your work and even collaborating with other content creators with get you hyped and other people too (and the input and encouragement other fandom members give is just... out of this world. Anon messages helped me finish ADATS when I was really worried I wouldn’t [that’s the truth]. Seriously, support is everything). When you have people excited about your work, you get excited. It’s really as simple as that.

I could go on but this is already horrendously long. I hope even a bit of this helps! If you want to chat or have any more questions, just hit me up any time.

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

Cuddle Corner (Part 2)

A long time coming, literally ~5 years, the sequel to the original Cuddle Corner. This one was highly requested on ao3 and ff.net, but honestly? I wanted it just as bad.

This story is dedicated to @fruipit. One because your enthusiasm for the original was so energizing, and two, because I still owe you a larger fic but here I am on the one-year-anniversary of that to offer this one instead xD

Edit: for those who love to favorite and comment: ao3 and ff.net are now available!

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

The background buzz of the mall’s food court droned around Anna and Kristoff as they dug into their meals. Work would come calling soon, but it was their lunch break, and the reuben’s they made here were well worth the drive, the parking nightmare, and the overpriced soft drink that came with it.

Kristoff watched Anna. While generally a reserved man, his quiet was different now, observant. After devouring half of his sandwich, the rest remained practically untouched, but Anna was too busy enjoying her food to notice. Too busy that is, until Kristoff cleared his throat.

“I think you should go back.”

Her sandwich stopped halfway to her mouth. "We are not talking about this." "Anna..." Kristoff leaned forward, posture set firm. Anna met his gaze with equal and opposite determination - and to her credit, she gave it her all. But it was like trying to bully a mountain by throwing pebbles, and eventually she closed her eyes, giving in with a measured inhale and exhale. "You know why I can't." "Yeah, so you've told me." "Then you'll have to forgive me for being short," Anna scowled. "I thought I'd made it clear that that could never be allowed to happen again." "So, what?” Kristoff raised an eyebrow. “You're just going to keep yourself on house arrest and never interact with another human being ever again?" Anna put her meal down. Based on the way her stomach was already tightening in knots, she wasn't getting back to it anyway. "Of course not, that's absurd." Kristoff spread his arms, awaiting an explanation. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I care about you, Anna." Kristoff's face softened. "I won't go so far as to say I know how you feel, because I know that I don't and never truly will. But I do know you. And you haven't been yourself since that appointment." Anna stared at the tabletop, arms close to center. "I know you don't want to talk about it," Kristoff continued, "but whatever happened–"

“Nothing happened!” Anna shouted, drawing concerned looks from the other patrons. The words cut like glass. Her throat felt raw, heart bleeding as it pumped jagged pieces through her chest. She drew her hands back even further when Kristoff offered his own from across the table. She couldn’t. Not now.

God, she hated crying.

A foot nudged hers gently. Anna blinked back the tears, remembering where she was and who she was talking to. This was Kristoff, and he knew her better than anyone.

“Anna, you’re hurting.” He tapped his foot on top of hers, doing it again when she remained silent. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “but I can’t watch that big goofy heart of yours shrink in on itself any longer.”

He paused and Anna felt the sharp teeth of dread.

“Was it Elsa?”

Anna’s eyes widened. “No! No, Elsa was… Elsa was perfect.”

“You said it reminded you of before.”

“And I stand by that, sort of.” Another nudge and this time Anna tapped Kristoff’s foot back, bringing a smile to his brown eyes. She gave him one of her own, small and weak in comparison. “Elsa was completely professional. We established boundaries and she constantly checked in on me to make sure I was okay. She never did anything without my say-so and she cared about my well-being.” Anna’s expression soured. “Which is exactly where everything went wrong. We hugged, sat together, swapped stories. I felt like I’d known her my whole life! I was even brave enough to put my head in her lap. I got so caught up that I forgot why I can’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

Kristoff offered his hand again and she took it, grateful for his patience. “When that timer went off, everything came flooding back. Everything. Guilt and fear and crushed hope. I threw all of it in her face. Elsa, she... she didn’t deserve that.” Anna’s shoulders dropped with the admission, a weight slipping the ground. She glanced up at Kristoff and shrugged awkwardly. “You know the rest. I’ve avoided talking about it and spent all my free time at home, trying to get my shit together.” She inhaled shakily. “I really thought I was done with this.”

A soothing thumb brushed the back of her hand. She tentatively reached out with her sneaker, warmth softening the sharp edges in her chest when Kristoff bumped her back.

“I’m guessing that means you haven’t called her back, even though you have her card.” Kristoff leaned forward. “You… do still have it?”

Anna nodded. “Right where I left it, stuffed as far down into my jacket pocket as possible.”

“I think you should call her,” He said after a moment of thought.

“Kristoff.” Anna took back her hand, bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I know you’re just trying to help but how many times do I have to say that we, Elsa and I, cannot be a thing? Being ‘a thing’ means spending time together, spending time together means we’ll be affectionate, and being affectionate leads to… more. A-And I can’t give, more.”

“Which is why I’m not suggesting that in the least,” Kristoff replied, face set. “I’m merely saying you call her so she doesn’t think you hate her.”

Ouch. That hurt.

“You’re not the kind of person to wrong someone,” Kristoff continued, “let alone wrong someone and not apologize.” More gently he added, “I know you enjoyed spending time with her, anxiety aside. You’re not even going to give her the chance? Not even to be friends? Professional chums?”

“I don’t know, Kristoff,” Anna crossed her arms. “Are you friends with your therapist?”

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh.”

Kristoff grinned. “You were expecting me to say no, weren’t you?” Anna eyed the rest of her meal by way of answer. “I know she’s not your therapist, and trust me, I understand the urge to keep absolutely everything between you and Elsa professional. But sometimes in a space like that, where it’s just the two of you, you have to be honest too. Sometimes the best way for them to help you is to… well, let them help you.”

“Eloquent.”

“Just another way of saying I’m right, which I will take, thank you.” 

Anna snorted at his antics, smiling a little too. But in the silence that followed the chilling trace of fear wound it’s way under her skin, trailing beneath her bones. She pressed her fingertips to her sternum. Heart and mind said two different things, and it was too soon to decide whether the fleeting spark of hope Kristoff was inspiring would save or destroy her.

“Please,” Kristoff pleaded, “no more of this. However you need to frame it -- for her sake or yours -- make things right with Elsa.” -------------

Anna steeled herself, dial pad staring accusingly when she hesitated again before punching in the number on the card. Her hand shook as she put the phone to her ear. 

She begged for voicemail.

"Hello?” Dammit. “Elsa speaking."

“H-Hey Elsa," she cleared her throat, suddenly hoarse. "It's Anna."

