#FINALLY THIS CHAPTER IS DONE AND I CAN SLEEP

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 67]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

AO3 Link

-

Team Scarlet works through the emotional aftermath of the disaster at Bethoc Bluffs.

-

Once Ezra and Team Evergreen are teleported up to the medics, Tobias and Nia are left on the flight floor with Alistair and the other psychics.

Alistair turns to them with an exhausted sigh. “Are you two all right?”

Nia, still sniffling into Tobias’ shoulder, doesn’t answer.

“We’re not hurt,” Tobias answers. All right is a bit of a stretch, though.

The gardevoir seems to understand, eyes softening. “What happened?”

Tobias recognizes that tone. It’s caring, but firm enough that it’s an order. Alistair probably needs to inform August, Verene, and the medics about what happened, and wants to get it done right away before he forgets in the chaos.

“We went into the dungeon,” Tobias says, dropping his eyes. “Team Evergreen followed us in. One of the towers collapsed on top of Ezra and crushed his arm.”

Alistair doesn’t scold them or reassure them. He simply hums in understanding. “I’ll pass that info along to the medics and let Verene know you’re back at the guild. Evacuation is almost complete, so why don’t you two head to your quarters and get some rest?”

Nia doesn’t answer, lifting her head from Tobias’ shoulder to instead stare down at her paws. Tobias nods. He doesn’t want to go back out there anyways—not after what happened to Ezra. Even if Tobias sort of feels like they’re running away from their duties.

“Could you have Verene let our teammate Samir know we’re back?” Tobias asks, quiet. “They weren’t with us when we went in.”

Alistair assures them that he can, then recommends again that they get some sleep.

“Ezra is in good hands,” the gardevoir adds before turning back to the other psychics, who are teleporting another team and a few evacuees into the guild in a blinding flash of light.

Tobias watches the proceedings dully. Behind he and Nia, one of the open flight ports lets rain mist in against their backs, and Tobias is at least grateful for his poncho shielding him from the worst of it. The weather is finally slowing down too, a gentle drizzle rather than a downpour. When Tobias looks, the sky is lighter, a sleepy pre-dawn gray rather than the pitch black of night.

Beside him, Nia stares into space with tired eyes. Her ears and tail hang low.

“C’mon,” Tobias mutters, taking Nia’s paw. “Let’s get some rest.”

Nia lets him tug her into motion and back to their quarters. The Seekers floor is unusually quiet when the reach it, and the two of them plod by the other teams’ rooms in equal silence.

When they open the door to their room, Junie immediately pops out of the blankets, clearly having not slept a wink since they left.

“You’re back! Thank God. I was going stir-crazy in here and you had me all worried about—"

Junie stops when she really takes them in.

“…Everything okay?” Junie asks, quieter. Her eyes flick over Tobias’ shoulder. “Where’s Samir?”

“Samir’s fine,” Tobias rasps, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “Probably not happy with us, but safe. We…”

“I made us do something stupid,” Nia whispers. She sniffs, swallowing hard. “Ezra got hurt.”

“Oh…” Junie falters, watching Nia with uncertain eyes. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Nia wipes at her face and shakes her head, trudging over to the bed and crawling under the covers to hide. She curls into a tight ball rather than sprawling everywhere like she usually does, and Tobias’ wordlessly follows her example, taking off his rain poncho and climbing into the mountain of blankets and pillows as well.

“Later,” Tobias says, feeling Junie’s questioning eyes on him. “Just…I need to sleep a while first.”

Junie doesn’t push, thankfully. She just sighs and moves to burrow under the blankets next to Nia.

Tobias hesitates before taking the second blanket and curling up too, his spine pressed to Nia’s through the blankets.

The covers feel scratchy against his scales, his skin sensitive and raw after being out in the rain for so long. He tries to ignore it, closing his eyes and willing sleep to come. He’s exhausted, and he just…doesn’t want to think about this. Not yet.

Tobias must fall asleep quicker than he expects, because the next thing he knows he’s waking up with a gasp, and fighting his way free of the covers, heart pounding hard in his chest. He looks around wildly, panting as he catches his bearings.

Right. They’re home. And despite feeling like he hadn’t slept a blink, he must’ve been out for hours. Late morning sunshine lights their room with a soft, gentle glow through the leaf blinds.

Vaguely, Tobias recalls wisps of the nightmares he must’ve had. Memories, of a sort. Cold fur and stiff muscle under his fingers. Ezra’s voice, screaming. The rumble of rock, and then Nia’s voice screaming in the sneasel’s place. Or maybe Vivi’s. Tobias can’t be sure. Even now, the sensations are fading fast.

Whatever he dreamed, it certainly didn’t help him feel well-rested. Tobias groans and rubs at his temple. He feels a headache coming on, and he’s tempted to try going back to sleep. Not like he wants to face what he knows awaits them in the waking world anyways.

The guilt.

Tobias takes a few minutes to calm himself, then lifts his head again once he feels more at ease. Beside him, Nia and Junie are still fast asleep, two motionless lumps under the covers. Nia’s tail is poking out.

Tobias is surprised to hear another source of soft breathing, though, and looks past them to find Samir has returned as well, curled up on the bed without a blanket on Nia’s other side.

Tobias watches the skiddo sleep for a moment, the guilt in his chest growing heavier.

Samir tried to stop them from going into the dungeon. Tobias is sure they’ll have something to say about that—and rightfully so. It was a stupid decision. Beyond reckless. But he couldn’t let Nia go alone, and he didn’t fight her once they met that plusle wailing for her sister.

Tobias sees the minun’s body in his mind’s eye for a moment, her pale fur wet and dirty and her body unnaturally still.

Tobias shakes his head as if he can physically dislodge the image. Still, the heaviness in his chest remains.

They weren’t fast enough. Once again, he couldn’t save someone’s sister. Couldn’t save anyone. Was there even a chance they could, if they’d moved quicker? Or were all the casualties already dead long before they even stepped foot into the dungeon?

…Does it matter? Ezra is seriously injured, either way. And they accomplished nothing.

Tobias takes a long, shaky breath, and pushes himself up. He slips out of the bed to stretch, yawning until his jaw cracks. He still feels exhausted, his limbs heavy. After a moment of hesitation, Tobias grabs his warm blanket and pulls it over Samir, hoping to alleviate some of the guilt in his chest.

Then, he goes to the window, peeking past the blind to find that the clouds have mostly cleared, only a few wisps remaining from last night’s storm. The sky is a light, wintery blue and bright with sun. The autumn-toned forest below smells wet with rain, and the air bites at his cheeks.

Last night almost feels like it was a bad dream.

Tobias looks over at the bed again, throat tightening as he thinks of the bits of his nightmare that he remembers. Endless, stinging rain. Digging, digging, digging. Rumbling and death and tired fear. Ezra screaming. Nia too.

That could’ve easily been Nia pinned beneath that tower instead, and it makes him physically nauseous to think about. He can’t imagine how Andyn and Jaz are faring.

They should check on Ezra today, even if some part of Tobias is terrified to find that they couldn’t save the sneasel. That he died while they slept.

Tobias shakes his head. No. No use thinking like that.

A quiet shift of the covers on the bed makes Tobias look back. Junie’s awake, the rookidee’s head poking out of the covers as she blinks sleep from her eyes.

“Hey,” she whispers. She glances at Nia, then Samir, then back. Some of what Tobias is feeling must be on his face, because she doesn’t don her usual smug smirk. Instead, she carefully extricates herself from the nest and flutters to his side. “You all right?”

“Not really.” Tobias says. He lets the blind close.

“What happened out there?” Junie asks.

“…Let’s get some food for everyone and I’ll tell you on the way.”

Junie doesn’t respond aside from fluttering up to perch on his shoulder. Tobias welcomes the grounding sensation of her tiny, prickling claws and the gentle brush of her feathers against the side of his jaw.

————————————————————————————————

It’s a bit closer to noon when Tobias and Junie return to Team Scarlet’s room, Tobias gently kicking the door open to avoid dropping any of the fruit In his arms. He doubts they’ll need so much, even for the four of them, but he wanted to be prepared with some light, easy snacks. Although Junie mentioned not having much of an appetite after hearing about their night, and he can’t imagine Nia and Samir will be very hungry, either.

Nia is awake, though she apparently hasn’t been for long. She’s sitting up in bed with the blankets pooled around her as she rubs at her eyes.

Samir is awake too, but much more alert. The skiddo is sitting by the window, peering past the blinds like Tobias had been. When they turn, their expression is unreadable but definitely not happy.

Tobias sets the pile of food down, meeting the skiddo’s eyes. “Food.”

Nia slips out of bed with one of the blankets wrapped around her shoulders and stumbles over, muttering a word of thanks before picking listlessly through the offerings.

Samir abandons the window to approach the rest of them and lock eyes with Tobias.

Tobias holds back a sigh. “…Guessing you want to talk?”

Nia stops pretending to look through the food, looking up at Samir with wide eyes.

Samir nods, once.

Tobias bites back irritation as he glances down at Nia, huddled in her blanket as if that could protect her from the world. “This can’t wait a day?”

Samir hesitates. They glance down at Nia too, but then shake their head, resolute.

“Fine,” Tobias grumbles. He flops down on the plush scarlet rug in the center of the room.

Nia tentatively joins him, pulling the blanket closer around herself. Tobias isn’t sure if she’s genuinely cold or just needs it for comfort. Junie wordlessly hops into the riolu’s lap for moral support.

Tobias looks at Samir. “I don’t know if anyone caught you up, but—"

Samir cuts him off with a curt nod, only a twitch of their brow betraying any emotion. Word must’ve spread about Ezra’s injury, then.

Heavy silence falls between them.

Samir opens their mouth, then stops. Their brow furrows. They stamp a hoof, once, clearly frustrated, and huff a breath through their nostrils.

Right. Whistle communication can only get you so far. It can’t be easy to be upset and be physically unable to articulate it. Tobias quickly stuffs away any pity that might be showing on his face.

“Do you want some paper?” Nia asks, quiet.

Samir only looks more frustrated at the offer. They look around the room, then suddenly stop, as if struck with an idea.

The skiddo frowns at them and taps their hoof on the floor twice, as if to tell them to stay here.

Then, they leave the room.

Tobias blinks. He exchanges an uncertain look with Nia.

“Uh. Where’d they go?” Junie asks.

“Dunno,” Tobias mumbles.

A minute passes.

Then, they hear the telltale sound of Samir’s hooves against the wooden floor. The skiddo stalks into the room, shoulders tense, and positions themself across from Tobias and Nia.

To Tobias’ surprise, Avery trails in behind them. The kirlia offers the three of them a strained smile and a little wave before joining Samir’s side.

“Samir asked me to act as a telepathic translator for a few minutes,” Avery says. They glance at the skiddo and the tension visible in every rigid line of their body. “They have some things they want to say without getting muddled.”

Tobias blinks, surprised. Psychic ‘mon using telepathy isn’t an uncommon disability aid for mute ‘mon, but he’d assumed Samir wouldn’t be comfortable asking someone they’d only met once to do the job. Especially for a situation like this.

Though, looking at the way Samir holds their head, jaw clenched, maybe they’re just so upset that it’s worth the discomfort.

Tobias fights the urge to squirm with renewed shame, and nods. “Right. Uh…go ahead, then.”

Samir glances at Avery.

Avery says, “I’m angry.”

Tobias winces. Yeah, he thought that would be the case.

“I know you were doing what you thought was right, going into the dungeon. In a way, that’s admirable,” Avery says, watching Samir’s face.

While the kirlia doesn’t have quite the right inflection—Tobias hears none of the carefully controlled anger he sees in the skiddo’s posture—it’s clear that Avery is using Samir’s body language to make sure they get the right message across.

Samir turns a hard look on Nia and Tobias.

“But what you did was stupid and reckless, and you could’ve gotten yourselves killed. From what I hear, you almost did.”

Nia flinches. Tobias bites his lip to keep from making a defensive remark.

“And I tried to warn you as much as I could in the field,” Avery says, watching as Samir starts to pace in a tight path, back and forth. “And you just—didn’t listen. I don’t try to stop you for fun, you know? I’ve been in an active disaster zone before. I know how bad it can be. I knew the chances of anyone surviving in that dungeon were slim when the outside looked so volatile.”

With each word, Tobias feels his shoulders raise a little higher, as if to protect himself from the sharp scolding.

“This happened in Fort Asra, too. I told you the mines were too dangerous, and you insisted on going in without Calder anyways. And we almost died there as well! Eddy would’ve killed us if he got the chance. You know he would have.”

Tobias feels an extra heavy layer of shame settle on his shoulders for that one. Fort Asra’s recklessness was all Tobias—and for his own gain, too. At least Nia was trying to help other Pokemon during last night’s emergency.

“Nia,” Avery continues, as Samir swings their head to focus on the riolu. “I thought you had a cooler head than Tobias, but you let your emotions get the best of you last night.”

Nia winces. Tobias fights the urge to defend her, to tell Samir to back off while Nia’s in such a fragile emotional state.

Junie does it in his stead, fluttering forward to glare up at the skiddo. “Hey! I wasn’t there last night, but I know Nia was only trying to help! She’s an awesome Seeker and she saved my life by being so brave!”

“And when she saved your life, did she risk her own in the process?” Avery asks, low, matching the burn in Samir’s eyes.

Junie falters. “…W-Well...”

“What happens if she doesn’t make it out from the next reckless decision she makes? Or if Tobias doesn’t? Are you okay with their deaths on your conscience?”

At Tobias’ side, Nia takes a sharp breath.

Junie’s fluffed feathers fall back into place, and she suddenly looks twice as small. “…N-No.”

Samir shakes their head, agitated.

“This happened with my old teammate too,” Avery says. “No one ever listens to me when I’m just trying to keep them safe!”

Samir punctuates Avery’s voice with a stomp of their hoof, and Tobias knows they would be yelling if they could. Instead, they glare daggers at Nia and Tobias as Junie shuffles back into Nia’s lap.

“I can’t be on a team with Pokemon who jeopardize not only their own safety, but that of everyone around them,” Avery continues, quiet. “Not again. I’ve done that before, and it ended with me losing my voice and nearly my life.”

Tobias stares at Samir, aghast. That’s how they got hurt? Because their partner didn’t listen to them?

Nausea rolls in Tobias’ stomach. Beside him, Nia silently brings a paw up over her mouth.

“I know I’m the one on a trial run,” Avery continues, as Samir’s jaw tightens and they stubbornly hold Nia and Tobias’ gaze. “But if this happens even one more time, I’m gone. I’ll withdraw my application and return to the Pyrite Guild immediately. No debate.”

Silence crushes down on the room yet again.

Nia stares at Samir as fresh tears bud in her eyes. Tobias can’t blame her for being so stricken. Hearing that the injury that took the skiddo’s voice and nearly killed them came from their partner’s negligence—their recklessness—is…more than a little upsetting. Especially considering how poorly Tobias and Nia have viewed the skiddo’s last teammate.

Samir’s right. They haven’t listened to them. Tobias and Nia let their emotions rule over the skiddo’s wants twice now. And it doesn’t matter if Nia and Tobias’ motivations are somehow more selfless or more personal than Samir’s ex-partner’s, does it? It doesn’t matter when it hurts Samir all the same.

“You’re right,” Tobias says, quiet.

Samir stops, looking sharply at him. Tobias can read the What? on their face without Avery’s help.

“You’re right,” Tobias reiterates, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Arceus, he’s tired. “We should’ve listened to you. We shouldn’t have brushed you off.”

“I’m so sorry,” Nia adds, voice cracking. “I knew we shouldn’t go in there but I just couldn’t stop thinking about my own brother, a-and I couldn’t just leave the minun, and—"

“Breathe,” Tobias murmurs.

Nia cuts herself off, taking a shaky breath. Her eyes are wet. “We should’ve listened to you, Samir. I’m so sorry. And I’m really sorry we made you feel like your voice didn’t matter in that decision.”

Tobias nods, mumbling, “Sorry. We can promise to do better, but…I don’t know how much weight our word carries on its own.”

There’s a moment of silence, punctuated by Nia wiping at her eyes, while she and Tobias wait for Samir’s response.

Samir stares at them for a moment, as if expecting them to continue. When the skiddo realizes they’re done, their expression shifts to confusion.

Samir glances at Avery, and for the first time in this conversation the kirlia looks close to smiling.

“That’s it?” Avery asks for Samir.

Tobias frowns, exchanging a hesitant look with Nia. “I’m…not sure what else we can say, other than apologizing and trying to do better if you give us another chance.”

“Promising to do better,” Nia says, fervent.

Samir shakes their head, brow furrowed.

“No,” Avery says. “Aren’t you two angry?”

…What?

Nia tilts her head. “A-About what?”

Samir’s ears slide back, and their head ducks, embarrassed.

“I didn’t stick with my partners. I stand by what I said, but I thought you’d have your own piece to say about me abandoning the team on the field. And then coming back and scolding you when I’m not even an official member.”

Oh. Tobias looks again at Samir. Despite their threat to leave—and Tobias has no doubt that it’s genuine—they look a bit timid themself, as if waiting for Nia and Tobias to kick them off the team for…what? Insubordination?

Tobias snorts. “Why would we do that? You’re right.”

Samir looks up, surprised.

“And,” Nia adds, voice soft. “Even if you weren’t, this isn’t the kind of team where you get in trouble for, um…’disobeying’ Tobias. Or me. Tobias usually leads us in dungeons, but…”

Nia glances at Tobias, so he finishes, “We don’t really have a leader in the traditional sense. We’re a team. You’re afforded just as much say as either of us.”

Samir blinks at them, clearly baffled by the idea. Their mouth opens. Then closes. Their brow furrows again.

“You say that,” Avery says. “But so far that hasn’t proven true.”

Tobias winces. While Samir wasn’t technically on the team in Fort Asra, their point still stands.

“You say you’ll do better. How do I know you’ll follow through on that?” Avery asks.

Tobias swallows, exchanging an uncertain look with Nia.

“I don’t think there is a way to know, until we’re put into that kind of situation again.”

Nia looks at Samir. “Unless you have an idea?”

Samir thinks for a moment, before sighing and shaking their head.

“Then I guess,” Tobias says, slowly. “Your trial period in the mountains is our trial period too.”

“If you’re still willing to come with us,” Nia murmurs.

Samir doesn’t answer immediately. They look between Tobias and Nia for a few silent moments with dark, conflicted eyes. Tobias fights the urge to look away.

While a small part of Tobias—the part still reluctant to add anyone to their two-person team—finds the idea of Samir leaving a relief, this isn’t how he’d ever want that to happen. Not because they’re such bad teammates that the skiddo feels forced to leave for their own safety. And a much larger part of Tobias doesn’t want the skiddo to leave at all. They’re a good teammate.

“You were right,” Tobias says. “You knew what you were doing more than we did, and we should’ve listened to you. If you’re willing to stick around for one more try, we can show you that we can listen and be the teammates you deserve.”

They have to. Samir made an excellent point, earlier. They can’t keep gambling with each other’s lives and just hoping it’ll turn out all right. They need to be smarter.

“We can hold each other to that,” Nia says.

“And I can help too!” Junie says, putting up a wing. “If they try pulling any stupid, reckless stunts I can yell at ‘em and tell them they’re both being idiots!”

Samir huffs something like a laugh, some of the tension in their shoulders dropping as they look at Nia, Tobias and Junie with an almost annoyed expression.

Avery laughs. “Took the wind from your wings, didn’t they?”

Samir’s mouth twists, and they nod. Then they take a deep breath.

“I mean it,” Avery says, voice going soft again as they speak for Samir. “I won’t hesitate to leave if this happens again. I won’t have anyone’s blood on my conscience. Not yours, and not mine. Not when it can be avoided.”

Tobias thinks of Ezra and hears the sneasel’s screams, and thinks again of how easily that could’ve been him or Nia instead. “I know. We won’t fight you on that.”

“We deserve to lose you if we mess up like that again,” Nia says. “So we just…won’t mess up.”

Samir stares them down for a few more long moments, then sighs.

“Then for now, I’m with you,” Avery says.

Junie cheers. Nia breathes a sigh of relief, chin dropping to her chest. Tobias feels a bit of his own tension melt away.

Samir turns to Avery with a nod.

Avery smiles and curtsies. “You’re very welcome. Feel free to let me know if you need my help again.”

Samir nods, all righteous anger gone from their expression. Instead, Tobias spots some of the embarrassment he’d been expecting earlier.

“Really,” Avery says, gentler. They smile and tilt their head Nia and Tobias’ way. “There’s no shame in it. We all need help sometimes.”

Samir hesitates, but nods, though they can’t quite hold the kirlia’s gaze.

Avery turns next to Tobias and Nia. “Speaking of—how are you two holding up? I hear it was a particularly difficult night for Team Scarlet.”

Not as difficult as it was for Team Evergreen, Tobias thinks, cringing.

“Not great,” he hedges.

Nia shakes her head, taking a deep breath to straighten out the wobbly, upset line of her mouth. “U-Um. Have you heard anything about how Ezra is doing?”

