#FINALLY THIS CHAPTER IS DONE AND I CAN SLEEP

[misspelledwordswizard]

Chapter 22 - It's good to be able to sleep again

Previous chapter / Next chapter

I woke up with the sun on my face, bothering me enough to wake me from my previously desired sleep. Opening my eyes, I was blinded by the direct light and blamed myself for my stupidity. I ran my hands over my face, trying to shake off the sleep that was haunting me, as I sat up in bed. I looked around the room, it took me a while to start processing the information, where I was and what had happened, so intense was my nap.  

It was then that I saw Time, sitting in an armchair, not far from me, calmly reading a book. Suddenly the memories of the previous night came flooding back, making me want to bury my face in a hole in shame. I feel humiliated, I cried like a baby and revealed such personal things, and yet he stayed by my side and welcomed me. I am very grateful for that, but I can’t help but think that it was a little strange to talk to him, now that he knows my secrets. 

— Good morning, did you sleep well? – The older man’s voice caught my attention again. – You seemed calm while you were sleeping, even smiling, so I guess there wasn’t a nightmare, huh? 

I felt my cheeks heat up as the blond gave me a smug smile. Bastard, he’s making fun of me this morning after all the things I told him, that's evil, Time! Sometimes I forget that behind that older man’s posture he’s still that brat who likes to tease. The mangas were right. 

— Yes, I slept well. – His soft laughter at my answer only fueled my sullen face, which was probably the reason for the joke. – Thank you, Link. I don’t know what I would have done without you. 

The sudden seriousness in my voice, along with a certain melancholy, made a striking contrast with the previous mood of the room. When I looked back at the hero, I could see him with a sincere and comforting smile that calmed my nerves. 

— Sure, dear, I’m here for you, anytime. – He said and then stood up, putting the book aside and stretching after having spent so much time in the same position. – Now, you don’t have to worry about that, okay? I’ll be downstairs, come down when you feel ready. 

I watched him as he left my room, leaving me alone with my intrusive thoughts, which I blocked as quickly as I could. Time is an incredible man. He’s loving, caring, strong and protective, whoever his beloved is, she’s a very lucky woman. 

I sighed, feeling more relaxed than I had in a long time, all that accumulated fatigue had had certain effects, I can see, and this rest was more than welcome. Opening the window and letting more light in, I was graced by the warmth of the sun that reached me, I could also see that it was high in the sky. Damn, I slept too much, it must be about ten 'clock in the morning.  I left the room, after checking my appearance and fixing my hair, and went down the stairs of the academy, only to bump into Wind on the way. Literally, because he came out of the room just as I was passing by and we ended up bumping into each other. 

— Ah, you’re finally awake! – He said excitedly. – Everyone has already eaten, but I can keep you company in the kitchen if you want, I have nothing to do anyway. 

The boy said and shrugged, he spent the last few days exploring Skyloft, but I think this place is a bit small for someone with his adventurous spirit, he must be dying of boredom. I couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the thought of it, and also since he was proposing to spend time with me instead of his brothers, that’s cute, so I don’t feel so alone either. 

Heading to the aforementioned place, I was surprised to see that one of the boys was still there. In one of the corners, distracted by something he was reading, was Legend. I thought he hadn’t even noticed our presence, so I was taken aback when I heard him talking to us, still without looking away from the book. God, is this place boring enough that Links would suddenly become interested in reading? 

— Sky has already taken Warriors to the surface, the next one to go when he returns will be Rancher. 

My attention turned to him, more focused on the information itself than on the boy himself. So, they’ve already started going down, huh? I can’t help but feel a little strange about all this, I think I was already getting used to the calm of Skyloft, to think that now we’ll have to go back to walking for hours without stopping, dealing with monsters and whatever else comes, it’s kind of distressing. 

I mean, I was learning to deal with all this before, but this time of peace ended up unaccustoming me and I went back to square one of the whole thing. Suddenly, an anxiety at the thought of others ending up discovering my secret also hit me, especially if it happens during a moment of tension down there. I hope Time really is right, and knows the best way to do this. 

— You... – The Veteran’s voice caught my attention again, while Wind went to the kitchen to look for food, oblivious to the conversation. – Time stayed in your room all night, and only came out a little while ago... 