"Anna!" Came the joyful cry, "Wow, Anna I'm... I'm really glad to hear from you." Anna didn't know what to say so she didn't respond. "What can I help you with?"

"I um, I know it’s been forever since we met but I was thinking…” She took a deep breath. She wanted this, didn’t she? “I, wanted to see you again.”

Immediately Anna knew she’d screwed up. “In what way?” Elsa’s voice was dangerously low, cautious in a way that nearly broke Anna’s soft heart. No, not afraid of me, please no.

“As in an appointment,” Anna rushed, backpedaling so fast she felt dizzy.

"Really?” Elsa sounded back to normal, even delightfully surprised. “I mean, of course. That’s why I gave you my number after all.” She laughed, high and breathy. “When would you like to come in?"

Anna hadn't even checked her calendar. Could she be any less prepared? "Um," Anna racked her brain, trying to find an open slot, "how about Saturday?"

"Saturday is good. I have a noon and a four o'clock, whichever works better for you."

"Four is better."

"Great! I'll see you then," Elsa exclaimed. There was a moment of quiet, then, "And hey, Anna?"

Anna swallowed. Elsa's voice had changed again, completely. It was painfully searching, even if Elsa tried to hide with brevity. "Yeah?"

"Thanks... for giving me a second chance."

Elsa hung up, leaving Anna to wonder how she would manage to survive the next three days.

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

The waiting room was all too familiar, despite the fact she hadn't been back in months. The music hadn't changed, the buddha statue was still fat and happy, and the reeds still looked fake. Or real. Or both.

A different receptionist checked her in, all smiles and good smells. Apricot, Anna realized as she found a seat. Easy, considering she was the only one here, but unfortunate, since all she really wanted to do was hide.

But Kristoff was right, this was going to be for the best. Elsa, though they'd only interacted for an hour, deserved much more than Anna’s surprisingly cold shoulder.

"Anna?" Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't heard the door open. She looked up and found a pair of eager blue eyes, tempered in a way they shouldn't be. Too cautious.

She'd been hurt.

Shit.

“I’m–. We… are ready to see you now.” Elsa waved her clipboard. “If you’ll just follow me.” 

Down the hall, past the same differently decorated rooms. Elsa’s open white button-down flared over black jeans as she walked, pale braided hair swinging back and forth delicately. It was nice, Anna thought, all these stark negatives against the baked clay hue of the walls and stained wood of the picture frames. Well, not negatives, Elsa could never be a negative, not like that. Anna was just appreciating the contrast–

She looked up when Elsa coughed. “We’re here,” she said for what must have been the second time. Anna immediately recognized it as the same room they’d been in when she was here last.

“Is this your room then?” she asked, moving inside.

Elsa shook her head. “We get a room assigned at random unless the client specifies. Technically you got the one two doors down but I thought since you knew this one and I didn’t want you to feel…” Her eyes changed, losing their confidence. “Unless you wanted another room, then–”

“Thank you,” Anna stopped her, touched by her concern. “This one is perfect.”

Elsa closed the door and handed over the clipboard. “So. Anna. Sign a few places and we can get started, same as last time.” She froze, searching Anna’s face. “Or not the same since, well…,” she trailed off.

They both looked at the door handle.

Anna swallowed, fighting the anxiety suddenly clogging up her throat. She realized that if this was going to work, she was the one who needed to set expectations too. Anna scribbled her name, then tucked the pen under her thumb and held out her other hand, palm up. “It won’t be the same,” she said with a confidence she was still finding. “It’ll be better.”

She saw Elsa hesitate, meeting Anna’s gaze instead. Her expression was schooled but Anna saw the cheer in her eyes. “That’s cheating,” she replied, humor lending warmth to her voice, “your time hasn’t started.”

“Then let’s start.”

Now Elsa smiled, unfiltered and without shadow.

Elsa set another timer on her phone, laying it down on the table. Caught up by the slowly ticking numbers on the screen, Anna nearly started when Elsa took the hand she’d offered before. Thankfully, Anna turned the reflex into a motion towards the bed. “Shall we?”

Elsa raised an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done to Anna Fields?” She chuckled, but let herself be led across the room.

“Ms. Fields has had a lot of time to think.” Anna settled herself on the side of bed, dropping her purse off her shoulder. “And she’s got some things to say.”

The mattress dipped on her right as Elsa settled next to her. Their hands were still connected. Anna took a deep breath, settling her nerves, “Starting with, ‘I’m sorry’.” Elsa made a humming noise and rubbed her thumb across Anna’s knuckles. “I’m sorry that I left things the way I did, I promise I’m not usually so… volatile. I know I didn’t explode on you or anything but, it must have felt like a switch got flipped. One second perfectly relaxed, the next…” In her mind Anna heard the timer again, felt the tightening pull of her muscles, saw the half remembered steps to the door. Her free hand clenched over her knee. “A-And I wouldn’t look at you, I couldn’t.” She felt Elsa’s eyes on her now, and the irony that Anna was struggling to meet her gaze, still, wasn’t lost on her.

When a few moments passed without either speaking, Elsa shifted, kicking her shoes off and pulling her legs up onto the bed. “I know you have more to say, and I want to hear it. But we are the Cuddle Corner after all. Can we try this?” Elsa moved behind her, then turned her back and sat cross-legged, facing the opposite wall. “I think you’ll like this one,” she said, speaking a little louder so her voice carried. “Just mirror what I’m doing, and rest your back against mine.”

Anna thought about it, but only for a moment before she reoriented herself and slowly eased against Elsa. Then she shifted, straightening her back and sitting up taller. Of course Elsa had good posture. At least, better than her own.

“Relax,” Elsa said calmly, though Anna heard the distinct upward lilt of humor buried in that one word. “And when you’re ready, place the back of your head on mine, too.”

Anna could feel every one of Elsa’s breaths, expanding lightly against her spine. It was distracting, but pleasantly so, soothing and gentle. Finally Anna tilted her head back, looking straight ahead.

“How are you doing?” Elsa asked.

Anna closed her eyes and breathed deep. Her awareness traveled from her head to her center, where things were still a little messy, but more calm than before, quieter. “Better,” she replied honestly.

“Good.” She felt Elsa raise her chin. “Try to keep looking forward. You’ll want to speak to the side or turn your head, to see my facial expressions. But,” she paused. Anna heard the smile step into her voice and she couldn’t help the one that grew to match, “part of this exercise is to trust what you feel and hear coming from the other person, without relying on what you see. Is that still okay?”

Anna straightened again. From the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, she felt a peace steal over her. Maybe it was something about the position, or maybe it was the rhythm of Elsa’s breath. She wrapped that feeling around her like a cloak, snug, overlapping her heart.