Avery shakes their head. “No. I’m afraid my team only just woke up a short while ago. You could try visiting the medical floor? Maggie may be able to give you an update, even if Ezra isn’t her patient.”

That’s true. Even if Ezra is being treated by other medics, Maggie and Sage would still be supplying the herbal treatments with a disaster this catastrophic.

“You don’t think she’ll be too busy?” Nia asks.

Avery shrugs, the kind smile never leaving their face. “You won’t know until you try. If she is, you can always visit again later.”

“You want to go check?” Tobias asks Nia, half-hoping she’ll say no. He’s still dreading the possibility that Ezra passed away in the hours since his injury. Tobias will be relieved if they just find the sneasel alive, but even the best-case scenario won’t be easy to handle.

Nia looks scared, hugging Junie close to her chest and shrinking into her blanket. Tobias imagines she’s probably thinking much the same as him, but she still nods a yes.

Avery excuses themself back to their own room with a word of luck and directions to come straight to them if they need to talk or need more telepathic translating.

And then it’s time to go find Ezra.

Junie and Samir tag along without Tobias having to ask, and almost all too soon the four of them have made it up the stairs and to the medical wing.

The floor is noticeably busier than usual. Unfamiliar medics pass between the rooms lining the hall, talking to one another in low, urgent tones. Quiet voices can be heard from inside the patient rooms, and somewhere farther down the hall Tobias hears someone crying.

Nia shuffles closer to Tobias, Junie settled in the crook of her neck. Samir stands close to the riolu’s side.

Tobias eyes the medics that pass, gauging how easily they’ll be able to slip down the hall without getting in anyone’s way. He can’t remember the last time they had someone here who needed surgery, but he does know that patients with severe injuries will likely be housed together farther from the stairs.

One of the medics notices them hovering near the staircase before they can make their move. It’s a meowstic, and she stops to ask with a tired air what they need.

“Is Ezra the sneasel available for visitors?” Tobias asks, dread building in his chest. Don’t say he died. Don’t say he died. “His arm—"

“I know the sneasel,” the meowstic says, thankfully not wearing the sympathetic expression that would mean Ezra passed away due to complications. Instead, she looks so tired she almost comes across as bored, her yellow eyes lidded and her pointy ears held low. “Are you friends of his?”

Tobias hesitates. Nia nods, giving a quiet confirmation.

The meowstic looks them over, then nods. “He’s still unconscious, but you can visit briefly as long as you don’t cause any problems.” The meowstic turns and points towards the end of the hall. “He’s in the last room on the left with his team. There are other patients in there as well, so do not disturb them.”

They all nod, and Tobias quickly leads the group down the hall, staying pressed to the wall to stay out of the medics’ way. At the end of the hall, Tobias stops and peers into the room the meowstic had pointed them to.

There are a few patients resting inside, lying in nests situated against the walls. They all appear heavily injured, bandaged and out cold. There are one or two unfamiliar ‘mon visiting the wounded, sitting exhausted and morose at their bedsides. A medic is carefully unraveling the maroon-stained bandages on a doduo’s stump of a leg.

Tobias tears his eyes away from the grisly sight to focus on the familiar pair of ‘mon at the back of the room: a deerling and stufful. The two of them are silent, Jaz curled up in a ball and seemingly fast asleep with her striped tail laid over her face, and Andyn resting with her long legs tucked underneath her and her head hung low.

Just past them, Tobias catches a glimpse of dark fur: Ezra, motionless in a nest of his own.

Tobias glances at Nia, who has frozen up beside him with wide eyes and pinned ears. She looks terrified.

“We can always come back later,” Tobias murmurs.

For a moment, Nia doesn’t respond. Then, she swallows and shakes her head. “N-No. No, I want to see how he’s doing. If they need anything.”

Nia takes stilted steps into the room. Tobias exchanges a grim look with Samir before following.

Andyn’s ear flicks when Nia gets close. The deerling lifts her head to look at the newcomers, and for a moment a thousand different emotions flicker across her tired face. Anger, sorrow, relief and shame battle for dominance in her red-rimmed eyes.

“How is he?” Nia asks, quiet.

“He lost his arm,” Andyn responds, quieter.

Nia stops in her tracks, looking at Andyn as if she’d misheard. Tobias sighs. Maybe he should’ve warned her that that would likely be the case.

Tobias looks past Andyn to where Ezra is resting. The sneasel’s entire upper body is wrapped in bandages, and his left arm is simply...gone. The curve of his shoulder slopes smoothly into his ribcage.

At least the sneasel is alive.

Nia’s mouth opens, then closes. “Andyn, I-I…I’m so sorry.”

“You should be!” Andyn snaps. “If you hadn’t gone in there—"

Samir steps forward with a sharp stomp of their hoof. The dark look in the skiddo’s eye is enough to make Andyn’s mouth click shut.

“You can’t blame Nia for this,” Tobias says, more tired than angry at this point. “It was stupid of us to go in, but you’re the one who decided to follow. And you’re the one who made your team go with you.”

Andyn flinches, looking away. Looking at Ezra. Slowly, her head drops again.

“…I know.”

Another uncomfortable silence. Nia looks on the brink of tears again.

“He’s stable, right?” Tobias asks. He imagines a medic would be on constant standby otherwise.

Andyn lets out a shuddering breath, nodding. “He is. He’ll live. He’ll just be…”

Be missing an arm. Tobias can imagine it’s hard to take in. For anyone, but especially for a sneasel, seeing as their claws are one of their greatest weapons.

“There are plenty of Seekers who’ve lost limbs,” Tobias says, not sounding nearly as reassuring as he’d like. He recalls glimpsing one or two such ‘mon over the years and marveling at their scars when he was younger.

Andyn swallows hard. Then, she looks back at them, mouth shaking like she’s barely keeping herself from falling apart. “My parents stopped by.”

Tobias frowns.

“Th-They…” Andyn glances at Ezra. “They said that I should start thinking about how to let Ezra know he’s off the team. Since he’s…a liability now.”

Tobias’ jaw goes slack, stunned. The suggestion would be harsh enough, but to come from Andyn’s parents? About one of Andyn’s best friends? And less than a day after the whole traumatic incident happened?

“That’s horrible,” Nia says, looking sick.

“Yeah, those are officially horrible people,” Junie mutters.

“They’re not horrible!” Andyn says, voice high. A few tears slip down her cheeks. She tries to glare at Nia and Junie, but it’s ruined by the way her face crumples. “Th-They just…they…”

For a long moment, it’s silent again, save for the quiet sound of the medic working on another Pokemon elsewhere in the room. Andyn sniffles.

“There’s only so long you can make excuses for them,” Tobias says.

Andyn doesn’t answer that, looking back at Ezra’s unmoving form. The deerling reminds Tobias of a wilted flower, her ears and shoulders limp. Like she’s barely holding herself upright.

Nia shifts on her paws. “I-I don’t know if there’s anything we can do before we leave, but, um…don’t hesitate to ask if we can help, okay? We—"

“You’re leaving?” Andyn asks, head snapping up to look at Nia. Her voice is accusing, but her eyes are scared.

“Probably in the next couple days,” Tobias confirms.

Andyn shakes her head, tears welling up again. “Y-You can’t! I—Ezra needs you right now!”

Nia winces. “I-I know. I’d rather stay here, but we’re on a timeline a-and—“

“A timeline? What could be so important that you have to up and abandon us right now?!” Andyn asks, pushing herself to her hooves. She’s visibly shaking, enough so that Tobias worries her thin legs will snap like twigs beneath her.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tobias sees Jaz finally stir and lift her head.

Nia takes a step back, paws up. “W-We don’t want to! B-But—"

“Is it something to do with that monster you summoned in the dungeon?” Andyn asks, voice rising. “Giratina? How long have you been hiding that little secret from us?!”

“Shut up!” Tobias hisses, glancing over his shoulder. The few unfamiliar ‘mon who are visiting their loved ones are staring at the commotion, though they quickly look away.

“Anne?” Jaz murmurs, sitting up.

“I-It kind of has to do with him,” Nia admits. “But it’s really important, Andyn. L-Like, um…world-saving important. We wouldn’t go otherwise! But—"

“Of course it’s world-saving important!” Andyn says with a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Why wouldn’t you be gallivanting off to save the world?”

Nia blinks. “What?”

“After all, you’re perfect little Nia. The human with all the answers!”

“Andyn,” Tobias warns.

“W-What are you—?” Nia stammers, looking blindsided. “I don’t know—"

“You’ve always gotta be the hero, right? You just keep thinking you’re so good and sweet when your stupid idea is the reason Ezra got hurt at all!”

“Andyn!” Jaz snaps. The stufful moves between Andyn and everyone else, butting the deerling back a step.

Whatever look is on the stufful’s face, it’s enough for Andyn to finally back down, face twisted with emotion and tears streaming from her eyes. The grass type turns back to Ezra, folding her legs once more as she falls back to the ground.

“Just go,” Andyn says. “All of you. Go have your little human party with Giratina in the mountains. I don’t care anymore.”

“Andyn,” Nia whimpers, barely loud enough for Tobias to hear. “I don’t…”

Tobias intercepts his partner’s reaching paw, giving her heartbroken expression a silent shake of his head. Samir takes over from there and gently herds Nia back towards the hall while Junie murmurs soothing words.

Tobias glares at Andyn’s back. “Nia visited today hoping to help. Your parents visited to tell you to abandon your partner. Think harder about which ‘mon you really want to push away.”

Andyn stiffens, but doesn’t answer. Tobias turns on his heel to follow Nia and the others out into the hall.

Nia is choking back hiccupping sobs. Junie is preening the collar of fur around the riolu’s neck in a soothing gesture. Samir is pressed against Nia’s side, holding her up, but the skiddo looks at Tobias with dark, angry eyes. Tobias can only imagine how the skiddo feels about the deerling right now, having been in Ezra’s position themself.

“Tobias! Nia!”

Tobias turns, surprised to find Jaz hurrying after them on her short, stubby legs. The stufful’s face is apologetic, and she looks deeply pained when she catches sight of Nia trying to pull herself together.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Jaz says.

“Not your fault,” Junie grumbles. “You aren’t the one with a stick up your—"

“All the same,” Jaz says, cutting her off. “I’m sorry. Andyn isn’t taking this well, but that was way out of line.”

“Why are you always the one apologizing for her?” Tobias asks, crossing his arms.

Jaz hesitates. “I…shouldn’t be. I know. But I just know how good of a ‘mon she can be.”

“Well that’s not a very good reason,” Junie grumbles. “Anyone can be nice one day of the year. That doesn’t matter much if they still suck every other day.”

Jaz pauses, then sighs. “…I suppose you’re right about that. Andyn’s been going through a lot lately, but that doesn’t excuse her lashing out.”

“Why do you and Ezra even follow her?” Tobias asks. “Seems like you’d be better off on your own team.”

For a long moment, the stufful doesn’t answer. Their whole group has to shift to the side of the hall to let a couple of medics through.

“That would never work,” Jaz finally says. “We need Andyn. She’s the heart of our team.”

Tobias frowns. “The heart?”

Jaz smiles up at him, soft and sad. “Ezra and I don’t have the drive or the confidence to be Seekers on our own. Andyn is the one who makes us feel strong. She’s the one who makes us feel like we can do anything. When she’s focused, when she’s in a good place, it’s like…I can see the kind of leader she could be one day. And it’s amazing. And that makes me want to be amazing too.”

Tobias can hear the sincerity in the stufful’s voice, and to some extent he understands what she means, but…

“But…” Jaz says, quiet. She casts a somber look back into the room. “There are certain things you can’t come back from. And I don’t know if we’ll be able to come back from this one.”

“You’re disbanding your team?” Junie asks.

Jaz shakes her head. “Not yet. But we can’t keep going like this, with Andyn so focused on perfection that she puts us in danger. I want to wait and see what Ezra thinks first. If he even wants to be a Seeker anymore after all this.”

Tobias feels a twist in his stomach thinking about what the sneasel will have to face when he wakes up. The ice type has always been absurdly bright and friendly, but Tobias can’t imagine even Ezra will be able to just shrug off an injury this life-changing.

Tobias glances at Nia and Samir, fresh guilt creeping into his lungs. This very easily could’ve been their team on the verge of disbanding. Nia or Samir in that nest and missing an entire limb.

Tobias can’t let them endanger themselves so recklessly ever again.

“I’m so sorry we have to leave,” Nia sniffs. Her face is still a damp, teary mess, and her voice is warbly. “I really wish we could stay, but this just…isn’t something that can wait.”

Jaz gives the riolu a tired smile. “That’s not hard to believe after seeing Giratina himself in that dungeon. But you can tell us all about it later. I’d better go check on Andyn, all right? Take it easy and be safe.”

They nod and say their goodbyes as the stufful returns to her team. Then, they’re left in the hallway, unsure where to go next.

For a moment, Tobias desperately wants to find Maggie and soak up the meganium’s soothing presence. They could all use that, honestly. But she’s likely still busy with Sage, mixing up herbs for all the injured. Seeing how busy everyone is up here, they probably shouldn’t disturb her.

Nia’s stomach growls, loud, breaking Tobias from his thoughts. The riolu’s muzzle wrinkles, and Tobias can imagine that she doesn’t feel like eating even if her body is hungry. But it’s important to stay fed.

“C’mon. Let’s eat some of those berries we brought back earlier.”

No one argues, and they make it back to Team Scarlet’s quarters without another word between them. Tobias immediately digs through the pile of berries until he finds a persim berry, and shoves it into Nia’s paws.

Nia doesn’t argue with the unsaid command, and starts nibbling at the berry’s pink skin through lingering sniffles. Tobias digs out a rawst berry for himself and gets to work cooking it in the bowl of his hands with a small jet of fire. The first bite of its warm, dimpled skin is a welcome comfort, the juices bitter and sharp on his tongue.

Junie and Samir pick through the berry pile as well, the rookidee trying to guess what the skiddo’s favorite berry is while Samir half-heartedly entertains her guesses with a dry shake of their head. Junie hams up her despair after each wrong guess.

A whimper from Nia’s direction has all of them turning her way. Tobias’ heart sinks to find fresh tears slipping down her face as she clearly tries and fails to hold them back, berry held tight enough in her paws that Tobias fears it’ll get crushed to a pulp.

“Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?” Junie asks, abandoning her game to flutter onto Nia’s leg. “I mean…a lot is wrong, but uh—”

“What’s wrong specifically?” Tobias clarifies, abandoning his own food to sit down in front of the riolu.

Like a dam bursting, Nia starts crying in earnest, dropping her berry to cover her face. Heart-wrenching sobs rip from her chest and make her shoulders jump.

Samir had frozen nearby at the first cry, but they jolt and quickly settle against Nia’s side, as if to offer moral support with their presence despite the obvious panic on their face.

For a second, Tobias panics too. This isn’t the same quiet, constant grief they’ve all been feeling today. This feels like a bubble bursting—like something in particular is making her so upset she simply can’t process it. And knowing Nia, she needs some way to work it out of her system.

So, swallowing his own discomfort, Tobias asks, “Hey, uh. Is this more of a hug problem or a talk problem?”

Nia’s crying slows just long enough for her to wail, “Both!”

“Well, you heard the girl,” Junie chuckles, hopping closer to nuzzle Nia’s waist.

Tobias hesitates for only a moment before scooching closer. Then, he gently tugs the riolu’s paws away from her eyes and guides her into a hug. Nia latches onto the contact immediately, squeezing him tight enough in return that it’s almost painful.

Tobias tries to remember what Maggie did in the past when he was this upset. When he was desperately missing his family and feeling the fresh pain of their absence all over again. After a moment, he tentatively rests a hand on Nia’s back, then skims it up and down her spine in what he hopes is a soothing gesture.

As Nia cries, Tobias feels the grief and guilt he’d been shoving into the back of his mind all day surface anew. She doesn’t deserve to feel like this. None of them do.

This has to be the worst part of being a Seeker.

Tobias squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to send his own sorrow from last night’s disaster along with it. It feels…nice, in a way. To just let himself be sad. To be upset.

Eventually, though, Nia’s cries soften and fade. She pulls back from the hug with clear reluctance, wiping at the wet fur on her cheeks. The red of her eyes pops even brighter than usual.

“Sorry,” Nia says, her voice a wreck. “I’m fine. Just…been a long night. Day. It’s not fair for me to act like mine’s been any worse than yours.”

Tobias snorts. “Just because we aren’t crying doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to cry.”

“Yeah! And even if we’re all upset, maybe you’re the most upset right now,” Junie says, peering up at Nia. “That’s okay. Sometimes people need more help at different times, even if everyone is dealing with the same crappy situation. We’ll take turns.”

Nia huffs a watery laugh. Her expression is warm as she runs a paw over the rookidee’s back, earning a pleased chirp.

Still, something on Nia’s face gives Tobias pause.

“You’ve got something else on your mind,” Tobias guesses, ignoring Nia’s surprised look. “Something other than the general awfulness we’re all dealing with.”

Nia blinks. “O-Oh. I mean…kind of? But it isn’t important."

“What?! It’s important if it’s upsetting you!” Junie says, whacking Nia with a wing. “Spill!”

Nia smiles, like the sun peeking through the clouds. Just as quickly, the expression falls away. For a few quiet moments, Tobias thinks she isn’t going to talk at all.

Then, Nia whispers, “I was just thinking that maybe Andyn was right.”

Tobias frowns. Junie makes a squawk of outrage. Even Samir pulls away from Nia to give the riolu a baffled look.

“I know it was Andyn’s choice to follow us into the dungeon,” Nia explains. “A-And Ezra’s choice to follow her. But I wanted to save that minun. I wanted to save her so badly that I didn’t listen to Samir, a-and I pulled Tobias in with me too. And if I hadn’t done that then Ezra never would’ve gotten hurt and—"

“Whoa, slow down,” Junie says.

If anything, Nia talks faster. She’s blinking back a fresh wave of tears. “I-I just feel so guilty for everything, a-and maybe Andyn’s right and I just like playing the hero? And that’s even worse because I thought I was just being a good person but is it actually good if you have to try to be good a-and—"

“Okay, hang on,” Tobias says, hands out. Alarm bubbles in his gut.

“A-And now I feel like I won’t know what to do in the future because if I can’t trust my own moral compass to lead me to the right decisions, what do I trust?!” Nia asks. “I was so sure I was doing the right thing but was I just doing it to make myself feel better? A-And even if I wasn’t, I know I need to think things through better but does that mean I have to make myself not care because I don’t think I even know how to do that a-and—"

Tobias grabs either side of Nia’s face, stopping her rambling and catching her off-guard. She stares at Tobias with glossy eyes, panting as she catches her breath.

“Breathe, Nia,” Tobias murmurs.

He breathes deep, waiting for her to mimic him the best she can before letting it out. Another breath. Another exhale. Again.

Slowly, the wild light dims in Nia’s eyes. But she still looks so���uncertain. Like she’s doubting everything she is and everything she stands for. It hurts to see, when Tobias often looks to her as his own moral compass.

“It wasn’t smart of us to go into that dungeon,” Tobias says, releasing her. “It was reckless. You shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t have let it happen, and Andyn definitely shouldn’t have followed us. But that doesn’t mean you were wrong to care.”

Nia watches him with lost, pleading eyes. Begging him to convince her.

“If circumstances had been different, maybe the minun would’ve been alive when we found her. But even here and now, when she isn’t? When we gained nothing? I know that if we hadn’t gone into that dungeon to look for survivors, it would’ve haunted you. You’d be sitting here wondering if you could’ve saved that minun if you’d only tried. I know you would be, because I would be thinking the same thing. There was no right answer in that situation.”

Tobias glances at Samir, half-expecting a protest from the skiddo. They’re watching Tobias with a furrowed brow, but they don’t interrupt.

Tobias swallows. “A-At least this way, the plusle will know for sure what happened to her sister. And we only know that because we tried. We cared. So I don’t think it’s bad, to try to do what’s right, even if that means you’re wrong sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Junie says, voice soft. “Remember? You followed your gut and came to save me in Ghatha. If you never tried to do good, even when your brain told you it would be smarter and easier not to, then I would be dead right now.”

“B-But…” Nia looks at Samir. “We agreed we were too reckless last night.”

“We were,” Tobias says. “But I think it’s just a matter of…balance. A balance that we need to get better at finding. Between trying to do what’s right, and trying to keep ourselves and others safe.”

“But how do we know where that balance is when my heart says it’s always worth the risk to try?” Nia whispers. “I-I know it’s stupid to be so emotional over this, but—"

“It’s not stupid,” Tobias says, harsher than he means to. Everyone looks at him, and his face heats. “It’s not stupid to care.”

Nia doesn’t respond, and Tobias holds back a frustrated growl. She doesn’t get it. It’s not only that her emotional, caring nature isn’t stupid. It’s that it’s important.

“Look,” Tobias sighs. “You know how earlier, Jaz said that Andyn was so amazing that it made her and Ezra want to be amazing too?”