As soon as he spoke, I could notice a certain irritation in his voice, my brain worked to process this statement, and I finally understood what he was really asking, blushing like a tomato and completely indignant at this suggestion. 

— What!? I was having trouble sleeping, okay? The old man just helped me with that. – I felt myself getting sulky about it, and the blond just snorted and turned his face away at my answer. 

— If that was all, you should have asked for my help, I know what it’s like not to be able to sleep, it would have been much more useful. 

— If you want to know, I didn’t even ask for his help either, he offered it himself and didn’t let me refuse... 

I found myself saying this, a little quieter and calmer than before. Why the hell am I trying to explain myself? I just snorted and walked away from him, it’s too early for this. I mean, not that early, but I just woke up so I don’t feel like it either. 

I just gave up on talking to this complicated boy and went to the kitchen, looking for something that could satisfy my hunger and end Wind’s munchies, who even after breakfast still wanted to eat something else. 

◇ 

 The sun was shining high in the sky, and it felt warm on my skin as I walked around the lake with the Sailor. I had seen some of the boys walking along the path, apparently, they were just as bored as we were, so it was no surprise when I saw the Champion and the Traveler approaching where we were. 

— Good morning, did you get any rest? I saw that you seemed tired yesterday. – Rulie, who I hadn’t seen yet today, said with an empathetic smile. 

— Oh, yes, I had the best night’s sleep in ages! – I found myself saying with a silly smile. It’s amazing how being rested puts me in a good mood. 

— That’s good, because soon we won’t have the opportunity to rest so well for a while. – Wild commented, kind of complaining about what was coming next. 

I laughed a little, hiding how disappointed I was about it too, and turned to see what the child was doing, only to find him poking around in the dirt looking for bugs. I’m sure it was Sky’s influence. What am I going to do with this kid? Early in the morning and he’s already getting dirty. 

— Wind, take your hand off the floor, you’re going to get all dirty! – I complained, like a nagging mother, making him startle a little at my sudden call and get up, wiping his hands on his clothes. 

— Oh, it’s okay, I’m not even clean, I’ll take a bath when we get back to the academy – The blond answered me, as he came back to me. 

— What? When was the last time you took a bath?! 

— Hm, yesterday... no, it was the day before yesterday! – He answered while thinking, trying to remember, leaving me completely indignant. 

I pulled him by the arm closer to me and smelled his hair, which just by looking at it I could tell how dirty it was. The smell was terrible, worse than I had imagined. I know that children in general tend to be lazy about taking showers and such, but who in their right mind can stay dirty and smelling like that for so long? Oh dear, these heroes of the past are unaware of the importance of good hygiene. 

— Ew, boy, you look disgusting! – I complained and he even had the audacity to laugh at my reaction. – Lord, have mercy... 

Before he could react, I grabbed him under the arms, lifting him into the air momentarily and then threw him into the lake next to me, making him let out a cry of surprise. Proud of my attitude, I held my hands, as if I were cleaning the dust, with a sense of job done, at least until I heard laughter coming from beside me. 

I turned to look at the two boys who were laughing at the youngest, that is until I pulled Wild closer too and sniffed his hair, making him stop laughing when he noticed my disgusted face. 

— Look, we can do this for better or for worse, the choice is all yours... 

Before I could finish, the boy was already taking off his boots and jumping into the lake too, along with the third of them who followed his brother’s wise example. Good. Very good, I’m not going to spend time around smelly people. These heroes, now just because you have a world to save doesn’t mean you can do it smelling bad! 

The sound of laughter ended up catching the attention of Four, who was passing by at the time. He stopped next to me while judging his brothers without understanding the reason for all this. In order not to break character, I pulled the short boy closer and smelled his hair just like I did with the others. It was no surprise to me that he smelled super good. The Blacksmith is very clean and organized, when he’s not all sweaty after working in the forge, but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity.  Before he could question my strange actions, I repeated what I had done with Wind, grabbing him by the arms and quickly throwing him into the lake, making him let out a surprised little scream while I laughed immaturely. 