In answer, she continued where she left off.

“At the end of last session I… wasn’t myself. I shouldn’t have left like that. Shouldn’t have left you like that. You didn’t deserve it, especially because, well, it wasn’t your fault.” Anna shifted, attempting to look over her shoulder before remembering Elsa’s advice. “I want to make that very clear: you, Elsa? Did nothing wrong. In fact, you did everything right. You just, pah-,” Anna made a little outward motion with her hands, a small explosion, “made everything work, just for a moment.” Anna felt more than heard Elsa’s small giggle against her back and felt her ears get hot. “Yeah I’m, not always the best with words.”

“It’s more common than you think,” Elsa replied. Anna saw her move her hand out of the corner of her eye. “When you can’t see someone it’s normal to raise your voice and use your hands more, since you’re still trying to get your point across with less to work with.” There was that laugh again, hitching against her ribs. “Though I get the feeling you talk with your hands anyway.”

“My family knows not to keep glassware around me after dinner, yes,” Anna snorted. “And Kristoff stocks the break room with extra napkins, just for me.” She rolled her eyes. “Real charmer that one.”

“I think you mentioned this man, Kristoff, the last time you were here too,” Elsa said softly. “He must mean a lot to you.”

“Yeah!” Anna beamed. “He was the first friend I made at my job and now…,” she paused, considering, “well now I think he’s my best friend.” 

Elsa made a noise of curiosity, a little wordless question. “I would have thought he was your brother, the way you sound when you talk about him.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Anna sighed, leaning back into Elsa. “It’s probably because we hug and hold hands and he gives me piggy back rides across the parking lot just for the fun of it. I tried to give him one once and nearly broke my knee. I’m strong, but he’s a mountain man.” Anna laughed to herself. “Actually, people think we’re dating most of the time.”

“Oh?” Elsa sounded genuinely surprised, the sound bouncing high off the walls, “you’re not?”

“Nnnnnope!” Anna replied, popping the ‘p’. “I mean he’s sweet and all: attentive, caring, soft-hearted. Anyone would be lucky to have him. But I’ve never thought of him that way.”

Instantly Anna felt a flush creep up her neck, and she sat forward. “W-Well,” she stammered, “not like that like that, I mean. Sure he can be charming in a rough sort of way sometimes and it feels really nice to be held in his arms because he’s so much bigger than me and yes we buy each other gifts just because we know it’ll make the other person happy b-but… I…” she swallowed, staring at the bed spread past her legs. “N-Not like, the anything that comes after… all that.” Anna fussed with the hair behind her ear, self-conscious. “But I suppose if I had to pick a dude, he’d be really great.”

Anna thought she heard an, “Oh,” from Elsa again but she wasn't sure. She realized they weren’t touching anymore, and in the same heartbeat realized that she’d sort of, almost, accidentally come out to Elsa.

A pit opened in her stomach, enough that her heart dropped just a little, enough for anxiety to find a little home and buzz through her chest.

It was a soft ball, an underhand throw, of a coming out, easily brushed aside or misinterpreted. Elsa was professional, she probably wouldn’t even ask.

Anna really wanted her to ask. But she also really didn’t.

But mostly she just didn’t want Elsa to feel weird about her.

“Anna?”

Elsa was looking at her, over her own shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Anna blinked. “Am I--. Of course I’m okay. Oh, shit,” she scooched backwards until she felt Elsa’s waist again and leaned back, touching her head to Elsa’s. “I left the position, sorry.”

Elsa was quiet for a moment, and Anna swore she could feel Elsa’s thoughts winding themselves down her spine. But Elsa’s next words held only warmth. “It’s more about the exercise than anything else,” she said, and Anna could tell she was still speaking over her shoulder, directly to her. “You can leave it at any time, for any reason. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, promise,” Anna twisted to face Elsa. “I think I’m just really bad at… explaining… myself…”

Elsa’s eyes softened and for a moment Anna couldn’t see anything else. They were so close. She’d turned and now they were breathing the same air. Inches. Centimeters.

He used to call this kissing distance.

“Anna?”

“Yes?” Anna murmured. Every nerve in her body was aware of itself. Her skin prickled with their energy, thorned as a rose.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Ever,” Elsa stated firmly. She leaned back into Anna, the smallest upward turn on her lips. “I don’t need to understand to care.”

But Anna saw that she did understand. And better, that Elsa wasn’t afraid of her, or anything Anna brought with her.

And that was… a lot.

Anna closed her eyes, took a deep breath--

And flopped down against the plush mattress.

She heard Elsa laugh behind her hand as she opened her eyes. “Too much?” Elsa asked, humor making lines around her eyes.

“No, not too much, just,” Anna mulled her words over, “you make it sound so easy. You make this so easy,” Anna gestured with both hands to the space above her head broadly, encapsulating the room and everything in it, physical and immaterial. “I started out apologizing, and those thoughts were all tangled up in my head because I wanted to be sincere and make this time different and it is different, so different, and I guess now I’m just, really… really grateful.”

Elsa nodded as Anna finished. “There’s a part of me that wants to say, ‘Well, it’s my job after all’, but I really am glad that I’ve been able to help, Anna.” She laid herself down too, on her side, propping her head up on her hand. “And in case you’re the kind of person that needs to hear it: I forgive you, Anna, so you don’t need to apologize anymore.”

A great breath washed out of Anna. She stared up at the ceiling, arms outstretched. “Thank you.”

After a brief pause, Elsa replied, “I’d actually already forgiven you, before you got here.”

Anna sat up on her elbows. “What? Why? I hadn’t even said anything yet!”

“It was the fact that you called at all.”

“But--! That doesn’t…”

Elsa held up her hand and shook her head. “You’re overthinking it,” she said gently, “which is alright, since that’s what I pegged you for anyway.”

Anna went to reply but stopped herself, trapping the air in her cheek. Then, she said, “You know, it’s not terribly cuddly to insult your clients, Elsa.”

“Hmm, true,” Elsa acquiesced, though her tone begged to differ. “What I mean is, you struck me as a ‘Thinker’ is all, even on your first visit.”

“A ‘Thinker’?” Elsa nodded again. “Like the guy who sits on a rock all serious-like?”

“Not quite,” Elsa chuckled, “although at times I’m sure that makes for a good analogy. I can explain it for you, but we’re still on your time here.” Elsa sat up, cross-legged, similar to Anna’s first visit. “The last few times I’ve been making the suggestions to help you relax, but I saw you take initiative when you first got here, and I want you to feel like this is your space as well. Now, as much as you’re comfortable, what do you want me to do?”

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Anna gulped. It wasn’t that big of an ask, and it made sense. Boundaries, two sets. A middle ground of mutually agreed upon comfort and engagement. She could do this.