Nia nods with a small, confused noise of agreement.

“I…kind of understood what she was saying. Because you’re that for me too, Nia. You’re good. You care. You always try to do the right thing. And you make me want to do the right thing and care, too. If I’m in a situation and I don’t know what to do, then…I look to you.”

And that’s something Tobias treasures and admires in his partner. Nia without her ridiculous kindness and her silly, soft heart simply wouldn’t be Nia. And Tobias would never want that.

There’s a moment of heavy silence where Tobias wants to melt into the floor. But Nia is staring at him with something like hope, fresh tears glittering in her eyes. ���Really?”

“Really,” Tobias admits. “And if we can just learn to be a bit more cautious about how we follow that drive to do good, I don’t see any reason for us to stop trying, or to stop caring. Right?”

Nia bubbles with a relieved laugh, but there’s a bend to her brow that belies the worry beneath the joy. “I just…I don’t know if you should look to me as your guide for something that important. I try to be a good person, but I’m nothing special.”

Tobias scoffs. He’d argue his partner is very special. And even if he is biased, that bias has to come from something real, right? It’s not based on nothing. It comes from how Nia has always been there for him, even when he didn’t deserve it. How she always tries to do what’s right, even when it’s hard. How she always tries to be kind and helpful to everyone they meet.

A surge of affection swamps Tobias like a wave. If Tobias could just show her that feeling, how much she inspires him, how merely thinking about his partner fills him with comfort and courage and makes him want to be better, then—

Oh.

Oh, he could do that, couldn’t he? Tobias is one of the few Pokemon in the world who actually can show that to his partner.

Fear threatens to smother the warm trust in Tobias’ chest, but he shoves it away before it can take hold. Because this would show Nia how much she means to him, simply because of who she is. And maybe then she’d understand why he looks to her like a guiding star.

“Read my aura,” Tobias says.

Nia and Junie blink at him, shocked. Even Samir seems to gauge the importance of the request after a glance at Nia and Junie’s reactions.

Nia’s mouth flaps. “Tobias, I—are you sure? What—why?”

Tobias swallows. His heart is beating hard against his ribs. He shrugs. “It would show you. That you…inspire me and stuff. Just from being you. You don’t have to do it, but—"

“No!” Nia says, paws out. “I would love to, but. Um.”

They fall into an awkward silence again. Nia watches him with wide, wide red eyes.

Tobias can’t blame her. He remembers how vehement he was in the early days of their partnership about her keeping her aura to herself. Tobias always said it was about it being creepy, a breach of privacy, but if he actually lets himself think about it, Tobias thinks it’s more about the vulnerability of it all. Of Nia seeing Tobias as he actually is instead of the Pokemon he tries to be nowadays.

Tobias doesn’t even know who he really is. He doesn’t know if him trying to be good like Nia actually makes any kind of impact on who he is at his core. The thought scares him.

But…if he can trust anyone with himself, with his very soul, he knows it’s Nia. Even if he’s drowning in embarrassment and fear and some kind of deep shame simply for being him, for being woefully inadequate as a son and partner and Seeker, he knows that Nia will still see the best in whatever he has to offer.

And he wants Nia to see the best in herself, too. Even if that’s through him.

So Tobias takes a breath—two—and holds out a shaky hand, palm up.

After a long moment of hesitation, Nia reaches back.

[aladaylessecondblog]

Severed Destiny, pt. 9

"Now, what have we learned?"

Haj-deek took a deep breath.

"The spear is not a weapon--" and then, correcting herself, "The spear is not only a weapon. It is...an extension of my body and will. With it, I can both bring order and sow chaos. It is not an evil thing but in the hand of one meaning to do ill, it can become a symbol of evil."

"Very good," Vivec said, "A thing on its own is not evil. But imbued with and surrounded by it, it cannot help but become so. Good and evil leave their echoes upon mind and object alike."

Haj-deek had, as she'd had many times over the past weeks, a distinct feeling that Vivec was trying to say more than he was saying. Most of his lessons were like that, presented as one thing and coated in two more. Knowledge she'd take in and then unwrap to discover something else at the core...usually while eating or doing something else.

This, he said, was why he tried not to impart very much each day. "Wisdom takes thought, and thought takes time."

(Sometimes she was unsure how serious he was about things. Was he trying to be thorough in his teaching, or was he jerking her around? Maybe it was a combination of both...that thing he had given her, too, they did not speak of. He'd said she'd know when to use it, but how could he be certain of it?)

Weapon training was almost easy by comparison. She did best with her fists, but Vivec insisted on her becoming familiar with the spear and longsword as well. Her fists and a dagger were hardly enough, considering her lack of ability to maintain her own magicka. Alchemy could only carry her so far.

"Is that why you were able to...kill Nerevar?"

Such questions were ones Haj-Deek only ever asked when she was certain she was alone with Vivec.

Vivec was silent for a moment.

"Nerevar was grief-stricken," he said, "And so comforted by his queen, he did not notice my approach."

"So the story of robes and candles some of the books talk of...?"

"We made that part up ourselves. Consider in the future, if you are in a situation which may yield conspiracy theories and lurid accusations, it is good to have a hand in crafting at least one of them yourself."

Haj-deek thought for a moment before nodding.

"He intended fully to pray to Azura to gain some wisdom, and it seemed a likely enough thing to happen had I not..."

Her father's name almost slipped her lips at that point, but it didn't feel right to say the word.

"I remember hearing him say...Azura abandoned...me...us...whatever this is. When you'd all proceeded to the Heart, I mean."

"That is the very thing that I intended not to be," Vivec replied, "The sort of god who abandons those who need him most."

"And it worked...for a long time. But V...my father woke up."

"I think it would be best not to speak those words just yet. That he is what he is to you. But...yes. It did work. Regrettably we could not stop Tiber Septim, but...let me let you in on a secret of my own. We never thought that using the Numidium would go so well for him. It had a tendency to...well...kill those who used it."

"And cause dragon breaks."

"Dragon breaks. Laziness, more like." Vivec huffed, in a very ungodly way, "What an excuse."

"Laziness? Excuse?"

He suddenly sat up straight, and pivoted. "Do you feel ready to begin the trials of the Nerevarine?"

"I'm not sure I ever will," Haj-deek gave up on the subject as clearly Vivec wouldn't respond and settled for saying quietly, "But I guess I shouldn't waste too much time. Not that the training you give is wasting my time! It's just...."

"A reasonable point of view. Though I do wonder how long you would choose to stay, despite my...eccentricities."

"I don't know if I want to go north to the tribes just yet, or Red Mountain either, but...maybe there might be something else for me to do first."

Vivec seemed to brighten at that.

"Correct. To go to Red Mountain now would be disastrous...but I need not go on about that, you are bright enough to know the reasons even if your youth tells you that you may overcome them."

"So is there anything I might do first?" She wanted to leave the city for a little while, put to use these fighting skills Vivec had insisted she train herself in. What was the point of learning to fight if she wasn't going to actually fight anything?

"You can go to Tel Fyr," he replied, after a minute or so of consideration, "Your blood may be of interest to Divath Fyr - he is studying corprus, you see, and you are the first person to be born with it. And since you are clearly immune - he will want to study you."

"I don't want to be STUDIED!" Haj-deek burst out, "I'm not a test subject!"

"If you would let me finish--"

"No, I don't think I will. I'm not going to go get blood taken and...and who knows what else."

Vivec's face sunk into his palm for a moment. "Unfortunately he is the premier expert on corprus. I'm not asking you to take up residence in his tower. The opposite, actually. I want to see if your immunity may be passed on to others, and the only one who has the expertise to gauge that sort of thing is Divath Fyr. And...there's something else."

"What?"

"You wish to...correct certain things, yes?"

"...yes." She spoke with some hesitation, unsure of what he was getting at.

"Speak to the dwarf," Vivec replied, and noting the presence of someone in the far corner, lowered his voice as he went on, "In his corprusarium, the bowels of his tower, Divath Fyr tends the last living dwemer. This dwarf is...was...familiar with certain relations of yours. Go to Divath Fyr with the story that you are immune to corprus, and speak in secret to the dwarf."

"And you think that will help?"

"It is a lead. And the trip will be an excellent way to test the training you have received so far."

Haj-deek huffed slightly. The idea was a good one, and she hated having to admit it. Something of Nerevar kicked about in her head. Or maybe it was her own thoughts, or a combination of the two, or--regardless, she felt something, and that something was a grudging admission that Vivec was right. And he hated to think it.

"Fine," she replied, "I'll go."

"Excellent." Vivec brought his hands together, and when they saw the visitor was in fact Archcanon Saryoni come to ask some sort of question, he added, "Then go, with my blessing."

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

It had not been terribly difficult, getting along in Vivec City. Certainly she had to mind her manners around the Ordinators, but Haj-deek felt a lifetime of holding her tongue and making nice in Ebonheart had prepared her very well indeed for the problem. She found herself doing little chores for the Temple - to soften them towards her, Vivec said. Privately she knew it was to establish a sort of cover for her among Temple faithful - see, the Nerevarine is a devotee! See her dedication to the Tribunal!

At the same time...

...it'll get back to HIM, and that'll make anything I want to do...harder than it already is...

He wouldn't give the time of day to someone dedicated to the Tribunal. She would be lucky to even get in the door.

After getting supplies together, she found herself needing to duck the same sleeper as had greeted her on arrival to the city. Haj-deek moved toward the Hlaalu Canton - and on rounding one of its corners tried to back away instantly on sight of who was walking along the opposite side.

Orvas Dren, flanked by a couple of his Camonna Tong guards, was walking down the pathway. He saw her immediately, and though momentarily surprised made right for her.

"And what might you be doing here? Did the lizards put you out now that you are old enough to shift for yourself?"

"No," Haj-deek crossed her arms, "Better odds of getting work here that doesn't...well, they don't really know about the--the argonians here, and that hindered me in--"

Orvas's eyes traveled ever so slightly down and for a moment Haj-deek had the uncomfortable feeling he was ogling her - until she realized the hand with the moon-and-star was frontmost and the ring itself was clearly visible. She saw his expression shifting in the time she watched his face - confusion, anger, thinking, then a sink back into his usual bland interest.

"Well, well, well, little Haj-deek, wearing the moon-and-star. But, that being the case," his tone darkened, "I should think you would be smarter than to put yourself under the Tribunal's power."

"I didn't have much of a choice," she replied quickly, "I left Ebonheart and one of the ordinators all but herded me into the city. Lord Vivec - ah - wants to direct me himself, I think."

"Of course he would." Orvas huffed, "I imagine he will have you locked away in Baar Dau before too much longer has passed...re-education, that is his aim with most who dare to disobey his direction. You're fortunate I was in the city on business."

Haj-deek played along, and lied, "He's been training me, so I've had to pretend I actually want to be here. Around him. It's not that I believe what he says."

She wasn't sure how to phrase this, and from the way she saw Orvas's face working she felt she'd already tripped up.

"Well, you've always been intelligent in that way, you're quick minded. Learning the ways to fit in among those who don't have your best interests at heart. But there is something I'm curious about."

"What's that?"

"The ring. Did you already have it in Ebonheart? If you had gone to some forsaken place in a long pilgrimage to get it I'm certain you would have a different look about you. Sleep deprivation is a close bedfellow with anyone who takes a long journey and you look as if you have never been deprived of rest a day in your life."

"Well, I--"

"Perhaps you found it somewhere? Lifted it from the lizards who knew not what it means? Or you--"

"It was my mother's--" Haj-deek burst out and shut her mouth the next instant. Her eyes widened. he realized her mistake almost immediately, but definitely too late.

"Your mother's?"

Orvas's face went through a shifting series of expressions again. Surprise, thoughtfulness, and then focus as he went on, "The ring belonged to your mother? So she was the previous Nerevarine?"

The wheels were turning. He was working something out, she could see it from the way his eyes darted back and forth at nothing, but what?

"I--yes. Please, I have to get going," Haj-deek went on, "I'm...on my way to see Divath Fyr. A way of--proving my identity, you know, since I've--"

There was something sharp in Orvas's expression then, and another look like he was thinking deeply, or as deeply as one could when trying to be quick. "You've always been a healthy child. Go. Speak to your Telvanni wizard. But do remember I always have need for someone of your talents."

Orvas gave her an ironical sort of bow and an accompanying smirk then. He'd gotten enough out of her and it seemed to satisfy him, but why she couldn't figure out. She was too eager to get on, and hurried past him to finally exit Vivec City.

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

Besides the expected attacks from wild cliffracers (Sunchaser had to be healed up from several, while trying to defend her) and other dangerous Vvardenfell fauna, and sneaking by various hideouts and caves, Haj-deek had only one incident of particular note on the five-day journey she took to Tel Fyr.

While passing Dren Plantation, she happened to pass an Argonian slave who promptly dropped one of the apparently heavy sacks he was carrying. When she stopped to help he thanked her and introduced himself as Hides-His-Foot, and she returned with her own name, which surprised him, but he said nothing more until she spoke up.

"I am sorry to see you in chains," she replied, "I would free you, if you could but tell me--"

It is our duty, Im-Kilaya's words, frequently spoken to her as a young child, echoed again in her head, To help those still shackled by slavery, in whatever way we can.

"Go free?" Hides-His-Foot shook his head emphatically, "No, I am old and could not make it on my own."

He would say no more to her, and as she watched him go she told herself she would be back. He couldn't go now, and where would she take him, anyway? Perhaps if she freed a few slaves during her journey some of the other Twin Lamps members might trust her enough to tell her where she could take older slaves like Hides-His-Foot.

The sea breeze persisted as she passed Telasero, and even at Molag Mar where she sold a bundle of cliffracer plumes for more food and to repair her spear and dagger, as well as buy a lengthy hooded cloak . She glanced only briefly at the slave market, hearing again what Im-Kilaya had said.

I will be back for you. All of you. I swear it, she thought. If I'm Lord Nerevar returned I can do whatever in oblivion I want, and what I want is the slaves freed.

(There was a tug in her chest, and whether it was Nerevar or the Hist she couldn't be sure. But something was definitely pleased by her declaration.

It was a struggle to make herself move on, but she managed it.

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

Haj-deek turned north, and the land began to darken along with the animals. Past the Maesa-Shammus egg mine, a blight storm started to kick up, and Sunchaser wedged herself beneath the cloak to hide from the ashy winds, her beaked face protruding from the hood beside Haj-deek's, her usual high-pitched calls now completely silent as her wings hugged at shoulders. When the blighted kagouti and cliffracers began to appear she wouldn't emerge to help in the fight, merely tremble and kept her head down as if to avoid seeing them at all.

"It's alright, it's fine," she said, reaching up to try and pat at the beak by her ear, "I've got you."

If not for the map she'd have gotten entirely lost, and for a stretch she was afraid she had, but on having to hide from a couple passing Ashlanders Haj-deek realized the gathering of Dunmer she could dimly see through the red winds was the Erabinemsun camp.

Okay, so I'm close. Good. Good.

Her feet hurt, ash was everywhere, and she was ducking ashlander hunters but at least she was nearly to Tel Fyr. That was something.

Finally, she hit the shoreline. Thankfully, just as the blight storm was beginning to let up--and not wanting to waste the magicka, she removed the cloak, shoved it into one of her bags. After, of course, making sure there weren't any ashlanders watching her back or hiding nearby.

Sunchaser complained, but Haj-deek shrugged the cliffracer off. "Come on, I have to get in the water, you can fly that far."

She had learned to swim so early she couldn't fully remember when it had happened, and was almost pleased to dive into the water, even with the bags weighing her down and messing with her pace.

It was half an hour later that a waterlogged Haj-deek made it to the front door of Tel Fyr. She ducked behind a rock and changed from her damp armor into the darker clothes that still smelled faintly of skooma. Once she was changed Sunchaser took her perch up once again, and they entered the tower.

Five days, she thought, five days it had taken her, and finally she was here.

Haj-deek was greeted by a Dunmer woman who said, "Are you here to plunder the dungeon? Have you got corprus disease? Did you want to talk to Divayth Fyr?"

"No, sort of, and yes," Haj-deek answered all of her questions, and on receiving a strange look she went on with, "I didn't even know there were dungeons here. And I do have corprus, but I...don't, at the same time."

She lifted her right hand to show the moon-and-star, and said, "I'm the--newest Nerevarine."

"I see. Well. You'll be wanting to see Lord Fyr, then."

"I was told I should offer some blood," Haj-deek replied, shifting uncomfortably, "I hope he's not going to ask for any."

"I doubt he will bleed you like a vampire, but I won't tell you that he won't. He does surprise people now and then."

"He's up there, then?" Haj-deek gestured to the hole in the ceiling, and the dunmer woman nodded.

"I hope you know how to levitate, or you shan't be able to see him."

"Oh, I know, I just don't like to use the spell if I can help it. We Atronach signs have to be careful with our magicka supply, miss...?"

"Beyte Fyr," the woman replied.

"Nice to meet you, then. I'm...Haj-deek."

She cast the levitate spell and moved up, stumbling about lost for only a minute or so before literally running into Divath Fyr. She stumbled back, groaning in pain, and apologized quickly, "I'm so sorry, Lord Fyr, I--I'm not familiar with your tower."

Divath Fyr was fairly tall, and now she could see why it had hurt to run into him. He was wearing a full set of daedric armor - she'd only ever seen it in art! It was hard to imagine that it existed at all, given how rare it seemed to be. After allowing her a bit of gawking, he spoke up.

"Well! What a pleasure! A visitor! An entertaining diversion!"

It was more cheery than she expected, and it stunned her that Divath Fyr was that overtly friendly.

"Come to consult the great Divayth Fyr? You have the divine disease?" He seemed perfectly at ease, and all she could think was she was missing something. Telvanni weren't this friendly to outsiders, this wasn't how things worked.

"Well--well, yes...and no."

Divath's head tilted just slightly to one side. "I don't imagine you've come here before, which is the only way I've ever seen someone cured."

"No, I haven't," she replied, "That--that person you talk of, that you cured. That was my mother...and I guess I've inherited her immunity."

The wizard (she hesitated to think him one, with such armor on his person) leaned down a bit, and stared her directly in the eye, completely ignoring Sunchaser's fixing one of her eyes on him in turn. "You've no sores? No rashes, no memory loss, no strange intrusive thoughts?"

Haj-deek took a step back, a little unnerved by the stare Divath was giving her. "No. I've had the dreams, but...nothing more. No sores, no rashes, nothing. I've never even had so much as a sniffle."

"Strange...very strange. Of course I've heard of mothers passing their resistances to certain diseases, but corprus...this..."

"Lord Vivec suggested," she went on, hesitating to speak, "That I might give you a sample of my blood."

It was a disgusting idea, and she still would rather do anything but.

"An agreeable idea..." Divath seemed to be thinking on something, and went silent.

"I'm not cutting my hand if I can help it," she started quickly, "Even if it's just a trifling sort of cut and I don't lose much blood--"

"Oh, there's no need for that. You thought I take blood by way of a dagger? Unrefined, that. Inclined to infection...not that you would need to worry about that, but it is a concern for the rest of my patients. No, there's a tool I've invented that makes drawing blood much easier, and safer for the would-be donor. I simply stick a vein, and let your body pulse out the blood all on its own. Then heal it as you please. For my patients, I...install a permanent one, which makes studying their blood much easier."

"That's--" The idea of being bled was still gross, but the idea of not having to cut her finger like she was doing some sort of secret vow made it just a little bit less so. "I'll want to see how it works before I let you do anything, though."

"My oldest patient, he'll have a set of them handy. I've some things to tend to up here - you go and fetch the blood-drawing tools from him in the corprusarium, and I'll be more than happy to display how they work. But I warn you - do not attack my patients. They're mostly passive but some may attack you."

"I have a pet cliffracer," Haj-deek said, "There's nothing they can do to me that cliffracers haven't done worse."

That prompted a laugh. "Ah, to be young and arrogant again. Go on then, off with you. You've presented me with a very interesting prospect and I want to prepare for what I'm to see in your blood. Or not see."

Haj-deek moved off quickly, not really understand most of what he said next.

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

The first person she met was the so-called "Warden" Vistha-Kai, an argonian.

"Ruheeva," she said speaking first the��Jel greeting for a stranger, "I'm not a new patient, but...Divath Fyr says I have to talk to his 'oldest patient' to collect some blood-drawing tools. Which of them would that be?"

"You want the dwemer," Vistha-Kai said, "You cannot mistake him for anyone else. Yagrum Bagarn is his name, and he is in the bowels of the Corprusarium. Pass through the gate and go straight across to the next door. He rides in a four-legged cart. He's not as dangerous as the other corprus victims. I doubt he'll give you any trouble."

"Thank you." She paused, took a deep breath, and then looked up to Sunchaser. "Stay here. I don't want you getting in trouble for attacking them."

Sunchaser gave one of her cries.