Well, since we’re in this situation anyway, I guess there’s no harm in participating. Following the example of the last three, I took off my shoes and threw myself into the lake, being graced by the cold water that hit my skin, bringing great relief on this hot sunny day. 

The three started to take it more as a joke. Well, this wouldn’t be much of a bath considering it’s a lake, they went in fully clothed and will probably only come out smelling like wet dogs – no offense to Wolfie – but at least it will force them to take a full bath as soon as they leave here. In a short time, this game in the lake ended up turning into a mess of water being splashed everywhere, fun attacks, swimming competitions or even who splashed the most water when jumping back into the lake, between the Champion and the Sailor, while I and the other two acted as judges.  The rest of the afternoon was spent like this, before I decided it was time to leave and force everyone to go back to take a hot shower and avoid a collective cold. 

◇ 

— Rupee for your thoughts? – I said as I approached Time, outside the academy.  

It was night, I had gone out to get some air before dinner, it was then that I came across the hero of time outside, observing the night landscape with a thoughtful and worried expression. I hadn’t seen him since morning, I was really getting worried, worried if something had happened, or maybe that the reason for his distance was everything that happened yesterday.  

His blue eyes turned to me. He didn’t seem surprised, nor uncomfortable with my presence, but that didn’t make him seem any less thoughtful than before. I don’t know how, but he seemed to read my thoughts and worries, giving me a reassuring smile as I got closer. 

— Hm, there are a lot of them, are you sure you want to hear them? 

— Don’t think you can get rid of me so easily, old man. 

— Hm, right. That’s the last thing I’d want. 

— So, what’s bothering you? 

Silence prevailed for a moment, the older man’s expression hardening, followed by a tired sigh. 

— You know, that night I had time to think about everything, with all the things you told me, there was a lot to fit in and process, luckily, I had plenty of time for that. 

— Thank my heavy sleep then. – I heard him laugh at my unfunny joke, and that alone made it worth it. 

— Yeah, it was really welcome at the time. A lot of things started to make sense after that, the fact that the Shadow was so interested in you, the attacks, maybe that was even the reason why we met. But there’s still something there. I feel like there’s something big behind this. I can’t imagine that the only reason you’re involved in this is because you know us, especially because, from what you told me, a lot of other people do the same, right? 

I nodded, confirming the information. He’s right, I’ve caught myself thinking about it several times, since I reincarnated, actually. Why me? Of all the people, of all the big Zelda fans, what makes me different from them?  When I saw that I wouldn’t get any answers, I just gave up, but thinking about it now, maybe I’m closer than ever to those much-acclaimed answers. And even so, I’m still very far from them. 

— Well, trust me, don’t rack your brains trying to find logic in this, I’ve spent my whole life doing this and haven’t gotten any results. But, from what I’ve seen recently, the best thing to do is keep going, eventually things will start to fall into place. 

— Yes... I think you’re right. But I can’t help but worry, especially when it could mean you’re in danger. – He sighed, straightening his tense posture. – Well, I guess I’ll just have to double the amount of care I have for you then. Get ready for at least two of us to keep an eye on you at all times! 

— Oh, Noooo! – I dramatized, earning a sincere laugh from the man. 

— Just kidding, dear. I’m not going to invade your privacy. Well, I can’t say the same about the others, they can be quite nosy when they want to be. 

— Well, then I think it’s best to keep all this as confidential as possible, hm? 

— Yeah, it’ll be our little secret. – I felt shy with the wink Time sent me. Unfortunately for me, this guy is a natural born tease, and I have a weakness for handsome men. 

— Now, since you mentioned last night, shouldn’t you be sleeping now, sir? 

— Nah, I slept the whole afternoon. 

— Ah 

That explains why I haven’t seen you all day. Come to think of it, I’m not going to sleep any time soon either, considering how late I woke up. Although the day was tiring, after swimming for so long it’s no surprise that I fell right to sleep the moment my head hit the pillow. Oh, who would have thought, I guess it actually worked. 

— Time, I don’t think I’ve been able to thank you enough yet. – He shook his head in denial, as if it were no big deal. – No, seriously. I hadn’t noticed until now, but all that irrational fear of sleeping and dreaming that was haunting me has gone away, I don’t feel anxious when I think about going to sleep anymore, thanks to you... Thank you, really. 