Elsa sat patiently, in no rush at all. Anna looked back up at the ceiling and pondered. Suddenly a phantom feeling stole over her. Another time, another place. Someone warm next to her. A starlit sky above, cold ground below.

“On my stomach,” Anna said out loud. She turned her head and saw Elsa’s bewildered expression. “Sometimes when Kristoff and I hang out we lay on each other, and we’ll put our heads on the other’s belly.” Anna felt her face heat up a little, knowing it sounded more intimate than it really was. At least, not that way, but people usually didn’t believe that. “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I can think of another one.”

“Won’t I be too heavy?”

Anna blinked. “Huh?”

“Won’t it hurt?” Elsa rephrased. “Heads weigh more than people think, and stomachs are notoriously soft.”

A beat passed.

Then Anna laughed.

At first it was small, like the quick kind of chortle and dash of amusement from an inside joke, but it rapidly changed to loud, full from her chest laughter, curling her legs towards her ribs in an attempt to contain it. Elsa’s concern was so endearing, and it soothed parts of Anna that were still hidden in the dark, but it was also utterly silly, too.

And that made the last trace of Anna’s trepidation disappear like mist in the morning.

“Notorious is a strong word,” Anna managed past her giggles. “I’m not sure who told you that, but maybe that’s just about your head.” One of Elsa’s eyebrows raised to acknowledge the comment, but as smooth as she tried to pass herself off, Anna could see how her mouth twitched with her own tamped laughter.

“It’s not terribly cuddly to insult your local professional, Anna,” she mimicked, sending Anna back into hysterics.

“I’ll… be fine,” Anna wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye as she flattened out again. “Kristoff is literally twice your size, I think I’ll make it.”

“Okay well,” Elsa lowered herself down, resting the back of her head lightly on Anna’s side with barely any weight at all. “Like this?”

“Yeah except you’re going to put your neck out like that,” Anna teased. “I said it was okay, Elsa. Trust me this time.”

After a moment of hesitation Elsa moved further back until she was fully settled, her shoulders hitting Anna’s hip and lower ribs. She sighed, making a few more adjustments until Anna could tell she was comfortable too.

They breathed in silence for a while, listening to each other. Anna realized she hadn’t eaten in a while and worried, briefly, that her body might make that fact known, but she supposed it wasn’t anything Elsa hadn’t heard before.

“So what were you saying earlier?” Anna re-broached the subject. “About how I… think things too much?”

“It’s not always the amount that you’re thinking,” Elsa chuckled. Anna felt the sound reverberate across her stomach and chest, warm and light. Elsa talked upwards, her head rising and falling in time with Anna’s breathing. “People process things in a lot of different ways, but many find that conceptualizing two categories - Thinking and Feeling - helps them more easily navigate those styles. Some people analyze and scrutinize and run over scenarios from as many angles as they can, and sometimes they do that to an excessive amount, which can cause more anxiety than it reduces. And some people,” she reached out and patted the bedspread. It was probably just to indicate that she was speaking about Anna, like the back to back exercise where they couldn’t see each other, but for some reason Anna reached out too, and put her hand beneath Elsa’s. She heard Elsa smile as she continued explaining, curling their fingers together. “Some people just have emotions that drift and bounce and trace around their body all the time. They’ll sit with a feeling until they’ve experienced all that it can give. Maybe they experience joy that floats them for hours, but they also feel sadness that sinks them into a sea of their own making.” Elsa turned her face towards Anna. “I’m fairly certain you’re the first one.”

“Huh.” Anna thought for a moment, feeling Elsa’s weight with every inhale. “So you’re a Feeler then?”

A smile tugged at Elsa’s lips. “How did you know?”

Anna shrugged. “I didn’t really, I just guessed.” She looked back up, rubbing the back of Elsa’s hand idly with the pad of her thumb. “Although, now that I think about it, you’ve always been thought-ful. Always checking in on me, asking me good questions --those always felt more experienced than logical though, if that makes sense. But the reasoning behind them seems more intuitive, like you just… know.” Anna paused, struck by something. “Actually, I didn’t have the word for it then, but I think I noticed it back when I called you.”

“To… schedule this appointment?” Elsa asked, sounding a little mystified.

“Yeah. It was in the way your voice changed when--,” and now Anna stopped because she felt embarrassment crawling up the nape of her neck. “When I said I wanted to see you again.”

“Oh.” Elsa turned her head to look at Anna. She had the smallest grimace on her face. “Sorry, that was pretty unprofessional of me.”

“On the contrary, I think checking to make sure your clients aren’t developing that kind of attachment to you is probably the most professional thing to do.”

“Well the paperwork helps,” Elsa hummed, “but you’re not wrong. Thankfully I haven’t encountered that problem yet, but I know some co-workers have.”

“It makes sense. I mean, this is the kind of thing most people imagine couples doing.”

Elsa shrugged. “Not everywhere. There are places where this is normal for family and friends, where physical affection isn’t locked behind the potential marital status of the individuals. And frankly, it’s normal here too, but not everyone experiences intimacy the same way.”

Intimacy.

The word clings to Anna’s throat, even though she hadn’t said it. A tightness, a dark line from neck to stomach, pooling invisibly around light Elsa’s hair.

“That’s good!” Anna blustered. “For them I mean, the people who get it. Wait no, not that the people who don’t feel that way are like-- What I mean to say is that that’s good! That people do that, somewhere: here, there, anywhere. I didn’t mean to say that people who don’t are doing bad, just, like, ‘Hey, good for them!’, you know?” She smacked her free hand over her eyes with a groan. “Grammar and statement of purpose have abandoned me. Feel free to tell me to stop talking whenever.” She felt Elsa’s laughter in the bunching of her shoulders against her stomach.

“Thinker,” Elsa chastised warmly.

And then it just became… chatter.

Catching up, laughing at anecdotes, learning about the other. Elsa asked about Anna’s job and Anna responded that she was training some promising new hires who were positively electric about their fields. Anna asked Elsa about her day job, making a mental note to check out a charity event a few blocks from her work. The first appointment seemed like a lifetime ago, and now that the air was clear and they’d settled, a lifetime seemed like just the thing to fill up the room.

Until Elsa scrunched her eyes up and said, “Okay, I think we’ve got to change positions, I’m getting a little dizzy.”

“I get it,” Anna empathized, “it’s the ups and downs. It gets a little disorienting”

“Yeah.” Elsa sat up and blinked hard a few times, her hand splayed out wide on the bed to keep balance. They’d kept them mostly entwined over the last part of their session, but Anna couldn’t help talking with her hands and it turned out that, at times, neither could Elsa.