"No. You could get hurt, and I--I don't want that to happen. Stay here." She reached up to gently tug the cliffracer forward, and set her down on the ground. Then she pulled out a chunk of dried fish she'd been carrying in one of the bags. "Here. Eat."

She looked up to Vistha-Kai.

"If you can help it..."

"You do not want her attacked. You need not worry, I believe we understand each other. Though...I would not tarry in speaking to Yagrum Bagarn, if you can avoid it. These are devilish, temperamental beasts at the best of times."

"I've had to fight so many on my way here, I can't say you're wrong." Haj-deek gave a brief laugh, and stepped through the door. She readied a healing spell, in preparation for the corprus patients. As she walked ahead, she saw one at the end of a stony corridor--and it made straight for her. She ducked off to the side of the path, waiting, ready to bolt past it once it got close enough.

But it didn't attack her.

The thing before her, enormously bloated and half-limping, dragging the more swelled of its two legs with a great effort--it stopped short of where she intended to let it get.

And just stared, groaning as it swayed in place. Its eyes focused on her but she felt something more from it - pain. It, no, HE, was in pain. But given the horrible state of his corprus infection, it only made sense.

Are you sure you want to make the attempt, if this is what he does? The thought drifted across her mind, whether hers or someone else's she wasn't sure. It was uncomfortable to the extreme. You want a father. They don't want to be like this. Kill him, and let them receive the only mercy they are now capable of accepting. Let their suffering end.

She shuffled around, but the corprus victim turned to keep his gaze locked on her. She half-expected it to chase after her, but it didn't, merely stood in place.

The next she encountered did nearly the same thing, with some difference. This victim was smaller, or at least not as bloated with corprus as the first had been, but he stared at her as she passed him just as the first one had. It seemed to shake, and then groan in some unseen agony. A moment later it coughed--sending a wretched looking (and smelling) black fluid from its mouth. She stopped--

It groaned, and lurched forward, clumsily grabbing at her, and she ran off before it could close a hand around anything. It wasn't until she rounded the next couple of corners that she realized she'd gotten turned around and had made a whole loop right back to where she was.

Another turn, ahead to the (correct) door this time, another set of victims, another set of sick eyes that fixed too keenly on her. It was almost worse than them attacking her, to have them simply watch. What was happening?

This is what he has done. He thinks it is helping them? He thinks this a gift? How can he not SEE?

Haj-deek wondered if her mother had thought the same thing.

On passing another corprus victim she thought, I have to make him see.

The absurdity of it made her laugh. Blood or not, who could make him do anything he didn't want to? For a moment she despaired of the thought - what made her think she could do anything about this? If her mother couldn't change his mind, how could she expect her own effort to be any different? And she hadn't even SEEN the man yet!

She saw another Dunmer woman, who seemed to take notice of her but said nothing as Haj-deek approached.

"Voryn?"

The voice was thick, muddled, like someone with a terrible cold or a tongue too thick but it was distinctly male.

"You're new here, aren't you?" the dunmer woman spoke, "My name is Uupse..."

"I'm here to see Yagrum Bagarn," she said quickly, "I...I was told Divath Fyr wanted to sample my blood, and that this...dwemer had the...the tools to get it out of me without injury."

She felt entirely wrong here, out of place. Everything felt sick here, even the air.

A heavy tk tk tk sounded off, and from out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadowed figure moving.

"No...my mind is playing tricks on me again...my weak eyes..."

Before her now appeared Yagrum Bagarn, bloated with corprus and entirely situated within what looked more like a contraption to give him spider's legs than anything else.

He stared at her, as the others had, but he had words to go along with the motion.

"I'm sorry, I thought for a moment you were someone else."

"You thought I was Voryn?"

Her father's name. Yes. And this dwemer, riddled with corprus, his mind blighted as all hell, had picked her face out just as Vivec had warned her might happen. Perhaps ten people in Morrowind that knew her face--her father's face.

"The resemblance is extraordinary," he said as he squinted at her, "Truly, I thought you...well. I heard you say you're here for the blood-collecting tools. I've got them here somewhere...Uupse. I hate to ask, but could I...have dinner a little earlier? I'll want to ask how this turns out with Divath Fyr and I know once I start speaking to him it'll last half the night and I won't want to eat."

Uupse nodded, and then looked to Haj-deek. "You--if you harm him, you will have ME to deal with."

"I won't!" she burst out, "I swear, I won't."

Uupse gave her a suspicious look, but moved away. Not until she was firmly out of earshot did Haj-deek speak to Yagrum again. And too eager for answers, she couldn't help but ask the most burning question in her mind at the moment.

"You knew my father?"

"Your FATHER!" Yagram burst out, and devolved very quickly into a fit of coughs that lasted a minute or two. "Now I know my senses fail me! Voryn has no--never had any children! And never a chance to do it, either!"

But after squinting at her a bit longer, his suspicion cleared.

"I suppose I MUST believe you," he said, "For that face - it is uncanny, how closely you resemble him. But I warn you, it is best not to spread such information around. You think those with corprus are treated poorly outside of Tel Fyr? You have seen nothing of what they would do to a natural daughter of one who blighted the land with the disease to begin with. Why are you really here, young one?"

"To see if there might be a way to..." Haj-deek gulped slightly, "To save him. Vivec said you knew him...well...before..."

"That I did. He was the first friend I ever made, your father. Brilliant man. Is that why you come to me? You want me to speak of him so you might know the man you will fell?"

"No, no, I--" she worked quickly, stumbling over nearly every word as if something were holding her back, "I--I want to--if it's possible, I want to fix him. Help him."

Another laugh. Another hacking cough.

"Excuse the laughter. How very like a Dagoth to tackle the impossible! But if anyone can help you, I can. Whatever you think you may get out of this..."

It was a spot of good news. It was something.

It was a start.

[youkaigakkou-tl]

Karma Karma Chapter 2

the haruisms and sanoisms are strong in this one...

also!! karma karma is getting a volume release!! to be on sale on january 27 2025, at the same time as yohaji volume 18!!

(my goodness.... the possibility of karma karma art by 2024 tanamai.... my goodness.......)

Read on Mangadex!

(or on google drive)

[kori-senpai]

◉‿◉

[bluestrawberrybunny]

It is currently 2 AM where I am…

I finally finished the Schmicago chapter… after I started writing it at 1 AM yesterday…

And yes I have been working on this thing all day. After so many drafts, I have decided fuck it we ball. If it is poorly written I apologize in advance…

[1am-s0-veryt1red]

with the leaks to the 2nd to last chapter out can I just ask that we hold off on criticism of whoever until the last chapter is officially out? I know it's asking a lot

[cattailtales]

seeing the reactions to this latest chapter I can’t help but to think back to the first post-war arc and remember how little was ever addressed then too.. like dgmw I enjoy all these characters and think horikoshi is insane for trying to juggle so many but in the end he kinda like. Cannot handle it all. maybe he could if he didn’t waste time on silly things.. like I get that he’s trying to uplift the story in the end but it kinda falls incredibly flat with so many anxious questions looming and a rapidly approaching finish line…

[aberooski]

Every day I get 🤏 this much closer to getting out of chapter 1 of Chazzerella.

[orcelito]

ITNL chapters 11 and 12 re-edits are posted !!! im rly happy with the changes ive made in these

also i dont think i mentioned but chapter 10 i wasnt expecting big changes but i. changed the bath scene. so that he doesnt have his damn prosthetic on in the bath. bc that makes no goddamn sense

Patch Notes: removed electronic prosthetic from the bath. made vash even more obnoxious (unrelated)

[acourtofquestions]

No. No, it couldn't have been a dream The escape, Rowan, the ship to Terrasen—

A dream. An illusion. Her escape from him, from Maeve, had been another illusion.

Had she said it? Had she said where the Keys were hidden?

Then a cool, cultured voice purred, "All that training, and this is what becomes of you?" Not real. Arobynn, standing on the other side of the altar, was not real.

"Even Sam held out better than this."

Fenrys snarled.

You could get out of these chains, if you really wanted," Arobynn said, frowning with distaste. "If you really tried."

No, she couldn't, and everything had been a dream, a lie.

"You let yourself remain captive. Because the moment you are free..." Arobynn chuckled. "Then you must offer yourself up, a lamb to slaughter."

Only hearing the King of the Assassins, unseen and unnoted beside her.

"Deep down, you're hoping you'll be here long enough that the young King of Adarlan will pay the price. Deep down, you know you're hiding here, waiting for him to clear the path." Arobynn leaned against the side of the altar, cleaning his nails with a dagger. "Deep down, you know it's not really fair, that those gods picked you. That Elena picked you instead of him. She bought you time to live, yes, but you were still chosen to pay the price. Her price And the gods'?"

Arobynn ran a long-fingered hand down the side of her face. "Do you see what I tried to spare you from all these years? What you might have avoided had you remained Celaena, remained with me?" He smiled. "Do you see, Aelin?"

She could not answer. Had no voice. Cairn hit bone, and—

Aelin lunged upward, hands grasping for her thigh. No chains weighed her. No mask smothered her. No dagger had been twisted into her body. Breathing hard, the scent of musty sheets clinging to her nose, the sounds of her screaming replaced by the drowsy chirping of birds, Aelin scrubbed at her face.

The prince who'd fallen asleep beside her was already running a hand down her back in silent, soothing strokes.

A dream. Just a dream.

She twisted, setting her feet to the threadbare carpet on the uneven wood floor.

"Dawn isn't for another hour," Rowan said.

Yet Aelin reached for her shirt. "I'll get warmed up, then." Maybe run, as she had not been able to do in weeks and weeks.

Rowan sat up, missing nothing. "Training can wait, Aelin." They'd been doing it for weeks now, as thorough and grueling as it had been at Mistward.

She shoved her legs into her pants, then buckled on her sword belt.

"No, it can't."

A gathering storm to the north had forced their ship to find harbor last night—and after weeks at sea, none of them had hesitated to spend a few hours on land. To learn what in hell had happened while they'd been gone.

The answer: war.

Everywhere, war raged. But where the fighting occurred, the aging innkeeper didn't know. Boats didn't stop at the port anymore— and the great warships just sailed past. Whether they were enemy or friendly, he also didn't know.

Aelin scowled. "What." It wasn't so much of a question as demand.

His gaze was unfaltering. As it had been when she'd returned from her run through the misty fields beyond the inn and found him leaning against the apple tree. "That's enough for today."

"We've hardly started." She lifted her blade.

Rowan kept his own lowered. "You barely slept last night."

Aelin tensed. "Bad dreams." An understatement. She lifted her chin and threw him a grin. "Perhaps I'm starting to wear you down a bit."

His canines gleamed. "You need to eat."

"I need to train."

She couldn't stop it-that need to do something. To be in motion.

No matter how many times she swung her blade, she could feel them. The shackles. And whenever she paused to rest, she could feel it, too—her magic. Waiting.

Indeed, it seemed to open an eye and yawn.

She clenched her jaw, and attacked again Rowan met each blow, and she knew her maneuvers were descending into sloppiness.

Knew he let her continue rather than seizing the many openings to end it.

She couldn't stop. War raged around them People were dying. And she had been locked in that damned box, had been taken apart again and again, unable to do anything.

Rowan struck, so fast she couldn't track it. But it was the foot he slid before her own that doomed her, sending her careening into the dirt.

"I win," he panted. "Let's eat."

Aelin glared up at him. "Another round."

Rowan just sheathed his sword. "After breakfast."

She growled. He growled right back.

"Don't be stupid," he said. "You'll lose all that muscle if you don't feed your body. So eat. And if you still want to train afterward, I'll train with you." He offered her a tattooed hand.

But Aelin said, "People are dying. In Terrasen. In-everywhere. People are dying, Rowan."

"Your eating breakfast isn't going to change that." Her lips curled in a snarl, but he cut her off. "I know people are dying. We are going to help them. But you need to have some strength left, or you won't be able to."

Truth. Her mate spoke truth. And yet she could see them, hear them. Those dying, frightened people. Whose screams so often sounded like her own.

Rowan wriggled his fingers in silent reminder. Shall we?

Aelin scowled and took his hand, letting him haul her to her feet. So pushy.

Rowan slid an arm around her shoulders. That's the most polite thing you've ever said about me.

Elide's eyes widened. Widened further as he opened his mouth, and took a bite. His swallow was audible. His cringe barely contained. Elide reined in her smile at the pure misery that entered the Lion's tawny stare. Aelin and Rowan had been finishing up a similar battle when she'd entered the taproom minutes ago, the queen wishing her luck before striding back into the courtyard.

Elide hadn't seen her sit still for longer than it took to eat a meal. Or during the hours when she'd instructed them in Wyrdmarks, after Rowan had requested she teach them.

It had gotten her out of the chains, the prince had explained. And if the ilken were resistant to their magic, then learning the ancient marks would come in handy with all they faced ahead. The battles both physical and magic.

Gavriel met her stare, and Elide again restrained her laugh.

She felt, rather than saw, Lorcan enter. The innkeeper instantly found somewhere else to be. The man hadn't been surprised to see five Fae enter his inn last night, so his vanishing whenever Lorcan appeared was certainly due to the glower the male had perfected.

Indeed, Lorcan took one look at Elide and Gavriel and left the dining room.

They'd barely spoken these weeks. Elide hadn't known what to even say. A member of this court. Her court. Forever.

He and Aelin certainly hadn't warmed toward each other. No, only Rowan and Gavriel really spoke to him. Fenrys, despite his promise to Aelin not to fight with Lorcan, ignored him most of the time. And Elide ... She'd made herself scarce often enough that Lorcan hadn't bothered to approach her.

Good. It was good. Even if she sometimes found herself opening her mouth to speak to him. Watching him as he listened to Aelin's lessons on the Wyrdmarks. Or while he trained with the queen, the rare moments when the two of them weren't at each other's throats.

Aelin had been returned to them. Was recovering as best she could.

Elide didn't taste her next bite of porridge. Gavriel, thankfully, said nothing. And Anneith didn't speak, either. Not a whisper of guidance. It was better that way. To listen to herself. Better that Lorcan kept his distance, too.

Whether the others knew what propelled her, they hadn't said a word. Aelin sheathed Goldryn and loosed a long breath. Deep down, her power grumbled. She flexed her fingers. Maeve's cold, pale face flashed before her eyes. Her magic went silent.

Fenrys sat in wolf form at the edge of the nearest field, staring out across the expanse.

Precisely where he'd been before dawn.

She let him hear her steps, his ears twitching. He shifted as she approached, and leaned against the half-rotted fence surrounding the field.

"Who'd you piss off to get the graveyard shift?" Aelin asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

Fenrys snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "Would you believe I volunteered for it?" She arched a brow. He shrugged, watching the field again, the mists still clinging to its farthest reaches. "I don't sleep well these days." He cut her a sidelong glance. "I don't suppose I'm the only one."

She picked at the blister on her right hand, hissing. "We could start a secret society-for people who don't sleep well."

"As long as Lorcan isn't invited, I'm in."

Aelin huffed a laugh. "Let it go."

His face turned stony. "I said I would."

"You clearly haven't."

"I'll let it go when you stop running yourself ragged at dawn."

"I'm not running myself ragged. Rowan is overseeing it."

"Rowan is the only reason you're not limping everywhere."

Truth. Aelin curled her aching hands into fists and slid them into her pockets. Fenrys said nothing didn't ask why she didn't warm her fingers. Or the air around them. He just turned to her and blinked three times. Are you all right?

A gull's cry pierced the gray world, and Aelin blinked back twice. No. It was as much as she'd admit. She blinked again, thrice now. Are you all right?

Two blinks from him, too. No,

They were not alright.

They might never be. If the others knew, if they saw past the swagger and temper, they didn't let on.

None of them commented that Fenrys hadn't once used his magic to leap between places. Not that there was anywhere to go in the middle of the sea. But even when they sparred, he didn't wield it. Perhaps it had died with Connall. Perhaps it had been a gift they had both shared, and touching it was unbearable.

She didn't dare peer inward, to the churning sea inside her. Couldn't.

Aelin and Fenrys stood by the field as the sun arced higher, burning off the mists.

Aelin shook her head. Another dream, or hallucination. "If she's on our heels with this army, I'm just ... trying to understand it. Her, I mean."

"You plan to kill her." The gruel in her stomach turned over, but Aelin shrugged. Even as she tasted ash on her tongue.

"Would you prefer to do it?"

"I'm not sure I'd survive it," he said through his teeth. "And you have more of a reason to claim it than I do."

"I'd say we have an equal claim."

His dark eyes roved over her face. "Connall was a better male than—than how you saw him that time. Than what he was in the end."

She gripped his hand and squeezed. "I know."

The last of the mists vanished. Fenrys asked quietly, "Do you want me to tell you about it?" He didn't mean his brother.

She shook her head. "I know enough." She surveyed her cold, blistered hands. "I know enough," she repeated.

[writersdrug]

no thoughts just waitress!reader showing up for shifts like nothings wrong after the date situation

just keeping it calm and professional. working her shifts efficiently and no longer bantering/flirting with ghost, who would rather reader melt down and tear into him than putting up the walls around herself hehe

Ok I'm combining some asks here that had some different ideas - I got so many of you guys demanding reparation for making reader cry 😭 here's the comfort chapter! (Still a tad angsty at the beginning)

Ghost had finished your tips for you that night. He had half a mind to slide a hundred in your payout folder as an apology for ruining your date... but what good would that do? That would make you quit for good, if you hadn't already.

He lays in his bed, eyes stuck to the ceiling, still in his jeans and black shirt. He wishes he could snuff out the guilt that sits heavily in his gut. He wonders what you're doing - probably crying, possibly making a half-assed voodoo doll of himself and stabbing his chest with a dull steak knife, because that's all he feels right now.

He gets up early the next day after a rough three hours of sleep. He lumbers down the stairs to the office - Price is there, sorting out cash and working on the next supply order. He looks at Simon, who's rubbing his eyes and looking worse for wear.

"Mornin'." Price says, turning back to the monitor. Ghost grunts in response, dropping himself onto the couch behind Price. His head aches from the lack of sleep, thoughts circling in his mind about how to apologize to you. He can imagine you won't want to talk to him - or, if you do, it'll most likely be profanities wedged between insults. He'd love for you to berate him right now, and make him feel like he got what he deserved.

Price sighs. "You sleep alright?"

"I've had better."

"Nightmare?"

"... yea, somethin' like that."

Price huffs. "I'm workin' front of house today." He says, grabbing the bag of tips and standing up. "Goin' down to drop these in the safe, then I'll help you stock up."

Simon opens his eyes, looking at Price with confusion. "You?"

Price nods. "Dove called out sick. Sounded like she's got the lurgy."

That delivers the final blow to Simon. He knows you're not sick - you're avoiding him now. All plans to apologize are now out the window, and the more time passes, the harder it'll be to do it.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Simon." Price says, heading down to the restaurant floor.

He curses under his breath as Price leaves. How he heard about what happened - he could only assume it had been from Soap. He drops his arm over his face and groans. He wants to call out himself, but then they might as well shut down the entire pub for the day.

Should he try phoning you? Would you answer, let alone allow him to get more than five words out? What would he say? "Sorry I ruined your date, I was jealous tha' ya got a life outside of the pub." There is no variation of an apology that feels like it would be enough. He made you cry, for fucks sake. That was a punishment in and of itself, but he still had to own up to what he'd done.

He sighs loudly; his body feels heavy as he drags himself off the couch, trudging down the stairs. He still has a bar to run.

It had to have been the longest shift of Simon's life, and he even wrapped things up a bit earlier than usual. He didn't have the gift of your incessant chatting or being able to tease you to make the time pass. Price was a solid companion in front of house, but there was hardly a conversation to be held - even with the usual bar crowd. The patrons had a look of confusion for the majority of the night, wondering why Soap wasn't popping his head out of the kitchen to chat every once in a while - and why the hell the owner was serving tables, and not the chipper, spunky waitress.

When Simon had locked up for the night, he noticed your bike was no longer in the alley. Johnny must have dropped it off on the way back to his place.

Today isn't much different - at least, not for Simon. He's still suffering from a lack of sleep, he's irritable (he had a spat with Johnny in the morning, over something he can't even remember), and his work ethic is suffering. He's not worried about slicing bar fruit; it'll give him something to do later, when he needs it. Maybe the rush will kick him back into shape.

He stares at the dishes on the edge of the bar - they're all in need of a good polish, but he finds himself stuck on staring at the bar fridge. There's nothing else he needs to stock up on - it's packed completely full with wine, champagne, and cans of beer. He gently kicks the side of it with his boot. He should be checking the to-go boxes, helping Soap with setting up the condiments and soups, making sure the tables all had full salt and pepper shakers. That's what you would be doing. But, you're not here, and neither is Price. He can only hope tonight isn't as busy as the previous night, otherwise he'll have to close some tables. Which would make customers mad. Which would make Price mad. Which would-

Suddenly, he hears three loud bangs against the back door. He freezes, the sound triggering a Pavlovian response. He immediately looks up to the kitchen window - Soap opens the door, and you come jogging inside. You greet him with a smile. He asks how you're feeling, and you say "much better".