Anna stretched, feeling like a cat in a sunbeam. She was as comfy as she was last time with her head in Elsa’s lap, but this time she knew the timer couldn’t surprise her. That enough words had passed between them for old wounds to not rear their heads. And while she didn’t anticipate it, for that would mean the end of her time with Elsa (for now), she did acknowledge it’s reality, and she was not afraid.

But she was damn cozy though.

“You look like you could fall asleep right there,” she heard Elsa say above her head. Anna opened her eyes to mirthful blue.

“I think you’re right,” Anna agreed, blocking a yawn with her hand.

“You’re welcome to take a nap. It’s--”

“--More common than you’d think,” Anna recited at the same time, making Elsa hide a smile behind her hand. There was a lot that Anna had learned in her short time here, but mostly that her knowledge of what people did when they felt safe and comforted was different than she’d expected. But it was a good kind of wrong to be, the eye-opening kind. The kind that made your heart feel a little bigger and softer. “You say that a lot.”

“Well it’s true!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Anna held up her hands, placating. “I’m just saying, it’s like your catchphrase.” Anna swept her outstretched arm in an arc, wiggling her fingers, “‘The more you know!’, with Elsa, the Cuddle Expert.”

Elsa bumped her arm. “You’re a tease. But I mean it, you’ve got time. Even if you don’t fall asleep, laying back and relaxing is part of cuddling you know.”

Anna stifled another yawn and turned onto her side. “I’ll at least sleep on top of the covers,” she replied, her voice dropping as she closed her eyes. “That way you don’t have to wash all the sheets.”

“Well they get washed anytime they’re used, and there’s spares in the hall closets but…,” she heard Elsa snicker, “you really think of everything, don’t you?”

“I think that joke has already run its course,” Anna smiled, then patted the open space in front of her invitingly. “C’mon, you might as well get a break too--.”

The bed dipped behind her.

“Well I can at least keep you warm this way; it’s kind of a classic cuddling position.”

The words were joking and light, Elsa’s voice so close to her ear, practically glowing.

“I don’t know who designed these rooms,” the voice continued, “but they let the air blow right above us. It gets incredibly chilly sometimes, and that’s coming from me of all people!” Forearms braced themselves against her spine, legs pressed against the back of her own, and soft exhales tickled the baby hairs at the nape of Anna’s neck.

And suddenly Anna was not at Cuddle Corner.

Her vision tunneled. The opposite wall retreated, backing itself down a long, dark corridor. Her peripherals feathered, the thorned, hyper-awareness from before screeching back, focused on the blazing points of contact between them.

Anna?

Her back was a ramrod, a live wire. When she breathed the air had nowhere to go, her lungs shallow and tight.

Breath on her neck and hands on her shoulders.

“Anna?”

Elsa’s voice.

Anna gasped, air traveling deeper, chest expanding, and the room returned to normal. Anna licked her lips, nerves settling under her skin, buzzing inside her ribs to join the dark feathers still flitting and hovering there.

“Maybe we should switch.” The words were strained but Anna tried to make them sound casual. To make them sound less like they hurt and more like before, just moments before when everything was perfect.

“...Are you sure?” Elsa replied over Anna’s shoulder. She’d moved away, touch gone, leaving phantom prints behind. Anna hesitated but nodded slowly. “Okay…”

The bed moved again. A moment later Elsa lowered herself down in front of Anna, facing away. Her braid was pulled over her shoulder, out of reach, exposing the light skin of her neck. Unable to see Elsa’s expression, Anna swallowed the dark, heavy thing inside her throat and attempted to gauge Elsa’s mood through posture alone.

“You can come close,” Elsa said. A simple and straightforward invitation, but Anna thought she heard an edge creep into it, like something was slicing each letter off at the joint.

“R-Right. ‘Cuddle Corner’,” Anna said with feigned cheer, a little fain-fair. She laughed. Elsa laughed.

It was weird.

Slowly, uncertainty running under her palm, Anna reached her arm across Elsa’s chest. Her legs came up under Elsa’s until their bodies were nearly flush. She could smell Elsa’s shampoo, and felt her breathing against the crook of her elbow.

And she could tell immediately that Elsa wasn’t comfortable either.

There was a weight in the room, a miasma escaping the seams between their bodies. It scraped between Anna’s fingers, threatening to lift her hand up entirely, and take it away.  Her eyes unfocused, the lines of Elsa’s body becoming blurred, trembling the way heat makes the air waver and shake.

Elsa turned her head, so Anna could see the barest corner of her eye. “You’re pushing yourself,” she said quietly.

Anna tightened her grip, a wordless promise, but stopped when Elsa flinched. “I’m not.”

I’m not, she told herself. Elsa is a good person. People do this all the time, even friends! This position, spooning… it’s about comfort, not anything else. Just… stop being all up in your head about this.

But Anna could sense herself backpedaling, falling backwards into herself. Right in front of her was the shell of Elsa's ear, the slope of her neck, the curl of her white-blonde hair before it twisted into her braid -- and it made Anna wonder...

Was this... it? Was this what made people fall? A quiet moment, a scrap of skin. Was this enough to make them... feel?

Had it made him feel something, looking at Anna like this?

Warm fingers thread through hers, a bobber dropped into the well of her thoughts. Elsa's hand didn’t hold the sting of fear, and like sunlight on murky water a balm spread at her touch, expanding with each even breath.

But this time, it wasn’t enough.

Anna's thoughts rushed around her head, swirling, clinging, flying like beads snapped away from a string cut under stress. No longer sentences but fragments, worries and doubts in a whirlpool, sucking her down. What hadn't she done? What else could she do? How could she be so cold? Why couldn't she do this, for him? For anyone?

Why wasn't she enough?

The trembling started in her shoulders. She couldn’t stop it anymore than she could stop time. Her arm shook and by the time it reached her wrist Anna silently begged Elsa not to notice.

But of course she did.

Elsa turned in their embrace, her eyes widening for just a moment before she cupped Anna’s face, lightly, so light with her first touches, before brushing away a tear.

Anna hadn’t even realized she was crying.

“It’s okay Anna, you’re safe here.”

Anna hiccuped, her chest stuttering as more tears splashed against Elsa’s thumbs. She found Elsa’s forearms and held her tight, needing something beneath her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.

Elsa shook her head. “Don’t be. You’ve apologized more than you’ve ever needed.”

Then Elsa’s forehead is nestled against Anna’s own. Anna doesn’t know how to react as Elsa’s eyes slip closed and she breathes slowly, carefully, like she’s counting the second. Anna feels herself matching the time, even as the sobs she harbored keep trying to find a way out. They get smaller, a boulder, then a rock, then a pebble in her lungs. Elsa’s soft exhales washed over Anna’s face, her very presence a well of tranquility, like immersing one’s hand in the cool waters of a brook. Elsa felt like flowing water, a place Anna could lay down the things that dragged her down, setting them adrift, letting the current carry them for a while.

Anna didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Long enough for the tears to start to dry, and the rawness of her throat to begin healing. But it couldn’t last forever.

Again the patter of rain, the rumble of thunder, and the distant, muted buzz of Elsa’s phone vibrating across the room. Anna exhaled a shuddering breath.

“The timer,” she croaked, voice like sludge, addled by tears.

“Ignore it,” Elsa murmured, pressing her face closer.

“B-But it’s over--”

“It’s okay.”

Anna attempted to shake her head, but Elsa merely brushed her cheeks with her thumbs. “You have another client. Another appointment.”

“I don’t.”

“Elsa…”

“Anna.” Elsa opened her eyes.

This close, Anna couldn’t mistake what she saw. Even if she didn’t have a name for it. And maybe there wasn’t a name to call the emotion heavy in Elsa’s eyes -- the eyes of a still-stranger, an almost-friend -- but whatever it was settled the last prickling nerve in Anna’s heart, soothed the last lash in Anna’s memory, and finally let her breathe long enough to listen. “I don’t have another appointment, you were my last for the day. An extra minute isn’t going to hurt anyone.” Elsa watched Anna’s face as she combed stray hairs back behind Anna’s ear. “I don’t want you leaving this place thinking you have to shoulder everything you came in with. It’s okay to leave some of it here, here with me, if that helps.” She smiled, her eyes wet. “It’s my job to make you feel comfortable, relaxed. But I also want you to feel that way, as Elsa, as me. I think you have a lot going on, and I want to help with that if… if you’ll let me.”

This time Anna closed her eyes, overwhelmed again. Unconsciously she leaned more into Elsa’s touch, which was enough for Elsa to continue. “You don’t have to decide today. Just know that I’m here for you, if you need me. But for now just,” and she shrugged, the motion taking Anna’s head with her, causing them both to laugh, “leave the timer be. It’ll take care of itself.”

They stayed like that. The timer silenced itself, and with the quiet came rest. Anna knew she didn’t fall asleep, but she thought she might when Elsa started playing with her hair again. Eventually, Anna knew she had to go and rolled over, sliding her shoes back on her feet. She heard Elsa do the same as Anna gathered her things.

“Should I expect another call?” Anna turned, shouldering her bag. Elsa sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, expectant.

Though she knew her cheeks were already blotchy from tears, Anna felt another emotion color her face, and instead of feathers in her chest there were butterflies in her stomach.

"Yeah," she returned, putting a hand on the back of her neck. "But I think I'm going to have to do some thinking first, again. Which I'm sure you already expected."

"Maybe a little." Elsa tilted her head, never losing her warmth. "But take all the time you need. And talk to others, too. Kristoff seems like a good place to start, if you haven't already."

Anna snorted, feeling her phone buzz in her pocket. "Oh don't worry, I'm sure he's left three voicemails by now wondering how this all went."

"And how did it go?”

Anna beamed. “Better.”

“Such glowing praise,” Elsa teased. “I’ll take it I suppose.”

Anna took a step back, towards the door, then hesitated, and turned back.

"More to say?" Elsa asked.

"Um..." Anna paused, then blushed again. "Actually, I did, but now I can't really find the words. It was ‘thank you’, again, but then there was other stuff and it got a little lost."

Elsa hummed at that, propping her chin up in her hand. "Knowing you, even for a short time, I'm sure they'll work themselves out eventually. Probably with hand motions."

Anna laughed and agreed. "Probably with hand motions. And maybe sound effects."

“You'll have to tell me,” Elsa smiled lightly, showing bright in her eyes. “Next time?”

Anna smiled back. “Next time.”

[tiarnanabhfainni]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Characters: Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, John Winchester Additional Tags: Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Mary Winchester, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Banshees, Celtic Mythology & Folklore,Fire,Pre-Stanford Era (Supernatural), look fair warning there's a description of mary winchester dying in this fic so keep that in mind!, ghost mary who haunts her family, is something i hold very dear to my heart, also this started as a tumblr post but i have not got the strength to go looking for it on my blog,just know that it was basically just an outline of this, also finally i write something where sam actually gets to feature, bean sí is just the irish for banshee btw its pronounced the same

As the moon at midnight moves through the starry sky Out there in the bog land the Banshee's shrill cry The one seldom heard and that human eyes cannot see Some say the ghost of one who died in agony.

- The Cry Of The Banshee By: Francis Duggan.

For the Prompt: AU on Day 2 of @spnwomenweek

Fire. She is burning and it is pain like she has never felt. Her body is not her own, it is stiff, unable to even react to the agony. Strapped to the ceiling. The smell of her own burning flesh overpowers her. The pain from the wound in her stomach pales in comparison to the feeling of eyeballs boiling in her skull and the skin sloughing off her bones.

She should have known. Hunting is a black hole - an inexorable votex. How could she have ever thought she could escape? Even as her nerve endings fry and her limbs screech in agony, she finds it within herself to hope that at least her family might survive her.

The pain fades away, exceeding the limits of human comprehension. A single-minded purpose takes its place in her consciousness. Her sacrifice will be worth it if it protects her family, if her two beautiful boys never live the life that she has. The deal is done, the demon should have no more business with her family. In her death she can make sure they are safe.

The last thing Mary sees is the horror on John’s face.

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

There has always been a ghost in Sam’s life. A woman who exists in the corner of his eyes and flickers when he shakes his head. Her haunting screams are as familiar to him as led zeppelin tapes crackling through the car radio. Together they form the soundtrack of his childhood.

She is pale. Completely washed of colour. Limp grey hair frames her wan face and there’s a suspicious darkness that stains the front of her long white nightgown.

When he was younger he couldn’t understand her erratic and ever changing moods. She seems to flip between disinterested floating to terrified wails between breaths and he can find no rhyme or reason.

Sam would ask his brother if he knew the reason but Dean cannot see her. No one can. He tried to tell Dean - once - after the woman kept him from sleeping for eight hours straight with screams. The response kept him from ever bringing her up again. Shut up Sammy. There’s no one there. You’re imagining things. Don’t tell dad. I mean it Sammy. Keep your mouth shut.

Eventually Sam finds a pattern for himself. His teachers always tell him that he’s clever. She only ever appears when his father is gone on one of his trips.

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

When Dean finally caves and tells him about the monsters, Sam finally understands the insistence on keeping the woman a secret from their dad. As a ghost she is a part of the supernatural that his father fights.

And since Sam is the only one that can see her then that means - What does it mean?