He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he just stands there like an idiot as you hang your bag and jacket on a hook. Stands there as you push your way into the restaurant, barely sparing him a glance as you scurry by him. Stands there as you run up the stairs, two at a time, diving nose-first into your chores so you can avoid Simon.

He can't speak. Should he? What can he say? "I'm sorry," for starters, but it isn't that simple. He thought you might have quit, and was preparing his heart for the worst. But now, here you are, running back and forth through the pub and setting up your tables - and it feels like you've never been farther away from him.

In all honesty, you can't bring yourself to talk to him either. You're feeling just as ashamed with your behavior two nights ago as he is about his own. Why the fuck would you expect someone - let alone your boss - to do your chores so that you could run off and have fun on a date? Not only that, but you'd made a scene; you felt like you had half-assed the ice bins in your scramble to get them cleaned, and then you sobbed in the middle of the restaurant. The cherry on top, however, was when you called Price yesterday and told him you had a cold, calling out of your shift. It was a cowardly thing to do, and you could tell he wasn't buying your story.

But: bills need to be paid, rent is due, and you can't lose this job. So you sucked it up and came in today - Simon is easy enough to ignore, separated from you by the bar.

At first, the quiet bartender was relieved that you had showed up for your shift - he wouldn't have searched for a new waitress if you had quit, instead choosing to deal with the consequences of his actions. But he's quickly getting more and more irritated with the silent treatment you're serving. You only talk to him when necessary: a simple "thanks" when you grab your drinks and run them to your tables. You busy yourself between rolling silverware, (over)stocking napkins and condiments, and even going so far as to spray the menus down and scrub them with a rag. You spend more time in the kitchen with Soap; each peal of laughter shared between the two of you is another arrow in Simon's chest. He's stuck behind the bar, listening to woes spilling from drunken lips, forced to watch you flit around and pretend he doesn't exist.

You can't keep this up forever.

Still, you do for most of the night. Even when your shift is coming to an end, the kitchen closed while you close the tabs for your remaining tables, you don't cave and sit at the bar with Simon. You sit at the farthest table from him, the farthest chair, in fact, skimming over your tip receipts - and talking to Soap (who was only able to sit with you since you had helped him knock out his tasks).

Simon's never been as angry with Soap as he is now - and the worst part is he knows it's not justified. He's watching from behind the bar, polishing glasses so hard they might wane into cups. He wants to talk to you. He will talk to you before the night is over. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he expects that you'll at least let him offer an apology.

One of the regulars at the bar looks to whatever Simon is glaring at, chuckling quietly when he sees you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stuff it, Mike." Simon grumbles.

Meanwhile, you walk back from closing out your last table, plopping back in the booth with Soap. "What are you doing after this?"

"Sleepin'." he replies instantly, tossing back an onion ring. "Been dealin' with a grumpy bawbag since early this mornin', and I'm beat."

You glance over at the bar; Simon's back is facing you as he organizes the beer glasses. You really should apologize to him... you just couldn't figure out when the right time would be. He'd still be working by the time your shift ends, and you don't even know if he wants to speak to you at this point.

"Is he mad at me?" you ask, tapping your pen on the table.

Soap sighs. "I'm not goin' t' be the middle man, Bonnie." he says, looking at you intently. "If ye feel like somethin' needs to be said, go talk to 'im."

You groan, leaning back against the seat. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't! He's already pissed at me, and he probably thinks I'm a slacker. What good is an apology?"

"Ye won't know 'til ye talk to 'im, hmm?"

"What if he fires me?"

Johnny barks with laughter, and you frown. "I'm being serious."

"He'd never fire ye." he says, getting up out of the booth. He stretches both arms above his head and lets out a grunt. "In fact, he was throwin' a fit yesterday n' today 'fore ye came in. Bitch took it out on me."

You winced. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it fer 'im." Soap interjected. He left you at the booth with the onion rings and your tips, disappearing into the kitchen. You huff, hunching back over your tips and scribbling through them.

Deep down, you know Soap is right. If anything, you could just apologize to Simon. If he chooses to be grumpy about it, so be it. You've got tough skin... still, you can't stand the thought of him being upset with you - not because of your work ethic, but because you liked him. A lot. And you wanted him to like you back, even if it was in the most platonic way.

But that didn't change anything. An apology was due, and you were going to give him one before you left tonight.

You grabbed an onion ring and popped it in your mouth, grimacing when you realized they were cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Simon making his was across the floor to your booth.

Great. Guess the apology is coming now.

He stops at the edge of the table, wiping his hands in a rag. You pretend to punch numbers into your phone's calculator, but they're all random - you just want to look like you're busy.

"May I sit?" he asks, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

You mumble out a "sure", still not looking at him. You hear his large frame slide into the seat across from you, polyester squeaking underneath his weight. You continue to do random equations on your calculator, letting a thick blanket of tension settle between the two of you. You can feel his stare burning into your head, his arms folded over his chest... and you notice that his mask is in his hand. You finally look up at him.

It's not the first time you've seen his face - you've caught glimpses of it when he smokes in the alley, or when he eats whatever Soap throws under the warmer for you and Simon. But this time, he's not taking it off to be convenient. And, dear god, you're just now paying attention to how scarred, rugged, and handsome he is - but now's not the time for those kinds of thoughts. You feel like he's reaching out an olive branch, showing a possible vulnerable side to himself. So, you place your pen on the table and lean back.

He stays quiet for a moment longer, trying to figure out how to start this. He wants to make sure that you know he's here to apologize, not to ask for forgiveness. From his silence, you assume he's waiting for you to go first.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night." you say, eyes dropping to the table. Simon's astounded that you're the one apologizing, but you continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I'm sorry for trying to dump my job on you."

He feels worse, now. Was that even possible? He was expecting anger, insults - a detailed, frustrated explanation of what you did last night since you did not go on that date. But you're the one saying sorry? You think you're to blame for all of this unspoken aggression? Oh, you really do confuse him, sometimes...

"You don't need t' be sorry, luv." he says, gazing at you with a softness you'd never seen before, not in his brown eyes, at least.

"No, I do." you say, nearly pleading with him to let you be apologetic. "I was being a brat, and whether you usually do the ice bins or not, I shouldn't have expected you would do them without asking." You push your pen on the table, doing your best to convey your feelings. "And yeah, I was late for my date, but... well, he sounded like a dick, anyways."

Simon chuckles, watching you stare at the table. "Well, I owe you an apology, too. I jus'..." he sighed heavily, running a hand down his jaw. "I don' even know. Guess I was bein' lazy, or... I got jealous tha' you've got a life outside of this pub. Feels like you belong here."

He immediately regrets saying that - it sounds way too possessive and... just straight up weird. But you smile, taking comfort in the fact that he still wants you here. That this was the whole reason behind the mess.

"Soap called you a bitch. Said you were an asshole all day."

Simon scoffs. "Yea... 'm pretty sure Price would tell ya the same. And he wants ya back, too. Couldn't stand waitin' on tables, he was tryin' t' trade places with me all night."

You laugh. The world seems alright again - not perfect, but good enough. It might take a night of sleeping the tension away before you're fully back to your normal self, but this is a leap in the right direction. You look at Simon, into his brown, steady eyes, as they stare right back at you.

He breaks the silence. "I really am sorry for ruinin' your date."

You smile softly. "Thank you, Simon. I forgive you."

And just like that, the weight of his guilt is lifted away. The lingering sourness remains, a reminder that he had made you cry. But you had forgiven him, which was more than he was hoping to get tonight.

"Are we better?" you ask timidly.

He nods once. "Better."

You smile - you slowly slide your stack of receipts to him, biting your lip. "Cool - can I have my money?"

Just like that, his smirk drops - but you know it's all in good humor. He huffs, snatching the stack from the table and scoots his way out of the booth. "Always got money on the mind, eh?"

"I've always got rent on my mind." you retort, following after him with the bowl of onion rings. You plant yourself at your usual spot on the end of the bar, right near the POS where Simon cashes out your tips. He tries to hurry up, assuming you want to dip and go home after such an intense conversation. He slides the mask back over his face and punches his code in, trying to edit your tips into the system as quickly as he can.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" his response is instant, turning around to look back at you. You've got your phone on the bartop, and your back and jacket on the unoccupied seat next to you.

"Can I stay for a drink?"

He's melting on the inside, only held together by his own skin. He sets your receipts down and opts to do them later, right before whenever you decide to leave. He won't miss on an opportunity to have you stay longer.

"Course, luv. What's it gonna be?"

"You know how to make a cosmo?"

He chuckles, grabbing a glass from the shelf behind him. "Sure do."

[fazcinatingblog]

But can't my boss just take a laptop into respite????? Do they not have wifi there??? Are they Amish????? Also do they have Scrabble games and communal dinners and fun activities for her to do with the other residents or is it a strictly isolating experience

Do they do morning yoga

Is it like a cult

I have so many questions

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 8: The Thing About Ghost

Summary: You should have expected something bad would happen. You just didn't expect this. Perhaps something good could come of it after all.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, slight Gaz x Soap

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, PTSD, nightmares, violence, medical stuff

A/N: I started this chapter this morning. It just came spilling forth and thus you're getting a bonus update this week. I'm honestly so glad to have this one done. Now I can finally say something more than "you'll see" when you ask about Ghost.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You reach a hand out from under the mountain of blankets, fumbling blindly across your nightstand until you reach your vibrating phone. You pull it under the blankets, blinking blearily at the name on the screen. 

Kyle. 

“Hello?” You mumble sleepily, your eyes already drooping again. 

“Oh, so you can hear your phone vibrating but not me knocking at your door for fifteen minutes?” 

You let out a quiet groan, burrowing back under the covers. “Comfy.” 

“I’m sure you are, but it’s breakfast time, love.” 

You let out a quiet groan, still not moving. “Not hungry.” 

“You need to eat, love. You’ll be grumpy all morning if you don’t.” 

He’s right. If you skip breakfast, you’ll get snippy and hangry. Yet, the comfort of your bed is calling, threatening to lull you back to sleep again. 

“Don’t go falling asleep on me again.”

You startle back awake, groaning. “I wasn’t.” 

“Come on, love. I don’t want to have to get Soap to kick in your door.” 

You let out a loud, dramatic groan before grumbling acquiescence. You slide out from under your covers until you’re sitting on the floor, rubbing your eyes. You don’t bother hanging up as you set your phone on the nightstand before crawling over to the door, just close enough that you can reach up and unlock it. 

You sit back on the floor, hair mussed and still in your pajamas. The door slowly swings open, Gaz leaning against the doorframe. He smiles softly down at you as you yawn, blinking up at him sleepily. 

“That’s cute, but if we don’t get to breakfast, Price might send the cavalry searching.” He says. 

You grumble, pushing yourself up to stand before you grab a sweatshirt and shoes, running your fingers through your hair to make it at least semi-presentable. 

You lean against Gaz as you walk to the mess, resting your head against his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. It’s quieter in the mess than normal, Gaz leading you through the line to get food, making your tray for you before you shuffle over to the table where the others are. You sit down next to Price, letting out a yawn as you stare sleepily down at your tray. 

“Was starting tae get worried about ye.” Soap grins at you. 

“Yeah, heard her phone vibrating but not me knocking for fifteen minutes.” Gaz says, taking the seat next to you. 

“I was comfy.” You shrug, picking up your fork. 

“Guess I don’t have to bother asking how you slept.” Price says, grinning fondly down at you. 

“Like a rock.” You say, before taking a bite of sausage. 

“Good.” He says, almost beaming with pride that your little shopping spree yesterday worked, and that the added comfort in your room helped. 

Your face warms under his gaze, practically able to feel him preening with pride. It makes something twist in your stomach, knowing that you made him feel that way. 

The moment is broken as Ghost sighs, standing from the table to dump his tray and leave the mess. 

Soap shakes his head as you watch him go, a frown pulling at your brows. “Don’ mind him. He could do with some soft blankets and more pillows of his own.” 

The image of Ghost curled up with fluffy blankets and a stuffed strawberry of his own has you laughing loudly, not even bothered by the looks you get from the tables around you. 

You lounge against Gaz’s chest, his arm wrapped around your chest. Your back vibrates every so often as he chuckles at something that happens on the TV. You’re focused on your book, content with a lazy Sunday afternoon. 

“Don’ you two look cozy,” Soap says entering the rec room. “Don’ mind me.” He kneels on the couch next to your feet before flattening himself out between your legs until his head lands in your lap. 

Your cheeks warm as he sighs out a breath, making himself comfortable. You set your book aside, electing to run your fingers through his mohawk. You wonder if you can put him to sleep that way like you almost achieved with Gaz. He lets out a content hum as your nails scratch at his scalp, running your fingers over the short cropped sides of his head. 

You let yourself relax further against Gaz, absentmindedly massaging Soap’s scalp. Your gaze is on the TV but you’re not really watching, too caught up in the bliss of the moment to really care. 

The moment is ruined as Soap’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He lets out a groan, shuffling around to fish it out, lifting his head to stare at the screen. 

“Have to take this.” He murmurs, pushing himself up off of your lap.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips before leaning over your shoulder, kissing Gaz. Your eyes widen as he leaves the room, your heart starting to race. Of course they kiss each other. It’s probably the most natural thing in the world to them. You’ve just never seen it. 

Much less be stuck in the middle of it. 

The images begin to flood your mind, your face getting warmer and warmer. The mental imagine of being sandwiched between them while they kiss over your shoulder, hands everywhere, skin against skin. 

“Enjoyed that, did you?” Gaz’s voice is husky in your ear, his lips brushing the delicate skin. 

Of course he can smell the hike of sweetness in your scent. His hand drops from where it had been wrapped across your chest, his hand trailing down until it rests against your stomach. His lips press against the sensitive skin beneath your ear, tongue darting out to taste. 

“Soon.” He murmurs, before leaning back, resting against the couch once more. 

Your face is burning hot, heart thumping in your chest. A shiver runs down your spine at the idea, your body relaxing further back against Gaz’s, your stomach fluttering as the warmth of his hand seeps through your shirt. 

You’re ready when he knocks, standing in front of your door again. You open it before he’s finished knocking, his hand falling back to his side. He stares at you for a breath before he turns on his heel, making his way from the barracks. 

You scramble after him as usual, following him into the gym and into the private room. You follow his lead of removing your shoes and jacket, falling into what’s become a routine for the two of you. 

“We’ll work on combos again.” He says, wrapping your hands for you, before his own. 

You go back through what you had done last time, all the combos you’d learned. Well, he told you. You’ve forgotten most of them after the exhaustion and a couple days off. You can tell he’s agitated already as he walks you through the combos, correcting your punches and stance. 

“Move your feet when you punch.” He says, kicking your back leg out from under you, dropping you onto your knee. “Otherwise you’ll hurt yourself.” 

“You’re going to hurt me doing shit like that.” You murmur, fixing your stance again. 

He grabs punch mitts, moving to stand in front of you. He calls out numbers, working through combos and punches. You miss a lot, still trying to memorize which punch belongs to which number and which order to swing your fists in. Part of you wants to drive your fist straight up the middle and into his face. 

A sudden hit to your shoulder sends you sprawling to the mat. You lay there for a second before looking up at him in shock.

“What was that?” You say, getting back to your feet. 

“Dodge or block, just like I taught you.” He says, swinging at you again with the mitt, forcing you back a step. “Your opponent won’t be standing still. You have to know how to throw punches and avoid the ones coming at you.” 

You huff out a breath, trying to stay aware and throw the right punch. You don’t manage to block or dodge every one, your shoulders getting sore as he hits you. He’s not pulling his punches by much, and you can imagine the bruises you’ll sport later. You’re getting tired fast, the combination of the physical effort and the brain power growing to be too much at this intensity so soon. 

A solid hit to the center of your chest as you sprawling out on the mat on your back, the air leaving your lungs with a horrible wheezing sound. For a moment you think he might have actually injured you, fear in your eyes as he looms over you. 

“Get up.” He says, shoulders squared like he’s the one in a fight. 

“Give me a second.” You say, still trying to catch your breath. “I need a break.” 

“There are no breaks in a fight.” He says. 

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to think maybe I should just give up and die if I ever get in a fight.” You snap. 

Something flashes through his gaze, the mitts hitting the floor with a thud. He grabs the front of your tank top, lifting you to your feet. He holds you in front of him, leaning down until you’re eye to eye. 

“You think it’s that easy to die? When the time comes you can just lay down and let it happen?” He growls, emotions flickering like flames in his eyes. 

“If this is what it’s going to take to live, then yeah.” You say, not backing down despite the prickling feeling at the back of your neck. 

“You have no idea what it’s like, when death is looming over you. The fear, the regret, the overwhelming push to fight to survive.” He’s close enough that if he wasn’t wearing a mask, you could have felt his breath on your face. 

“I don’t know because I’m not like you. I’m not a fighter, I’m not trained like you. When I asked you to teach me to defend myself, this is not what I meant.” You say, shoving against his chest. 

It takes him by surprise enough that he stumbles back a step. He catches himself easily, hands closing into fists at his sides. He’s ready to fight, you can see it. You’ve unlocked the alpha, angered the beast within him. 

His scent bowls over you, sending you scrambling back out of instinct. The prickling at the back of your neck intensifies and you try to clear your head, preparing you for this fight. You don’t stand a chance, you know that. Going off instinct alone, he could overpower you easily. 

Despite everything in your brain telling you to run away, you do the opposite, racing towards him. He catches you before you can hit him, your feet leaving the ground as he slams you into the mat. You kick and claw at him, catching him in the ribs but it doesn’t even seem to phase him. 

“What was your plan?” He growls, pressing harder against your chest as he keeps you pinned. “Try to take me off my feet? I’m bigger and stronger than you. That’s never going to work.” 

“Then stop being such a dick!” You yell, landing a kick against his hip. “You’re just a bully. A big bully. You’re just like my dad!” 

Both of you freeze at your words, your eyes wide as you stare up at him. His hand closes around the neck of your tanktop and for half a moment you’re scared he might sink his hand in and pull your spine right out through your chest. Instead he releases you, pushing himself up with a growl and making for his shoes. 

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he slips them on, grabbing his things before leaving out the door. 

You stare at the door wide eyed as it slams closed. You’re still laying there, chest heaving. You stare at it, half expecting it to open back up, for him to come back. He wouldn’t leave you alone, would he? He’s not supposed to. You’re supposed to have one of them with you at all times. 

You push yourself up onto shaky legs, slowly approaching the door, half expecting it to fly back open. Maybe he’s just standing right outside, maybe he’s just taking a breath and clearing his head. The handle is cold against your heated skin as you pull it open, sticking your head out. 

The hallway is empty. 

You quickly duck back inside, closing the door. He wouldn’t leave you. He wouldn’t leave you. Maybe he went to the bathroom. Maybe he just needed a moment to clear his head. Maybe he’s coming back. 

You sink onto the bench, trying to control your breathing as it starts to get heavy. You can feel that buzzing sensation in your head, your fingers and toes starting to go numb with panic. The one time you leave your phone behind, it’s the one time you need it. Maybe he’s coming back. 

You continue to sit there, waiting, fingers trembling as you put your shoes back on. Someone has to notice your absence eventually. Someone will notice you’re not in your room and you’re not answering your phone. Someone will come looking. 

Or is this a test? 

You’re panicking now, breaths coming in short gasps. You can’t just walk out of here using the front door. There’s alphas and betas crawling all over the gym and there could be a hundred between you and the barracks now. Someone will stop you. Someone will make a scene. 

You can’t reach the windows. Even then, they don’t open and it would be a straight drop to the ground on the other side. You can’t go out the front, but there’s an emergency exit just a few feet down the hallway the other direction. The medical center is the closest building to the gym. Even if Dr. Keller isn’t in her office this early, any of them would be the most likely to help you, to alert Price to your abandoned state. 

You have to get out of the gym. Your scent will reach the others in the building eventually, and someone will take notice. Someone will be bold enough to come after the lone omega. You’re panicking, your entire body trembling. Just out the door to the left and through the emergency exit. Then it’s just a few hundred yards to the medical center and then down the hall to Dr. Keller’s office. 

You can make it. You spent three months running with the CIA. Speed has always been your strength. Get out the door before anyone notices. You have to get out before someone notices and blocks your exit. 

Your mind goes blank as you throw open the door, feet slipping as you race around the corner and down to the emergency door. You don’t even feel the ache in your shoulder as you jam yourself against the door, not caring if it sets off an alarm as you shove your way out to the cool morning air. Your feet move without your brain needing to tell you as you sprint towards the medical building. There’s no one outside, no one milling in the area. No one sees you as you race through the doors, the automatic sliding doors almost catching you as you speed through them and down the hall. Your shoes squeak on the laminate floor, squealing as you slide to a stop in front of Dr. Keller’s office. 

You don’t even check if the light is on before you’re frantically knocking. Your breaths are coming in shallow gasps, black dots dancing in your vision as you fight to get air into your lungs. You need to be somewhere safe, you need somewhere safe before you pass out. You can’t pass out in the hallway. It’s not safe. 

You nearly fall as the door swings open, stumbling into the office. Dr. Keller says your name but you barely hear it, your legs giving out. She catches you before you fall, easing you into a chair. You sink into the plushness, shaking violently as you stare at her with wide, panicked eyes. 

“What is it?” She asks. “What happened?” 

“He...he left me!” You sob, your body starting to curl in on itself. “He...he just left me!” 

Dr. Keller’s voice sounds far away as she speaks, your vision starting to tunnel. You barely register the blanket being draped around your shoulders, the soft fabric tickling your cheeks. 

You don’t hear Dr. Keller on the phone, far too gone in your distress to hear the urgency in her normally calm and composed tone. 

Dr. Keller opens the door almost as soon as the knock sounds. Price is slightly out of breath, having reached the office faster than she had expected him to. 

“She’s in distress.” Dr. Keller explains as she lets Price into the office, shutting and locking the door behind him. “I need you to be clear headed.” She tells the alpha. “We can worry about why later, right now we need to get her calmed down, understood?” 

“Yes, Doctor” He nods, fighting the urge to recoil at the sharp bitter tang of omega distress heavy in the air. 

He’s angry, beyond angry but he knows he can’t let that take over right now. 

“You’ll need to hold her.” Dr. Keller says, approaching where you’re sitting on the chair. You’re hunched over, arms clutched to your chest as you gasp and wheeze, almost hyperventilating.  “It might be easiest on the floor.” 

It’s like moving a stone statue as he takes you into his arms, muscles tense and joints locked as your body attempts to protect itself. He sinks to the floor with you in his lap, wrapping his arms around you to support you.

“Slow deep breaths.” Dr. Keller pushes your head against his chest. “Get her to copy you. If her blood pressure gets too high, or she passes out we might risk losing her to her omega, and that will be dangerous for all of us.” 

“I know.” Price says as he puts a hand on your head, keeping you against his chest. “I’ve seen it happen.” He presses his cheek against the top of your head, taking slow, even breaths. “Come on, sweetheart. Alpha’s got you. Need you to breathe for me.” 

Dr. Keller slips a blood pressure monitor around your arm, fighting the stiffness of your limbs as she sticks a pulse monitor to your chest. Price continues to speak to you, trying to get you to relax.

Slowly as the minutes pass, your breathing begins to slow. Dr. Keller monitors your blood pressure and heart rate, watching it slowly begin to come down as the presence of your alpha soothes your distressing omega. 

“There we go.” Dr. Keller says, squeezing your arm gently. 

Your breathing slows, but your breaths are still heavy and shaky as you slowly begin to sink into Price’s hold, your muscles slowly relaxing from their tense state. You let out a high-pitched whine as the discomfort begins to set in, tears leaking from your eyes. 

“I know.” Dr. Keller says gently. “You’re doing so good.” 

You begin to shake uncontrollably again, Price tightening his hold around you. His hand moves to the back of your neck instinctively, gently massaging the tense muscles. 

“It’s just the adrenaline.” Dr. Keller explains, moving to the closet and pulling out a stuffed bear. She kneels back down, working your arms away from your chest just enough that she can slip the bear into your arms. “Squeeze that for me.” She says, pushing on your arms until you take over, squeezing the bear to your chest. 

You’re still crying as the shaking slowly begins to subside, another whine leaving your lips. You continue to squeeze the bear to your chest, brows pulling into a frown. 

“Don’ feel good.” You slur, taking a deep breath in. 

“I know, honey, I know.” Dr. Keller says, squeezing your leg. “You did really good, coming down from that. Just keep breathing and relaxing for me.” 

You continue to follow Price’s breathing, trying to will your muscles to relax in your exhausted state. Price continues stroking the back of your neck, his heart thumping steadily beneath your ear. 

“One more squeeze on your arm and then I can take the monitor off.” Dr. Keller says, taking your blood pressure one more time. “It’s normal if she’s a bit achy and sore for a couple days.” She explains to Price. “She might be a bit disoriented later too. The best thing she can do is rest and someone should stay with her at all times just in case.” 

Price leans his chin against your head, fighting the anger building within him. Something happened to cause this, and he has an inkling as to what it was. He tightens his hold around you as you sink into him even more, the shaking starting to subside. 

“You don’t sedate for distress?” He asks as Dr. Keller removes the heart monitor and the blood pressure cuff from you. 

Dr. Keller shakes her head. “Sedation can make distress worse in some cases. It’s jarring and disorienting and in some cases the omega might wake up and continue distressing. It’s only useful in cases of an actual medical emergency, or if there’s no alpha to provide a sense of safety and the omega starts to take over. Then they become a danger to everyone around them and themselves.” 

“I know how devastating that can be.” He says, staring down at you. “The worst people in the world like to use omegas as shields and bait. Sometimes there’s no other way...they get caught in the middle of bullets flying and explosions. The scent of blood and fear around them.” He shakes his head. “Even if they survive that, even if you save them, it’s too much and you just lose them to the omega.” 

“It makes me sick.” Dr. Keller shakes her head. “They’re human beings just like you and me and they get treated like chattel. They’re seen as nothing but property and valued only by what they can be used for. Omegas are incredible beings. In ancient cultures they were revered, worshiped. Some cultures believed they were closest to the gods, and some thought they were gods sent to earth to bless those that deserved it. How far humanity has fallen.” 

“You have a lot of respect for omegas.” Price says. 

“Respect, love, care. Someone in this world has to. That’s why I became a specialist.” Dr. Keller smiles. “Didn’t think I’d end up here, but if I can help even just one omega, that’s more than enough for me.” She pushes herself up to stand. “Let’s get her back to the barracks. She’ll be more comfortable in a familiar atmosphere.” 

Price pushes himself to stand, keeping you close to his chest. Dr. Keller locks her office behind her before following Price as he carries you from the medical center. 

“She needs to eat.” Dr. Keller says. “She won’t feel like it, but she needs the calories after that. She might be emotional and resistant for a bit, but once she’s fully awake she’ll be alright. Well...that might be a bad way to describe it. If anything happens, or she starts getting worse. Call me.” 

“I will.” Price tightens his grip for a moment, pushing down the anger. He can’t let it take over yet. He still has you to take care of. He still has his omega to look after. 

Dr. Keller opens the door to the barracks for him, watching him walk down the hallway for a moment before turning and leaving. 

Price opens your door, carrying you into your room. He lays you on your bed, making sure you’re comfortable before he steps back out the door. The scent of distress is heavy on him still, as is his building anger. 

“MacTavish! Garrick!” He shouts, both of the beta’s doors opening almost immediately. “Have either of you seen Lieutenant Riley this morning?” 

Johnny frowns, both of them approaching the obviously agitated alpha. “Naw, I havenae seen him all mornin’.” 

“I thought he was training this morning.” Kyle says, a frown pulling at his brows too. “Did something happen?” 

He steps back into your room, the two betas following. Kyle sucks in a breath as he stares at you laying there, seemingly peacefully but the quickly suffocating scent tells him otherwise. He moves to your side, sinking down on the edge of the bed next to you. 

“Wha’ happened?” Johnny asks, a subtle tremble to his voice. 

“There was an incident this morning.” Price says, digging into the very depths of his training to keep his head on straight. “Sent her into distress.” 

“That bastard.” Johnny growls. “When I find him-�� 

“Easy.” Price says, putting a hand on the beta’s chest to stop him from his rampage. “You and I are going to get some food and then come back here. Garrick, you stay with our girl. If anything starts to go wrong, you call Dr. Keller first, then me. Then, I’ve got ghost hunting to do.” 

“Ye sure we’re alright, bein’ in her nest like this?” 

“It’s not much of a nest. Besides, our girl needs us.” 

“‘S cozy, that’s for sure.” 

“Could get used to it.” 

You have no control over the whine that’s pulled from your chest as you’re thrust into consciousness. You feel a bit like you’ve been hit by a truck, tossed from an airplane with no parachute, and like you just ran a marathon with no training, all at once. 

“Easy, love.” 

Hands smooth over your face, calluses rough on your burning skin. You feel hot, yet not warm enough at the same time. Your skin is prickling, needing freedom but to be held tighter than you already are. Someone is in front of you, their hand the one on your face. Someone else is behind you, wrapped around your back, arms keeping you held tightly against them. 

“Can ye open yer eyes for me, pretty girl?” 

Your eyelids feel like they’re made of lead. You don’t want to. You want to keep your eyes closed and sink back into oblivion where nothing hurts and you’re not confused. You let out another quiet whine before you force your eyes open, staring up at the blurry shape above you. 

“That’s it, lovely.” Soap says, his fingers still stroking your face. “That’s a good girl.” 

“Soap?” You whine, your voice cracking. 

He shushes you, tucking your face against his neck, letting you inhale his scent. “We've got ye, lamb.”

Another hand trails down your arm, gently squeezing. You're sore, even your breaths make your body ache. 

“You remember what happened, love?” Gaz says quietly, his hand the one gently stroking your arm. 

You inhale sharply, trying to clear the fog in your mind. “Ghost...” You breathe, the images coming to your mind but the words are lost. “Left me.” 

“Aye.” Soap says, sounding hurt and disappointed. “He was being a right bastard and left ye in the gym alone. Ye ran for the med center. Found the doctor.” 

“I...” You take a shaky breath, remembering the panic, the feeling of getting further and further from your body. “I was distressing.”

Gaz hums, wrapping his arms around you. “You distressed, love. Dr. Keller got Price in there in time, worked you through it.”

You let out a shaky breath, letting yourself go limp between them. It makes sense why you feel so awful, why your head is swimming. “What time is it?”

“Just after lunch.” Gaz says. 

“Gave us hell tryin’ tae feed ye.” Soap says. “Half fightin’ us, half out of it.” 

“Ghost?” You ask, almost afraid to find out the answer. 

“Got quite the verbal lashing from Cap'n Price.” Soap says. “Was gone for an hour yellin’ at him.”

It doesn't feel like enough, but you won't admit that out loud. You lean back against Gaz, letting both of their scents wash over you. 

“How do you feel, love?” Gaz asks. 

“Hurts.” You murmur, wrapping an arm around Soap. 

“I know. I'm sorry you had to go through this.” Gaz says pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “Just relax, love. We've got you.” 

You let your eyes slip closed again, relaxing between the two betas. You don't care that they're in your room, squished together in your bed with you. You need them and their support. 

You'd prefer having Price too, but you won’t dare say that out loud.

You fade in and out of sleep, letting them help you up a couple times as they move around, and move you around, helping you stretch to ease the ache in your joints and muscles. You wind up laying on Soap as Gaz goes to get dinner, his arms wrapped around your middle as you rest on his chest. 

“I am sorry about Simon.” He says quietly, lips brushing your forehead. 

“Don’t apologize for him.” You murmur. “It was partially my fault. I was egging him on.” 

“He shouldnae done tha’ though.” Soap says. “Leavin’ ye like that. ‘S dangerous, and not just for you.” 

“I did good. I got out without running into anyone.” You say, trying to reassure yourself before you lose it again. 

“You did perfectly.” A voice says, making you jump. 

Soap gently rubs your back as you blink up at Price. He’s standing in the doorway, holding two trays of food. You hadn’t even heard the door open. 

“Go on and eat in the mess, Johnny.” Price says, setting the trays on your desk. “I’ve got her for now.” 

Soap gently eases you off of him, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving you alone with Price. He carries over a tray, setting it on your nightstand before kneeling down in front of you. He turns on your lamp, illuminating the room more than it was with your nightlight and the fading light outside. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, taking your hand in his. 

“Sore.” You say, squeezing his fingers. “But less than I was earlier. Moving around helped.” You sniffle, wiping the tear that escapes. “A bit weepy too.” 

Price smiles softly at you. “That’s expected. I’d be more worried if you weren’t.” He cups your face. “You did the right thing, taking the back exit and going for Dr. Keller’s office.” 

“Was closer.” You murmur. “Less risk of running into someone.” 

Price nods. “I doubt anyone would have stopped you, but that is still a risk.” He grabs the tray from the nightstand. “Eat up. I know you don’t feel like it, but you need it.” 

It’s almost like he read your mind. He moves to your desk, sitting in the chair. The food looks less appetizing than usual, but you know he’s right. Omegas expend a lot of energy while in distress. You’ll feel better if you eat. From the sounds of it, Gaz and Soap had attempted to feed you while you were still out of it, though you’re not sure how successful they were. 

You eat mostly in silence, but you don’t mind. You don’t have the brain power to think enough for a conversation, and you’re more than happy to just bask in Price’s calming presence. 

Gaz and Soap return after dinner, Price taking his leave again. You’re sure he’s busy, especially after this incident, but you can’t help but feel the sting of it just a bit. He had helped you through your distress, calming you down. You want him to lay next to you, to hold the back of your neck and remind you that he’s here, that he’s got you. 

That he’ll never leave you like that. 

Instead you curl up between Soap and Gaz, letting the calming present of betas relax you back to sleep. 

You’re not sure what time it is when you wake up. Soap is gone, but Gaz is still pressed against your back, breathing evenly. You grab one of the phones off the nightstand, glancing at the time. It’s just past one a.m. You’re feeling thirsty again, and like you need to stretch your legs. Gaz is coiled around you, and you’re not sure how to get out without waking him up. You don’t want to disturb him, and you want a second to breathe and clear your head without the influence of his scent. 

You carefully roll away enough to grab the strawberry pillow off the floor from where it likely rolled after Soap left. You slowly ease it between your bodies until he’s wrapped around the pillow, settling with a sigh. You let out a quiet breath, rising from the bed slowly and padding quietly to the door. Your eyes are on him as you unlock it, slipping out quickly. You leave it cracked open before sneaking down the hallway towards the rec room. 

It’s quiet in the barracks, almost eerily so as you slip into the empty room, heading for the fridge. You stand there, half debating on a beer instead of water. Perhaps a little alcohol might numb at least some of the ache in your joins, or at least clear your mind a bit. You hate the taste of beer, though, and Gaz would know immediately. 

You sigh, grabbing a water, the back of your neck prickling as you stand up. You close the fridge door, whirling around, a scream caught in your throat. 

“Are you going to scream?” Ghost’s voice rumbles from behind his mask. He’s standing just inside the rec room, blocking the doorway. 

“Are you going to hurt me?” You ask, flattening yourself against the fridge. 

“Why would I do that?” He has the gaul to sound almost confused. 

“You seemed pretty eager to this morning.” You say, clutching the water bottle to your chest. “You abandoned me.” 

“I didn’t. I was right behind you the whole time, until you went into the med center.” He explains, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” You snap, getting agitated by the alpha and how he’s treated you thus far. “You just up and left me by myself in a vulnerable place. How was I supposed to know you were still there? For all I knew you were halfway back to the barracks. Was I just supposed to blindly trust that you would be there, that you would follow me if I decided to brave walking past a bunch of worked up alphas? I can’t trust that. I can’t trust you like that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you haven’t given me a reason to!” You almost shout it, just managing to keep control over your volume so you don’t accidentally wake the others. “You don’t like me, you keep treating me like shit. Just going off of that, I wouldn’t put it past you to just up and leave me to fend for myself.” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

“But you did! You did today! You put me in danger! I distressed because of you! I haven’t distressed since-” You cut yourself off, deflating a bit at your near slip of words. You’re not sure you want to open that can of worms, allow for that kind of vulnerability with the alpha that had nearly killed you earlier. But, maybe you do need that kind of vulnerability. Maybe he needs it. “Since I was taken to the institute.” You finish, feeling yourself deflating a bit. 

Tears prick at your eyes, his own figure visibly deflating a bit. That scent is back, the one from a couple nights ago when you had run into him in a similar situation. You want out of here, you want back to the safety of doors around you, doors that could be opened and Ghost pulled from you easily if needed. 

“Move.” You say, bravely squaring up to the alpha blocking you in. 

He says your name like a warning, not budging an inch. 

“Move!” You shout, going for his middle with your shoulder, but he’s faster, catching you before you can hit him. 

“Calm down.” He growls, trying to hold your squirming form. 

One scream. One scream and the others would be on you. How quickly could Ghost act, though? How quickly could his hand close around your throat and squeeze, or maybe even twist? 

“Calm down!” He growls again, forcing you backwards. 

Your feet slip on the tile, sending you back onto your back. You wince at the jolt to your already sore body, the air leaving your lungs in a harsh gasp. Ghost sinks down to the floor next to the couch, leaning against the side of it like he can’t bear to hold himself up anymore. 

“It was a long time ago.” He starts, the tiredness evident in his voice. His eyes are on the floor in front of you, not even looking up as you push yourself up onto your elbows. “Back when I was a newly made Sergeant. My first deployment, first mission. We were hunting a man, real scum of the earth, chasing him through the jungle.” 

You almost want to stop him, unsure if he can even be telling you this, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. 

“Things got complicated when he swept through a village, picked up all the local omegas. He was using them as human shields. We cornered him in some run down shack. Him, his men, and the poor omegas. The commanding officer in charge of the mission started hostage negotiations, tried to get him to let the omegas go. He knew he’d lost, he’d never get out of there without being captured or killed.” Ghost shakes his head, letting out a heavy breath. “So he agreed. The commanding officer had to have known. We all should have known.” 

He goes silent, the quiet of the barracks and the world outside almost eerie. You’re sitting up now, almost holding your breath in anticipation. You’re not sure he’s ever spoken this much to you at once before, much less something that’s obviously so vulnerable, and potentially confidential. 

“He sent the omegas out in all directions, running straight at us. We were ordered to stay where we were. We couldn’t run out there, we couldn’t help them.” His hands close into fists, his scent souring. “They started firing at the omegas. There was one running straight at me. I still remember her, the look on her face. The fear in her eyes as she raced towards me.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I remember how the blood felt splattering on my face. The bullet shot right past my ear. She fell close enough I could have reached out and touched her. Clean shot right through the back of her head.” 

He shakes his head, finally looking at you. Tears have gathered in your eyes as you stare at him. His scent is sour, tinged with the tanginess that you had smelled a couple nights ago when he ran into you coming back from the rec room.

Fear. 

That scent is fear. 

“I still think about it. What if I had disobeyed orders? What if I had just reached out to help her? Would she have made it? Could we have brought at least one omega back to that village? Would the bullet have hit me instead?” He lets out a long breath. “I still have nightmares about it. See it clear as day, that look on her face seconds before her life ended.” 

You’re moving, crawling closer to him. He doesn’t move, not even a blink or a flinch as you get closer and closer until you’re in front of him, close enough to see the light blonde color of his lashes. He still won’t look at you, his gaze on the floor as you sit in front of him. 

“You saw me.” You say softly, not needing him to explain further. “Instead of some omega, it was me in your dream. You’re afraid. That’s why you treat me the way you do. You’re scared if you get close to me, if you allow me into the pack, allow me into this life, that something like that will happen to me. That’s why you were afraid that night, when I went to the rec room to grab water. You woke up from a nightmare about me.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but you don’t need him to. You’re beginning to understand him now. One moment of vulnerability and the complex specter that is Ghost is beginning to become clearer and clearer to you. He’s beginning to take shape, forming out of the mists of confusion and aggression that have plagued you since your arrival in his life. 

“That doesn’t make what you did okay.” You say, breaking the eerie silence again. “It doesn’t make the way you treat me okay, but I guess...I guess I can understand why now. Why you’re so hard on me, why you resist my mere existence here. You don’t have to like me, I’d just like you to be nice to me a little bit. You’re never going to convince Soap not to pursue anything, so, you’re just going to have to get used to me being around.” 

The corners of his eyes crease. It’s a half a second of movement, but you manage to catch it. He finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, eyes emotionless as they usually are when they look at you. 

“I still don’t forgive you for what you did.” You say, staring up at him. “And I don’t trust you,” You pull your knees up to your chest. “But I suppose I was also a bit at fault, saying those things to you.” 

“I deserved it.” He says. “I was being a dick.” 

Your brows raise as you stare at him. “Are you...apologizing?” 

“Don’t rub it in.” He says, the warning clear in his tone. 

“Well, I guess it’s a start.” You say. “I should probably get back to bed before Gaz notices I’m gone.” 

Ghost lets out a huff. “I’m surprised you escaped without him noticing.” 

You shrug, pushing yourself up to stand slowly. “He’s snuggling a stuffed strawberry right now, so...that probably says a lot about one of us and I’m not sure which is worse.” 

“Come on.” Ghost motions with his head. “Last thing we need is another panic at 2 am.” 

“Another panic?” You ask, dropping your voice to a whisper as you leave the rec room. 

Ghost chuckles. “You’ll have to ask Johnny about that one.” 

You stare at him for a moment as you stand in front of your cracked door. “Goodnight, Ghost.” 

He nods to you before you slip in, closing and locking the door. He stands there, listening to the bed shift as you crawl back into Kyle’s hold. He can picture the way the beta’s limbs coil around you like a snake. Would you lie facing him and cling to him like a koala? Or would you prefer facing away from him, letting him envelop you in a feeling of security and protection? 