As soon as the library opens again after the holidays he’s straight in the door and into the folklore section. He needs to understand what (who) this spectre is. After hours of research, there is only one real conclusion to be made. She must be a banshee. A death omen.

Armed with the truth of his dad’s trips, he makes the inevitable connection. She is a banshee and she screams when Sam’s dad is gone. And yet his dad is not yet dead. She has to be screaming for the monsters at the other end of the knife.

An uncomfortable thought drifts into view. If she screams for monsters and he's the only one who can hear her then does that mean that-? No. He slams the book closed and shoves his pile haphazardly back onto the shelf. Dean is expecting home in an hour.

But even as these fevered thoughts rattle through Sam’s brain on the walk home, he still never connects this woman to the other ghost that haunts their family. Mother Mary. Patron Saint of the Winchesters. The spectre that pushes all of them forward on this reckless self-destructive odyssey of vengeance.

She is so changed after death as to be unrecognisable even to one raised on her legend.

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

Sam is relentless now. He sneaks off to study whenever he gets a minute to himself between hunting, training and research. No time to sleep - he just reads. Textbook after textbook until all he sees are diagrams and his dreams are drafted in legalese. Over dinner he scrawls as many practice essays as he can for his final exams and attempts to ignore the sniping from his dad

It’s a struggle to keep his grades up as he moves from school to school across state lines and curriculums and sometimes it’s all Sam can do not to cry. He knows his dad is annoyed that he hasn’t dropped out yet. Like Dean. That he wants a high-school diploma and not just a GED.

Sam doesn’t care. The banshee appears more often to him now. She stands in his line of sight and blocks his view of his family when they hunt. She screams and screams and drowns out all of his doubts. God only knows how his eardrums remain intact.

He knows more now than he did on that first day in the library. Has been on a million hunts. With enough time and research he could probably find her bones and shut her up for good. Salt and Burn. He never does. She is a reminder of all he wants to escape. An omen his dad cannot tell him to ignore.

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

Sam sits on the edge of his bed with his law school acceptance letter in his hands. He’d picked it up from the post office earlier that day. Compulsively, he smoothes the creases over and over again, listening with half an ear to his family clattering around downstairs.

This is a good day. Dad is cheerful. The case had been a simple one - a poltergeist - easy to get rid off. Another suburban home rid of the monster. Dean is happy too. He’s been talking all day about the steaks he’d picked up in the bargain section of the supermarket. Now they can have a small celebration before moving out to a new town.

Sam looks down at the letter and knows that he won’t be going with them.

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

The fight is world-ending. Of cataclysmic proportions. Sam’s never seen his dad so angry in his life.

He sits on the lonely greyhound bus to California, his only possessions in the bag he’s clutching to his chest. His lungs are still burning, hours after the argument and he can’t tell whether it’s anger or choked back tears or if it even matters.

But even here, alone on the bus, his clearest memory is that of blessed silence as he walked out the door. The woman standing stock still in his path.

She made no sound.

Instead. For the first and only time that he can remember.  She smiled.

[heejinnien]

p.jimin | lie

word count: 2.1k words

pairing: jimin x reader

synopsis: there is a thin dichotomy between reality and delusion.

genre: horror, angst

warnings: implied major character death, prison, vivid description of gore, reference to murder, implied/subtle sexual innuendo

author’s note: this is the second piece for the wings anthology! this is another horror fic, and i didn’t realize it was over 2k words ksjfjgsdf. the keep reading cut is at the beginning like my last few works since this fic gets right into it

link to wings anthology

cross posted to ao3 here

Beneath the silhouette of your eyelids, you see red.

Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s blood, painting the white walls of your imagination and coating your nose with the tangy smell of copper and iron. It coats your hands, too, a dark, angry shade of crimson that makes your stomach lurch. No matter how hard you scrub at yourself, the fluid remains.

Among the throes of your panic, it takes a moment for you to realize that there is someone else in the room with you. Instinctively, you know who it is, heart pounding. He is facing away from you, laid on his side, and you take a tentative step in his direction.

“Jimin?” When he doesn’t respond, panic seizes you. You scramble as fast as you can in his direction, the discomfort of your hands stained scarlett long forgotten. When you reach him, you drop to your knees so fast that the impact sends a jarring impulse through your body. You quickly roll him so that he is facing you, and let out a guttural scream.

Where Jimin’s throat should be, there is a visceral, gaping hole. Blood pours out of the wound, coating your arms and knees with the thick, vermilion shade. Jimin’s eyes are open and glassy, wide and unseeing. You shake his shoulders furiously despite the crimson ichor spraying everywhere, splattering your face and chest, grief spreading through your veins like an icy current.

“Jimin,” you sob, your strength giving out until you collapse, body hunched over that of your lovers.

You wake up with your heart pounding in your throat, furiously scrubbing at your hands. You quickly reach for the lamp on your bedside table, yanking the chain hanging down so hard you almost pull the lamp off. In the lamp’s waxy lighting, you examine your hands, turning them over and searching signs of blood.

Beside you, you feel the bed shift, and strong arms wrap themselves around you. Jimin gently strokes your hair, covering your trembling hands with one of his own.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers. He stays like this until your breathing evens and your racing heart can slow to a strolling pace. “It was that dream again, wasn’t it?”

You nod, letting out a shaky breath. You revel in the warmth that Jimin’s presence provides, blanketing you in a cloak of reassurance. You wish you could stay like this forever, wrapped within the warmth of your love.

Cold seeps under the edge of your comforter, sending a shiver to wrack through your body. A cocktail of unease and wrongness fills your stomach, and Jimin’s arms tighten around you.

“Hey, everything will be okay,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you whisper, unable to describe the feelings inside you.

“Go back to sleep,” Jimin says, gently shifting himself so that you are lying beside each other once more. He leans forward, gently kissing your lips. What should feel right instead feels so wrong, his lips ice cold against yours. “I’ll be here to protect you from the nightmares.”

It’s not me who needs protecting, you think, closing your eyes and letting darkness devour you.

~~

When you open your eyes, Jimin is gone. You blink blearily, rubbing your eyes to clear the haze that settled upon them in your sleep. You had slept dreamlessly, feeling more fatigued than before. Your fingers seek out Jimin’s side of the bed, reaching for him before you can even form a coherent thought, but they are met with cold air.

“Jimin?”

You sit up, and that’s when you realize that you’re not in your bed.

Instead, you’re resting upon a thin cot sitting low upon the ground. A thin, cotton blanket covers you, and metal bars and grey, concrete walls greet you. Panic fills you, and you quickly throw off the mediocre blanket, rushing to the bars and pressing yourself against them, looking for anyone who can answer your questions.

“Hello?” You yell, banging your fist against the metal bars in the hopes that someone will hear you. “Is anyone there?”