Ghost shakes his head, inhaling the faint whiff of your scent still in the air before he turns, staring at his door for a moment before moving back down the hall, slipping into Johnny’s room instead. 

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8564 tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: longer chapter woohoo, was gonna write after break but had so much inspo. wrote on my phone, so if there’s any typos, please ignore 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The nights haven’t been easy in the past couple of days. Mingled with a growing sense of anxiety added on top of your already heightened stress, your brain just can’t seem to shut off. You’ve tried melatonin and no more caffeine, but caffeine is ultimately getting you through the day and keeping you up when needed. In all honesty, you’ve already been struggling with sleep, but with the surprise meet with Suguru, dread’s been pooling in your stomach.

You have no doubt he spilled the beans. Hell, you would too if that was your best friend. You can only hope he somehow didn’t, though. A small part of you would be a little annoyed if he did, because again, he has no role in this. At least not a big one.

A sudden banging on your door jolts you upright, checking the clock and it’s not even 7:30 yet. Only one person could be demanding your presence so early. A heavy sigh leaves you, forcing your stiff muscles out of bed, wrapping yourself in a robe before trudging to the front door. When you peek through the peephole, your landlord stands there with an annoyed expression on his old face, foot tapping the ground in impatience.

“Bastard,” you mumble to yourself before opening the door. “Good morning, Mr. Sato.”

Seems he doesn’t have time for fake pleasantries, “Y/N, I’m assuming you saw the eviction note I left on your door yesterday morning.”

Unfortunately. “Yes, sir. I did.”

His arms cross, scratching at his greying mustache, “So, is it also safe to to assume you’ll have the money by next Friday?”

You sigh heavily, hand running through your hair. This is not how you wanted to start your morning. He was already making your life hell by suddenly raising your rent out of nowhere three months ago for so-called “renovations”. But you’ve yet to see any actual renovations being done. Not to mention, you’ve been bugging about your heater no longer working, and during this time of year, you and Koji are practically freezing to death. You had to buy a portable heater, small, but it gets the job done. Although it’s mainly in Koji’s room because you’d rather freeze than let him. “Look, Mr. Sato, I’m really trying here. I’m working hard to get the money, but please understand that—”

“Understand? I’ve been understanding, Y/N. I even applied last month’s rent to this month, just ‘cause of you.”

Of course, he’s gonna throw that in your face. Landlords seem to take their title so literally that if he didn’t have this much control over your space of safety, you would’ve ripped him a new one. Also, how could you forget that to even get him to agree to that plea deal, you were forced through an hour and a half of an uncomfortable, infuriating dinner with the man. Really, he’s not giving you much to work with here, but then again, you shouldn’t have had such high hopes. “I know, I know,” you reply, scratching at your roots. “I’ll have the money, okay?”

“You better,” he says gruffly. “Or I’m renting this unit to someone who can actually afford it. I’m hurting here too, you know?”

You huff. “Yeah, thanks.”

Without another word, you close the door in the man’s face, locking it. Leaning your back up against the hard surface, you close your eyes and will yourself to stay calm and positive. Counting back from ten and then back, a small tip your therapist showed you before your insurance no longer covered it. It’s okay. It’s only the start of the day, you have 20 something hours left. Now’s not the time to throw yourself a pity party and play woe is me. Now’s the time to just pick yourself up and move on. You’ll find a solution for the money, you always do.

Though this time, you can’t help but feel you’re really fucked.

I mean, you honestly have no idea how you’re going to come up with almost four thousand dollars in just a week. That sounds quite literally impossible in every single way. You get paid next week, but with taxes, you’re going home with maybe three thousand, so how will you get that extra thousand?

Unless some miracle decides to hit you, which almost never seems to happen. You used to think someone hoaxed you, or you were just born with the most unluckiest luck ever. Or, the more cynical thought you tend to have, you were fated to live a life in strict financial management, and hardships are constantly thrown at you left and right.

But hey, you’ve made it this far, right?

“No, I haven’t.”

“You what?!”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Y/N, what the fu–”

“Jesus Christ, I know, Hana. You don’t have to make me feel even more like shit.”

Your friend stops mid-way, eyeing your very displeased expression. She sighs and relents, slumping back in the small chair in the backroom of the cafe. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, letting your confession simmer and process. When she does, it’s an honest question. “But…why?”

Why. You feel like you’re staring to hate that damn word. “A lot of reasons, I know it’s not really justified, but I just…need someone to understand me for once. Not come at me for my dumb decisions.”

Your words feel bare and raw, not completely exposing the extent of the emotions you’ve been harboring, but enough to make her stop. Hana regards you with pursed lips, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Finally, she nods. “Okay, I won’t question you anymore. You have your reasons, and your reasons are always valid. So, I’m behind you on this. We stick together, remember?”

A hint of a smile forms on your lips, quietly thanking her. She comes forward to give you a hug, one you immediately reciprocate. Her auburn hair tickling your nostrils, arms seemingly tightening. “Don’t go holding things in anymore, I told you that. I’m here, to talk, listen, whatever.”

You and Hana met three years ago. She was just your co-worker at the time, now promoted to your manager. Although she’s two years younger than you, you two relate to a lot of things. Whether that be movies, food, what guys are hot, or alcohol. If anything, Hana might be your only friend in general. It’s a little sad, maybe, but at least you have someone to come to when you need to talk about adult issues your five-year-old wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

“I love you.” You find yourself muttering.

“I love you too, girl. Now, get out there, your break’s up.”

Jokingly scoffing and nudging her, you stand from the seat and do a quick stretch. Preparing yourself for yet another few hours of dreaded customer service and fake smiles, you walk out of the backroom, pushing the small curtains aside that separate the back from the counter, and clock back in.

“Cash or card?”

“Hello, how can I help you today?”

“Would that be all?”

“Have a nice day.”

Are all phrases any retail or customer service worker finds a little annoying, if not a lot. It’s so draining. And when the customers don’t greet you back, your pettiness shines through and you won’t even say have a good day to them when they’re leaving. Although, the job does have some upsides to it. For example, you get to make free coffees, take whatever pastries are left at the end of the day home, and the customers are never really bad. Of course, you have had a couple experiences, but nothing compared to a chain store. You’re even starting to use your customer service voice throughout the day, even when you’re not at work. Honestly, that’s not very good.

As you’re wiping up the counter, you feel a buzzing in your pocket. Taking your phone out, you see a set of numbers, an unsaved contact. You give Hana a quick glance, muttering a “just a sec”, before going back to the back to answer. “Hello?”

“Y/N?”

God, it’s gonna take some time getting used to his voice on the regular now. “Oh, Suguru. hey…uh–what’s up?”

There’s some shuffle on the other side like he’s adjusting the phone. “Are you busy right now?”

“Well, yes. I’m on the clock.”

He sighs, phone switching to his car output. “Where do you work? I’ll come now.”

“What?” you splutter out, head shaking. “No, Suguru, you can’t just pop out at my job. I’m busy, just tell me what you need right now.”

“I’m not sure I should.”

That statement alone scares you a bit. His cynicism always got on your nerves, but it also worried you from time to time. Most of the time, he didn’t mean any harm because that’s just how Suguru was, but it still did its job. Contemplation strikes through you. “Is it bad?”

He hesitates, which only further skyrockets your anticipation. “Honestly, it’s not too bad. But still, I need to talk to you.”

A breath emits from your lips, one you didn’t know you were holding. Eyes meeting the ceiling, you ponder over your decisions. Eventually, you come to a conclusion. “Fine, but it can’t be too long. I’m at Deja Brew, the cafe on–”

“On Express, got it. Be there in a bit.”

He’s hanging up before you even get a chance to question that he knew the cafe you worked at. If he did, surely he would have visited at least once, but you’ve never seen him come in. And you’re every day. Unless he usually comes when you’re not clocked in anymore. Anywho, you steel yourself for the inevitable conversation. Anticipating whatever bad or not-so-good news he'll give you.

“So.”

“Mm, this is good.” Suguru nods appreciatively, sipping from his coffee. You made it for him before he arrived, as a weird sort of gift to him. You two have situated yourself in a booth in the corner. Hana was a little confused as to why you were taking a break while you were on the clock, even regarding you with an almost scolding look. But the second she saw Suguru follow, her expression changed.

You practically saw the heart eyes form, smiling in a bashful way. That’s one thing you forgot about. The way girls would magnetize themselves towards the man, his best friend too. The two together were an almost deadly duo.

“Suguru,” you say, a hint of exasperation in your tone. “Please just…don’t stall anymore. Why did you want to see me?”

“Right,” he clears his throat, sitting up straighter. Once more, his steely gaze meets yours, you have to hold back the sudden urge to look away. “Like I said, it’s not terrible news, but not very good either.”

You nod, wanting him to just stop with the extraness and get to the point. “Okay, say it.”

“Satoru.” is the first thing he says, gauging your automatic grimace to his name. “He knows.”

Figures. “And you told him?”

He nods in response. You exhale, rubbing your face. “Suguru, why? I didn’t say you could.”

“I mean, I didn’t think I needed permission to tell my best friend he has a secret love child he hasn’t known about for five years, Y/N.” You hate when his voice gets like that, like you’re a school child who’s just been caught by her teacher for doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “Anywho, he knows. He wasn’t…very happy.”

You slowly ask, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer. “What did he say?”

“More so what he did than said,” he pushes a stray strand of black hair out his eye and behind his ear, arms crossing. “He’s been quite easy to anger. I mean, I haven’t really talked to him because he’s not answering my calls, but I’ve been hearing from people at the office. He also kicked my ass out right after I told him. But that’s all I know at least, Nanami says he’s like a ticking time bomb.”

Jesus Christ. You don’t know what else you were expecting, you’re surprised he hasn’t done worse, but like Suguru said, that’s all he knows. His state is most likely a hundred times worse than what’s being thrown at you right now. You feel an intense guilt pool, mixing with a slight fear. “Did he…do anything else? Say anything?”

“I don’t know, he’s not talking to me right now.” Suguru concedes, leaning closer to you, brows furrowing in a seriousness. “Look, I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel worse, but I should let you know. He’s going to try and seek you out now that he knows about his son. You know that, right?”

Of course, you fucking know that. That’s what makes you scared, the possibility of somehow running across him in the most unsuspecting of places makes you want to stay holed up in your shitty apartment. “Yeah,” you gulp. “I figured.”

“I don’t know how he’ll react if–when–he does see you.” he honestly admits. “I just think you should reach out to him first, before he does it. I have his number, you should ca—”

“Stop.” you hold a hand up, eyes closing. “No more, I don’t want to be told what to do. I just…need some time processing everything right now.”

“Y/N–”

“Suguru,” your eyes open, staring at him dead on. “You seriously can’t expect me to jump from one thing to the next. I need fucking time to figure out what I’m gonna do. I’m already stressed as it is, now I have to worry about my son’s father possibly trying to reach out and that just sets me more on fucking edge. You come to my work, spring this on me, and I–” you’re rambling. Cutting yourself off in the middle of a sentence, choosing not to finish it. The last thing you need to do is rant to him. Besides, you’re just starting to see him again after five years, that would absolutely put him in a weird place between comforting someone who was once his friend, and backing up his life-long best friend.

You jolt a bit when you feel a warm palm envelope your hand, his thumb gently rubbing across your knuckles. Looking back at him, he gives you an all too familiar look. One that can make you just pour out everything you’re feeling right at that second. It’s a horrifying technique he has. “I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is make you feel like shit. I should’ve been more considerate. I’m sorry.” He apologizes with a soothing intonation. Again, it’s making you feel warm. “It’s a hard situation, I could never know exactly what you’re going through. but…I care about you, Y/N. I always have, even without Satoru’s involvement. So, I’ll do better and not overwhelm you.”

Damn it, Suguru. Now you’re making me feel bad! Not trusting yourself with words, you meekly nod, slowly pulling your hand out his grasp. You miss the way his eyes dart down to his now empty grip, a small downward twitch to his lip that he expertly hides. “I should go back to work, I’m assuming you do too.” You stand on wobbly feet, giving him one last lingering gaze. “On the house, by the way….yeah, bye.”

Suguru watches you disappear behind the curtains, a small pit expanding in his gut. He pushes it away without thought, sighing to himself as he stands and exits the cafe. He walks down the sidewalk to his blacked out 2025 Mustang GT parked on the street. Getting in with a heavy head that’s full of all kinds of emotions. Some he doesn’t try to acknowledge, but the ones he does, it’s all worry and concern. He really doesn’t see how this situation can somehow turn around. Maybe you two will have a very mature and calm conversation when you cross paths.

He almost laughs to himself when he begins driving. Calm? Mature? Yeah, right. How do you have a calm conversation about hiding a kid for five years? Not to mention, you and Satoru are equally stubborn; it used to be so infuriating for him.

Suguru had patience, a lot of it actually. But you two tended to test that. Although, he would always forgive one of you the quickest. Cough, cough. You. It was like you had this weird thing about you that made the people around you just…like you.

His grip tightens on the wheel, biting his lip. He gets to a red light, thumb tapping on the material. Damn it all.

There’s a ringing that emits from the car’s speakers, looking at his touch screen to see the familiar name. Using this as a distraction, he answers. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shoko’s voice sounds out. “Where are you? Thought you were paying for my lunch.”

He huffs, eyes rolling, and moving the car forward once the light turns green. “I never agreed to that.”

“Sure you did,” Shoko replies, exhaling a breath. She must be smoking. “Anyway, hurry up. I’m already waiting outside. I thought Satoru was coming, is he gonna be late again?”

Yeah, no. “I don’t think he’s coming anymore.”

“Why not?” Shoko asks.

Suguru exhales heavily, turning the street towards the meet-up spot with his friend. “Some shit happened, I don’t think he’s doing good.”

Shoko pauses, adjusting her phone in hand. “What happened?”

Suguru too stops, completely forgetting how Shoko has no idea about what has transpired in the past couple of days. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

Satoru has never been surprised before, not technically. He’s a smart man with quick instincts and a good foresight, it’s like he can always tell when something is going to happen, before it happens. Even for birthday parties, his perception and people reading skills are great, he knows when someone’s lying or not telling the full truth.

In short, he knows a lot of things.

But, what he didn’t expect was for 1) even hearing your name ever again after the breakup, and 2) you have a son, his son. A son he had not one goddamn clue about. The only person who’s ever been able to throw him off his game is you.

Even back when you two dated, there were moments where you’d either say or do things that would make him pause for a second and think how unlikely that was of you. He knew you’d lie sometimes, small white lies weren’t foreign to him because he did it too. But, he never thought you’d deliberately keep something like this from him.

And to top it off, if Suguru never saw you by chance that day, would you have ever even told him?

Now that really fucking pisses him off.

When Satoru is mad, everyone else’s day is ruined. When he’s mad, you can see it in his face, his body, how he’s just barely holding himself back. It’s even more scary when Satoru is known as the laid-back, playful and unserious type of man. So when he’s mad, almost no one in the office wants to make him even angrier, let alone be around him.

He’s barely slept a total of ten hours within the past two days, mind keeping him awake. He’s trying to not imagine the image of you holding a boy who looks like him because he’s already broken one too many pairs of glasses and the thought alone makes him infuriated. He sees a blinding white flash of betrayal, hurt, confusion, and anger.

He doesn’t mean to take it out on his employees, but their feelings are not on his list of priorities.

He has a son.

A son who’s five, apparently.

Five whole years of being kept in the dark, not even being blessed with a smidge of information about his offspring. While he was off fucking women, having fun, dreading about taking over his father’s business, you were god knows where, changing fucking diapers and losing sleep. And for what? Were you that fucking scared to tell him?

Oh, he’s so going to rip you a new one when he sees you.

But, he’s still not sure if he wants to do that. Afraid of what might happen, he’d rather not blow up on you, but can you blame him if he does?

He just found out he has a secret love child from a woman he knew years ago and know he’s expected to act like everything is normal in this boring fucking meeting?

Not to mention, if his father finds out, he’s not sure what will happen. If anyone else finds out, for that matter. If anything, he needs to get a reign over this messy situation before he’s allowing anyone to know.

“Mr. Gojo? What do you think?”

At the sudden mention of his name, he snaps back into focus. Eyes flickering over to the bald-headed man who currently stands in front of the table of other withering men, the screen projector displaying a multitude of different statistical data. The man falters slightly, his grip tightening on the laser pointer as Gojo’s eyes land on him

Shit. He has no idea what they were even talking about. “About?” He clears his throat, appearing nonchalant, though the tight hold on the ballpoint pen says otherwise, the faint click of it opening and closing the only indication of his simmering irritation

The room feels colder, quieter.

The man clears his throat nervously. “The expansion plan... into the Asia-Pacific region. Whether you think it’s viable in the current climate.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his pen continues its faint, rhythmic clicks. His expression is unreadable, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he lets the silence stretch a moment too long. “And you need my opinion on this?” he says finally, his tone polite but tinged with condescension.

The bald man shifts on his feet, adjusting his glasses. “W-We... wanted your insight, given your, uh, experience overseeing the European division.”

“Right,” Gojo says, dragging the word out just enough to make the man squirm. He tilts his head, his icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, if I’d been paying attention, I’d probably say something about how overly cautious you all seem to be. But that’s just a guess.”

The bald man blanches, stammering, “O-Overly cautious? We’ve taken every factor into account—”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Gojo cuts in smoothly, his voice softening just enough to disarm the growing panic in the man’s voice. “I’m just wondering if maybe all those ‘factors’ are holding you back. Are we leaders, or are we playing it safe like everyone else?” His eyes flicker briefly over the rest of the table, daring anyone to challenge him.

The bald man hesitates, then nods quickly, his nervous energy palpable. “Of course. You’re absolutely right, Mr. Gojo. I’ll revisit the projections to—”

“No need,” Gojo interrupts again, flashing a faint, humorless smile. “I trust you’ll figure it out. Unless you think I shouldn’t.”

The man practically trips over his words in an effort to assure him. “No, no, of course not. I’ll make the adjustments immediately.”

“Perfect,” Gojo says, the finality in his tone dismissing the topic entirely. He shifts his attention to the projector screen, the numbers and graphs blurring together as his thoughts drift.

The room eventually moves on, the hum of conversation resuming. But Gojo doesn’t miss the quick glances from across the table, the subtle unease lingering in the air.

He taps the pen against the table, his jaw tightening. It’s taking everything in him not to snap, not to let the weight of the fact that his ex-girlfriend is a filthy fucking person seep through the cracks.

Let them sweat. It’s the only thing keeping him entertained today.

The minute the awful meeting of ifs and hesitant decisions is over, he’s pushing out his chair, being the first one to leave the haunted room. It’s a bad mistake on his end, because his secretary, Aiko, is on his ass. “Mr. Gojo, your father is waiting for you in your office.”

Great, as if things couldn’t get any fucking better. He holds back a remark, gruffing out. “For?”

“He didn’t say, sir. He just wanted me to tell you to see him as soon as the meeting finished.”

He really, really doesn’t want to see his father right now. The two were too alike, constantly butting heads which only ended in a harsh set of insults being tossed around, mingled with occasional threats of “never passing the company down to someone as idiotic as you”. His father is bluffing, of course. He has no other person to pass it down to, with Satoru being the oldest and only son of his father’s. His long legs easily lead him to the doors of his office, to which he hesitates. Taking in a big breath, before opening the doors and closing them soon after. “What is it?” he asks, walking over to sit in his chair, leaning back comfortably.

His father, Yamato Gojo, the current CEO of the Gojo Group, who sits leisurely on the black leather coach stands up to position himself across from his son. Arms crossed and the permanently etched frown on his face. “Why didn’t you come to the dinner yesterday? There were very important people there you needed to meet. I texted and called you.”

Why didn’t he go? Can he really just say “sorry dad, I was stressing about this shithole I’ve found myself in”. No, he can’t. Instead, he shrugs and brushes his father off. “I was already busy.”

“Busy with what? What’s more important than networking?”

“A lot of things, actually.”

Yamato dislikes that answer quite a lot, frown seemingly deepening, regarding his son with another usual disapproving look. “Satoru, this is serious. They were expecting you and you embarrassed me. I won’t let this happen again, when I say you need to be somewhere, you be there. No if, ands, or buts. You’re pissing me off.”

How ironic of him to say that considering he’s having the exact same effect of Satoru. He isn’t scared of his father, hell no. But he does know to pick and choose his battles. And with the way his mind is completely scrambled right now, he forces himself to intake a huge breath of air. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, I’ll be there next time. Happy?”

“Only after you prove it.” Like father, like son. Satoru hates how his father always seems to want to get the last word in. But his father hates how he does the exact same.

Throughout the entirety of his shift, up until he clocks out of work and walks to his designated parking spot which houses his white 2025 Mercedes-Benz SL-Class. Driving back to his high rise penthouse on autopilot, his thoughts zeroed in on one person only. Or well, two people.

Satoru wasn’t ever sure he wanted to be a father. He knew it was expected of him, but so many people had such high expectations of him, it became exhausting. Too exhausting. Does he even have a right to call himself a father to a child he never knew, a child who probably doesn’t even know him?

His right hand reaches for his phone, calling a number without taking his eyes off the road. It answers on the first ring, but Satoru doesn’t give him the chance to respond. “Do you know where she lives?”

There’s a falter, hearing Suguru’s deep breath come out on the other end. “No, I don’t. And nice to hear from you too.”

“I don’t have time for your sarcasm right now.” He stops at a red light, using his left hand to rub the crease between his furrowed brows. “Do you know anything? Her number? Where she works? Where did you see her so I can go over?”

“Satoru, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to go meet up with her again. You’re obviously not in the right mind space and I don’t want you two to—“

“I’ll argue with her all I want, I have that goddamn right to.” Satoru grits out, interrupting his friend before he has the chance to spew out more shit he’d rather not listen to right now. “Answer me.”

In Suguru’s mind, he knows if he gives Satoru even the tiniest bit of information regarding your whereabouts, he’ll storm over there and probably say things he doesn’t mean. Satoru tends to think emotionally in very dire situations, a bad habit of his. Still, although he knows his best friend should be angered by this situation, Suguru doesn’t want to involve himself. More than he has. After speaking with you, he’s come to the conclusion that you’ll reach out to Satoru soon. Considering the fact that he already knows. “I don’t know, I saw her at a grocery store, but she was just shopping.”

“Fuck,” Satoru groans, moving his car forward again. “Well how the hell do I—“

He’s cut off by a small vibrate to his phone, a message. When he looks down, the screen is overtaken by a new call coming in from Himari. Honestly, she’s the last person he wants to talk to right now.

“What’s wrong?” Suguru asks, after noticing the small beat of silence from the other end of the phone.

What isn’t wrong? “Gotta go, call you later.”

“Sat—“

Satoru ends the call, picking up the new one. “Hey.”

“Baby,” Himari’s light voice fills his ears, sighing in relief. “Can you come pick me up? I’m at the mall but the tires of my driver’s car popped.”

He’d rather not, but Satoru has found out that it’s been quite difficult to say no to his girlfriend. So, he puts his own internal and external battles to the side, making a right turn and exhaling. “The mall?”

“Yes, baby. Thank you so much.”

He hums back in response. “Be there in ten, wait outside.” Once again, he hangs up and a suffocating silence fills his car. Hands tightening around the wheel, he reels himself in with a big inhale, then exhales. He can’t show these sorts of emotions in front of the woman, for she’ll no doubt question and question about what’s wrong, which will then lead to an argument. He doesn’t need arguments.

As Satoru sees the mall in the distance, he’s overrun by the sudden determination. The determination to find you and meet his son.

“Just one more question, Koji. Then let’s eat dinner, how does that sound?”

The young boy groans in annoyance, the math work of simple addition problems laid out in front of him. He hates math, almost as much as you, excelling in other subjects like English and Art. “But Mama……” he drags the words out in a childish manner.

Plating two plates of tonkatsu chicken with curry, one plate smaller than the other, you turn to your son who now has a pout on his face. You resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. “You can do it, you did the other ones so well.”

Sitting next to him, you look over at his workbook. Just one more problem. It’s a problem consisting of three numbers, 5, 23, and 6. Simple in your eyes, but a disastrous monstrosity in the eyes of a five-year-old. “Mama will help you, okay?”

“Okay, Mama.” Koji grumbles, reluctantly grabbing his red pencil again.

Times like these you cherish. Sure, it’s mundane and not very exciting. But it’s the little things that matter most to you. Helping your kids with homework, helping them learn to ride a bike, tie their laces, it’s all wonderful experiences from your perspective. Proof of the fact that your chubby little baby isn’t very little anymore, growing into his own person. Although, the more he grows, the more he’s starting to resemble his father. It’s scary at times, when he looks at you and you get random flashbacks.

Eating dinner and washing up is another thing you love. After such a hectic day, you just want to unwind with your son. You had put in your PTO for the convenience store a month in advance; after a particularly hard month. Finishing at 5:00pm, like most people do, is a breath of fresh air.

You let Koji tire himself out in the tub, then the living room, to which he has Cars playing (his favorite movie at the time). He plays with his own small set of matching cars, while you sweep the kitchen. Your eyes flicker over to your phone that lays face up on the island, a bubbling sensation forming in your being, one of contemplation. You wonder to yourself, would you call Satoru? You know his number by heart, he most likely hasn’t changed it.

After the breakup, you cut off all contact with him and his friends, even choosing to get a new phone and new number, just to avoid any possibly drives of texting him, or to avoid him texting you. You quite literally wanted to erase every memory about him.

Kinda hard to do that when you’re raising his carbon copy.

After another blind minute, you pause your sweeping and grab your cellular device. You’re about to grab Suguru’s business card from your purse when a sudden question hits you.

How was he able to call you earlier at work if you had never given your number to him in the first place?

Your brows knit together while you come up with any possible solutions and reasoning to that thought, coming up blank. Seriously, how did he call you? Without thinking, you go to your recent calls, pressing the first one, and raising your phone to your ear.

It rings for about a second, before Suguru’s coaxing voice follows. “Hello?”

“How did you get my number?”

“What?”

“How did you get my number? I didn’t give it to you at the store.”

You can practically hear the way he’s trying to formulate an answer. Coming up with a shitty one. “I just…guessed.”

You say nothing, your eyes narrowing on a certain spot on the blank white walls of your kitchen.

Another second passes before he gives in, too easily. “Okay, okay. Look, I don’t want to sound creepy or anything but—“

“Were you stalking me?”

“What?! No! Of course not, Y/N. I’d never do that.”

“Then tell me how you got my number without me telling you.”

He sighs. “…I have a friend. He’s in the law enforcement and I…may have asked around. But before you get any ideas, I was worried. You just fell off the face of the Earth and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You can’t stop the huff that leaves you. Should you feel complimented that he went out of his own way to do all this or invaded? Maybe both. Honestly, you did that all for a reason. And he blatantly went behind yours, probably everyone’s, back to get some information on you in a shady way. Isn’t that illegal or something? “Suguru, when people do that, it doesn’t mean they want to be found.”

“I know, Y/N. But I was worried, so was Shoko and Satoru—“

“Does he know my number too?” You ask, already feeling your panic run up your veins, boy straightening into a stiff position.

“No, no, he doesn’t. Just me.” He quickly relieves you.

You guess that’s somewhat better. Although you still feel mildly annoyed at Suguru for what he did. “Is that all you know?” The way he doesn’t respond immediately makes you feel even more frustrated, jaw clenching.

“I….” He lets out a heavy breath. “No, it’s not.”

“What else do you fucking know?”

He winces at your now harsh tone of voice, though he knows it’s all expected. “It wasn’t on purpose, I just wanted your number, I swear. But when you’re looking for that kind of stuff, other things pop up like…address and…yeah.”

If only he could see your expression right now. “You know where I fucking live?”

“Yes, Y/N….”

Okay, now your privacy is very invaded. You have never really gotten angry with Suguru, let alone get into an argument. He always knew when to stop, what not to say to make someone else feel worse, but did he just get fucking dumb after all these years? “…are you serious?” You know he is, not even giving him the chance to answer your rhetorical question. “Fuck you, Suguru. I can’t believe you—you completely—I don’t even know what to tell you right now.”

You can hear the guilt in his voice, tone softening. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I had the best intentions, I was never going to visit you or call you without your specific permission to.”

“Did I give you permission to call me earlier?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Exactly.” With another scoff, you bite your lip, picking the correct words to voice out. You wouldn’t say you’re a word vomit person, usually. But right now, you just feel…slightly weirded out. All this time, you thought you had solitude. But Suguru knew where you were this entire time? “Goodbye, Suguru.”

“Y/N, wai—“

“Don’t. If I need you, I’ll tell you. But right now I don’t want to speak to you.”

He pauses, feeling his gut tighten. Nonetheless, he nods and mutters. “Okay, I’ll give you space. Just please know I’m sorry and I really didn’t have bad intentions.”

Seems like this is the second time today he’s apologizing to you. You don’t like it. Without another word, you end the call, putting your phone back on the hard surface of the island. Jesus Christ. What the hell is going on, seriously?

One minute you’re stressing about getting evicted, then you have to worry about Satoru somehow running into you, and now you find out Suguru has just casually known your address all these years. Why is all of this deciding to be sprung on you all at once? Out of no where? The world must be punishing you for every unholy deed you’ve done in your life; it really doesn’t seem fair. At all. Can’t things just go right for once in your life? You just want to go at least a day without external stressors fucking you over in every way possible.

Of course, you’re unlucky. That’s just how things have always been for you. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, and you’re the punchline to every cruel joke. The thought of Suguru knowing your address sends a cold, uncomfortable shiver down your spine. What else does he know? What else has he been hiding?

The questions swirl in your mind, each one more suffocating than the last. You sit down heavily on the edge of your worn-out couch, its cushions sagging beneath you as though they, too, are tired of carrying your weight. You bury your face in your hands, the skin of your palms rough against your cheeks, and take a deep, shaky breath.

Satoru (and Suguru). Their names alone bring up a storm of emotions you can barely keep bottled up. You’ve worked so hard to keep them, and everything they represent, in the past. Yet here they are, forcing their way back into your life like unwelcome ghosts.

You glance at the stack of overdue bills on the coffee table, mocking you with their bold red lettering. As if you didn’t already know you were drowning. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting the tide.

You watch Koji focus on the bright screen, moving his toy cars in unison with the movie. Willing yourself to worry about the now, to convince yourself that you’re not done, that there’s still some fight left in you.

However, that seems to be proving harder each and every single day.

It’s a chilly, but sunny winter day. The sidewalk filled with other people going about their day. You’re wearing a black trenchcoat, along with a scarf. Hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat as little puffs of white air leave your mouth, a stark piece of evidence of how cold it is today. The heels of your shoes clacking down the concrete, making your way to the familiar cafe of Latte Lounge.

Saturdays are supposed to be happy days, a final breath of fresh air after the business of the weekdays prior. The day where people enjoy Mother Nature and what she has to offer, a day of sleeping in, a day of no responsibilities.

A woman like you has no Saturdays. It’s like every day is a cold, hard Monday.

You finally spot the cafe, its large, glass windows giving you a sneak peek to the liveliness that resides inside. Of course, most people do choose to go to cafes on Saturdays. Especially this early in the morning. Walking in, the small bell above the door dings. The workers behind the counter greet you; while you give them a half greeting back, your eyes scan the environment. It takes a few seconds, but you see Mr. Ito sitting at a table for two in the corner.

You prepare yourself with a heavy sigh, forcing your feet to maneuver you over to the man who smiles and stands once he sees you approaching. “Ms. Y/N, good morning.”

“Good morning.” You’re a little caught off guard when he takes the empty seat from across from him and pulls it out, a silent move of help. Sitting down, he pushes your chair in then walks back over to his own. He laces his fingers together on top of the table. “Get whatever you’d like, on me, remember?”

“Oh, I’m not very thirsty right now.”

“No, please. It’s my pleasure, especially for meeting with me so early this morning.”

A part of you wants to deny his niceness. But, he did cause you to lose money you could’ve still had to spare if you didn’t have to call in Sana to watch Koji. And well, coffee always makes you feel better. “Just an iced vanilla latte.”

He nods and stands up. “Great, I’ll be back.”

Watching him go up to the counter and order, you look back down at your lap. Koji misbehaving sounds odd, he’s always been an obedient kid. Of course he has his moments, but he understands when to listen and when to goof around. A few minutes later, Mr. Ito sits back down with two cups of coffee, sliding yours over to you. You thank him and sip. Hm, not too bad.

There’s a small silence that flows over you two as you taste your coffees, but you wait for him to speak first. He did schedule this little meeting, after all. He clears his throat. “So, Ms. Y/N, again thank you for meeting with me.”

You nod. “Of course, Mr. Ito. Anything for Koji.”

Mr. Ito smiles, his hand waving you off. “Oh please, call me Haruto.”

Already trying to get on a first name basis. Simply nodding again, you raise an eyebrow for him to continue.

“Anywho, like I said earlier this week, I have concerns about Koji’s behavior. You see, he’s had about six instances where he doesn’t listen to me when I say it’s time for silent reading time. I understand he’s a talkative child, but he usually does not act out like this. Would you happen to have any idea as to why he is behaving this way so suddenly?”

“No, I don’t. Koji listens well, and he hasn’t come to me specifically about getting in trouble.” You respond, lips pursing.

Mr. Ito nods in understanding. “I can assume so, but his behavior has started affecting his peers, as well.”

You sit up straighter in your chair. “In what way?”

“Well,” Mr. Ito tilts his head, seemingly recounting the times Koji has misbehaved. “The students who sit around him have started coming to me, complaining about how Koji doesn’t leave them alone. They feel as if he’s taking away from their learning.”

What? Not to mention that that sounds quite…interesting for other five year olds to say, but no way Koji has been that bad. Maybe it’s your bias as his parent, but this is brand new to you, very brand new. Even when he’s home, Koji always insists on doing his homework before playing or eating dinner. So really, you’re not sure how to react to this surge of new information about your own child. “I really don’t know, Mr. Ito. I mean, Koji is a great boy, he listens very well to me and the other adults in his life. I’m just as shocked as you are right now.”

Mr. Ito leans back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “I’m not doubting your parenting skills. Koji’s clearly a bright and energetic boy. Maybe too energetic for some of his classmates to handle.” His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent there, something you can’t quite place. “It’s possible he’s just seeking attention in ways that might not be obvious at home.”

You nod slowly, though his words don’t sit right with you. Koji doesn’t come across as attention-seeking at all. If anything, he’s a bit reserved until he’s comfortable around someone. “I’ll talk to him tonight and see if I can figure out what’s going on. Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mr. Ito says, his smile deepening as he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. The movement feels deliberate, like he’s closing some invisible gap between the two of you. “You’ve always struck me as a very attentive parent.”

The compliment lands awkwardly, and you find yourself straightening your back again, instinctively pulling away from his lingering gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Ito,” you say curtly, steering the conversation back to its purpose. “I just want to make sure Koji’s doing well and that his behavior isn’t affecting his classmates.”

“Of course,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. “And I’m here to help however I can. We could even set up regular meetings if you’d like, to make sure we stay on the same page about Koji’s progress.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, your polite tone edging into firmness. “But I do appreciate the offer.”

His smile falters for a brief moment, but he quickly recovers, leaning back in his chair as though he hadn’t just been testing the waters. “Understood. Please, don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need anything. My door is always open.”

You nod, feeling a distinct shift in the atmosphere—one you’re eager to step away from. “Well, are there any other concerns I should know about, Mr. Ito?”

He looks like he wants to say more, but decides against it. “No, Ms. Y/N. None at all, thank you for coming out.”

“Thank you for the coffee, have a nice day.” You reply, wasting no time in standing up, grabbing your drink in one hand and bag in the other. Though, his voice speaking again causes you to stop.

“Ms. Y/N,” Mr. Ito’s voice stops you just as you push your chair back. You glance at him over your shoulder, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “I really hope I didn’t come across as too forward earlier. I’m just...invested in making sure Koji has everything he needs to thrive.”

You offer a polite smile, settling the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Of course, Mr. Ito. I appreciate that.”

He smiles, but there’s a pause before he continues. “It’s rare, you know, to see a parent as involved as you are. It’s refreshing.”

The compliment makes you pause, and you clutch your coffee cup a little tighter. “Well, Koji’s my world,” you reply simply, brushing off the remark.

“As he should be.” Mr. Ito leans back in his seat, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his own drink. “But I imagine that must get exhausting sometimes, especially since you seem to handle everything on your own.” His tone is casual, but there’s a softness to it, as if he’s inviting you to confide in him.

You blink, his words catching you off guard. Is he fishing for something? “It’s not always easy,” you admit cautiously, “but that’s just part of being a parent.”

“True,” he says with a small nod, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long. “Still, you shouldn’t hesitate to lean on the people around you when you need to. It’s not a sign of weakness, you know.”

You stiffen slightly, unsure how to interpret his words. They seem innocuous enough, but the way his gaze flickers toward you feels... calculated. “I manage just fine, thank you,” you reply, keeping your tone light but firm.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, raising his hands slightly as if to placate you. “You strike me as someone who handles things with grace. It’s admirable.”

You glance at your watch, eager to end the conversation. “Well, I should get going. I’ll talk to Koji about everything we discussed.”

“Of course.” Mr. Ito stands as you do, his smile as steady as ever. “Thank you again for meeting me. And...if you ever want to talk more, even just about life in general, I’d be happy to listen.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you force another polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Ito. Have a good day.”

“I can walk you to your car, I’m heading out as well.” He quickly suggests.

You shake your head almost instantly, smile feeling more narrow. “No need, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“But I—“

“Thank you again, but I really must go.” You cut him off, feeling your patience run thin and the desire to be cordial and polite stretching too much. You nod stiffly and turn around to briskly walk out the cafe. However, just as you do so, you collide into something, or someone.

Your open-lidded coffee fumbles a bit in your hand, quickly steadying it. Though it does manage to stain the white shirt of the person you just bumped into. Just great. You hold back a wince and apologize. “I’m really sorry, I wasn’t—“

Your words leave you, your breath feeling like it’s been stolen straight from your chest. Every hair on your body stands up straight, your heart falling straight to your ass like you’ve just hit the biggest drop on a rollercoaster. You know that feeling when you question if something is real or not, pleading with yourself and every deity watching that it’s not? Well, that’s exactly how you feel right now.

It feels like a spotlight has been shone on you without your consent and you suddenly want to throw up. Because as your eyes have moved up to profusely apologize to the stranger, a bucket of water filled with nostalgia and past memories drowns you.

The bright blue, unmistakable irides stare back down at you. A million memories play on repeat, but one thing’s for certain.

The past has never felt so close, and you suddenly want to erase it all and scream.

a/n: the dreaded reunion is here! thank you for reading and the tremendous support! <3 stay tuned for next chap, sorry if yall thought these two were boring, chapter 3 will be getting more into it

taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins @sadmonke @bunheadusa @shartnart1 @lady-of-blossoms @itsinherited @duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee @devils-blackrose @a-girl-with-thoughts

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. ��’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[acid-ixx]

FOAMING IN THE MOUTH AT THE FIRST CHAPTER!! the way you wrote dick still imagining reader as a small child because thats the only time he remembered them as is SO GOOD. i am living for the angst and desperation in this fic, and i can't to see how each of them react to the situation, especially damian because he and reader have the sane blood. when dick texted reader pretending everything is cool and like he didn't ignore them for thirteen years is a such a good concept. i can only imagine reader screaming on the other side because of opening the message accidentally lol. i cant stop thinking about how the reader's reaction to the text message would be like, finally moving on and healing and then boom! the trauma resurfaces and dick having the audacity to reach out while reader is having a breakdown, confused and scared for what'll happen next. sorry for filling up ur inbox!! i wrote a lot more than i thought oops take care of yourself and remember to takes breaks!!!! <3

reader when the self destructive impulses kicks in because of a family they have long gave up on finally started to notice them the moment they have moved on: 😧

no because dick grayson would infantilize you to the max. not in a "you're a toddler" way but rather he sees you as his innocent baby that he failed to guide and protect. he truly wants you to see him as the same person you view him as years ago, not wanting to be any less in the eyes of his baby bird <3

he'll admit that the things he's done is a shit move, constantly denying you when his entire schedule is flexible for the family but you.

so he should've expected to be blocked, but he just can't stomach it at all that his baby bird didn't even hesitate to cut him off in an instant! it just furthers his protective nature to a t and if it wasn't for damian suddenly appearing by the door, dick would've spiraled into insanity deeper.

what i mean by insanity is; he wouldn't sleep for days tracking you down, then he'll take you away from your wretched home and bring you back rightfully where you belong.

meanwhile, on the other side of gotham, you'd be on the verge of a panic attack, nearly splurging your guts out and trying to calm yourself with relaxation techniques. you quite literally couldn't walk straight without stumbling to the bathroom because holy shit imagine your brother whom you haven't nearly talked to for years suddenly called you! with cryptic messages no less that never implied your family's years of neglect towards you. i would be smashing my phone across the room, to be honest.

the moment he's turned a full yandere, damian would be really deep into the "blood is thicker than water" ideology when it comes to you. he'll apologize to you, glare plastered on his face and all, but compared to the others, his apology sounds so genuine yet condescending at the same time. you both are of the same blood, save for the fact that you share different mothers but that doesn't matter— he should be the favorite.

not dick, not jason, not tim, or anybody else for that matter. and he'll be shoving it in your face that he's the youngest so you should be obligated to baby him. and even if you dare make a point on how he had called you immature for your age multiple times, damian would find a way to guilt trip you and it would always fucking work. to avoid further spoilers, i wouldn't want to expand on his character traits but damian would be the worst type of pain in the ass, near the levels of dick.