“Shut up.” You leap back in shock as a man rounds the corner, standing on the opposite side of the bars. He is wearing a blue, button down shirt and black pants, and around his waist is a black belt.

It’s a cop, you think, relief flooding you. He’ll be able to answer your questions.

“I’m sorry, but, there must be some mistake,” you say quickly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

The man laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “Sure, and I’m supposed to be on Mars.”

He turns, muttering under his breath about deranged criminals. Desperation seizes you, and you lunge forward, reaching your hand through the bars in an attempt to stop the man from leaving.

“Please, I’m not supposed to be here.” You grab the man’s sleeve, ignoring his shout. “I’m sure my husband is wondering where I am — ”

Before you can finish, the man is grabbing your wrist, twisting it painfully. You let out a yell as he yanks it, causing you to lurch forward and slam into the bars painfully. He leans forward, hissing angrily.

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of delusion you’re under, but you’re in prison, just in case you haven’t figured that out already. You’re here for murder, and if I were you, I would be really careful about my next moves. Never touch me again.”

The man releases your wrist angrily, throwing it towards you and causing your hand to smack violently against the metal bars. You let out a hiss as he turns, stalking away.

The pain quickly fades to the back of your mind as you ponder the guard’s words. You rub absentmindedly at your quickly reddening hand. Murder? You aren’t capable of that. You need to find Jimin, he’ll tell you what’s going on.

You retreat into your cell, pacing anxiously. You need to find someone who will believe you, you think, so that you can sort this whole mistake out.

You don’t have to wait long. Another man wearing a similar outfit to the first slams on the bars of your cell moments later. You jump, freezing and staring at him. The man laughs, inserting keys into the lock on your cell door.

“Who are you?” You demand, voice shaky.

The man laughs, picking up on the tremor in your voice and giving you a cocky smile. “My name is Hoseok. I’m sure you’ll get really familiar with it.” He winks, and disgust fills you. You step back as he swings the door to your cell open, cocking an eyebrow at your actions. “Don’t make me come in there after you, sweetheart.”

You dread having him drag you out of the cell more than you do being near him, so you slowly walk through the cell’s door. Your curious gaze darts all around, taking in the rows of cells around you and the long hallway. You are so preoccupied you don’t notice Hoseok’s actions until you hear a clicking sound, and the cold weight of handcuffs around your wrists.

You whirl, glaring at Hoseok, and he does his best to give you an innocent shrug. “Standard protocol,” he says in defense. “Don’t want another repeat of earlier, do we?”

You flush at his reference to the guard earlier, and he chuckles, taking one of your arms and guiding you down the hall. While most of the cells around you are empty, a few are occupied, and several curious occupants stare at you as you pass. You walk faster, eager to escape their stares, and Hoseok matches your pace, bemused.

You turn right, and he guides you down a nearby hallway, pausing in front of another barred door. He releases his grip on you long enough to fumble with his keys and unlock the door, pushing it open with his hip and pulling you through after him.

On the other side of the door is a small room. A table rests in the center, and seated at it is a kind looking man. Hoseok leads you to the table, pushing you unceremoniously into a chair and chaining your handcuffs to the table. He leaves promptly after, the slamming of the door signaling his disappearance.

There is a slight pause, and the man stares at you, silently assessing you. You shift uncomfortably, the chain binding you to the table clinking, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

“Y/N,” the man finally says, resting his hands on a manilla envelope in front of him. “I’m Dr. Kim, but you can call me Namjoon.” He gives you a gentle smile. “I’m here to assess whether you are menally competent to stand trial.”

Alarm rings within your head. “Trial for what? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Namjoon remains silent, staring at you as if assessing whether or not you are lying. Finally, he speaks slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.

“What’s your last memory, Y/N?” He asks, staring at you in a cautious way that makes your skin prickle. You wrack your brain, attempting to formulate an answer.

“I was coming home from work.” Namjoon nods, and you continue. “I had just got home, and I was kicking my shoe off when I heard voices in the kitchen. I investigated, and I saw Jimin with another woman.”

You swallow, throat dry, as you remember the intense flash of anger you had felt. You’re not sure why, and you assume there must have been a reason you felt angry. While you speak, Namjoon slowly opens the manilla file, reaching inside and placing papers from within facedown on the table. When you pause, Namjoon stares at you again, silently assessing.

“What were Jimin and the women doing?” He asks, voice probing.

“I, I’m not sure — ” You stutter, brows furrowing. The memory is hazy, and you close your eyes, chasing after it.

“He had his back to me,” you say slowly, piecing together the memory. “And she — ”

Your eyes fly open as the memory comes rushing back to you. Namjoon stares at you, face unreadable, and you force yourself to continue.

“They were making out,” you whisper softly, staring at the table in front of you in denial.

In the table’s reflection, Namjoon nods, every action clinical and professional. “Did that make you angry enough to murder him?”

“What?” You snap your head up, indignation filling you. “Of course not.”

Namjoon hums, noncommittal. He reaches for the first paper he had set down, flipping it over and sliding it towards you. You reach for it, picking it up

And promptly dropping it, horror filling you.

In the photograph, your husband lies on the kitchen floor, in full color resolution, dead. Where Jimin’s throat should be, there is a visceral, gaping hole. Blood pours out of the wound, coating your arms and knees with the thick, vermilion shade. Jimin’s eyes are open and glassy, wide and unseeing.

“No,” you say, shaking your head adamantly and squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the press of reality. “It can’t be.”

You hear a rustling sound, and you know Namjoon has slid another photograph towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, and you hear Namjoon sigh.

“Open your eyes, Y/N,” he says. His tone is commanding, forceful, and against your will you open your eyes.

You are met with another bloody photograph. This one is of a woman. The woman you had seen with Jimin. Like Jimin, her throat has been torn out. Unlike Jimin, there is a similar hole where her heart should be. Her eyes are wide in horror, and blood stains her hair.

“You did this, Y/N,” Namjoon says simply. His voice is quiet, but it’s as if he spoke in a yell, his words piercing you.

“No,” you say, vehemently. “I couldn’t have.”

“Yes, you did,” Namjoon says, forcing you to accept the terrible truth. “You murdered your husband when you saw him having an affair, and then you murdered the woman you saw him with. The police found you with the knife still in your hands.”

“I — ”

You let out an inhuman wail and lunge towards Namjoon. You are stopped abruptly by the chain handcuffing you down, and Namjoon watches you with pity filled eyes as guards quickly rush into the room, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you back as you scream, the sound one of heartbreak and anguish as the reality of your actions crashes down upon you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Namjoon whispers, a tear sliding down his cheek from your pure anguish as you are dragged from the room.

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