— That was nothing, I didn’t even do anything. And don’t minimize your pain like that, your fear was completely fair. Know that if something like that happens again, you can come straight to me, I’ll take care of you. – I could feel the sincerity in his voice, which only made me even more grateful. – And besides, the experience wasn’t bad at all, you look cute dreaming, you know? 

I playfully patted his shoulder, reprimanding him for all his teasing, while he just laughed at my reaction. Yeah, it really is great to get to know this side of Time.  He acts like we’ve been friends for a long time, and that’s nice, it’s comforting. I found myself caught in his gaze, his beautiful blue eyes staring at me so intensely, there under the moonlight, he seemed so ethereal. Suddenly he was no longer Time, the leader of the group, an imposing man, a strong and serious hero. He was Link, a friend, a confidant to whom I could reveal my secrets and who I knew would help me, not as a hero who helps everyone, but as someone I care about and who is there for me when I need it. I hope he can see me that way too. 

Both of our attention was cut off by the sound of the door opening right behind us, making us pull away and look back in surprise. There, standing in the doorway, was the Veteran, he looked at us for a moment, his lips parted, as if he was going to say something, but nothing came out, instead he just scowled sullenly as he looked at us, getting irritated for some reason. 

— The Cook said to let you know that the food is ready, hurry up! – He said, entering again and slamming the door behind him. 

— Geez, what’s gotten into him? – I commented and Time just sighed tiredly. 

— Sometimes I don’t even understand. We better go in quickly, before he comes back even angrier. 

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 32

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Grian's pov*

You "wake up" extremely late the next day ... You didn't really, you took the night to work on things in your plan and you just lost track of time, but nobody has to know that...

Normally this wouldn't be worth mentioning considering It's Saturday and most mortals oversleep in the weekend but from the number of notifications on your phone you can guess this isn't the case... You just have to wonder what in the world has been going on.

[Pearl created a new chat.] [Pearl added you.] [Pearl added Scott.] [Pearl added Cleo.] [Pearl added Martyn.] Scott: Ohh Nice! Scott: ... Scott: Why? Cleo: Yeah. Cleo: What's this for? Pearl: After yesterday thought it would be a good idea. [Pearl changed the chat(s) name to Winners] Scott: Ohhh!love that. Scott: What did we win? Pearl: Nothing. Martyn: Maybe the real win was the friends we made along the way. Cleo: Why that name then? Pearl: It's a bit of a joke, It's a reference to the traffic. Cleo: ... Cleo: So, hope you know that doesn't make any sense. Martyn:Say. Martyn: Talking about friendship, where's my funny man Scar at? Pearl: I don't have his number. Martyn: Aww. Pearl: Ask Grian about it. Martyn: @/Grian. Scott: I don't think he's awake yet. Martyn: @/Grian. Martyn: @/Grian. Cleo: This is fun. @/Grian. Martyn: @/Grian. Cleo: @/Grian. Scott: I can do that too @/Grian.

. . . You are going to have to respond or they might actually keep doing this, well, finding Scar's number shouldn't be too hard... hopefully.

Grian: I'm here. Martyn: Finally. Martyn: So? Grian: I'm on it.

Scar looks more lively today, the eyebags are still there but much less prominent. He looks excited about something.

"What has gotten you so happy Scar? Did you enjoy my gift that much?"

"No! I mean yes! I mean I loved it! But I am excited about something else!"

"Something else?"

"Yes! Guess!"

"Uh... We got a raise?"

Why did you even ask that, you don't even need money...

"... No?"

"I have no clue...is it like...hero stuff?"

"Yes! The hero association said that you can start actually going out as my sidekick soon!"

Ah right, yeah, you were wondering about that actually... It's been a few days since the inauguration thing abd you haven't actually done any hero stuff yet.

". . .Aren't you excited?"

You are, definitely, just probably for different reasons then his.

"Yeah, just shocked about it, didn't meant to leave you hanging like that."

"Oh right, I shouldn't have told you like this... Kinda sprung it on you randomly"

"It's ...fine Scar."

Then he seems to remember that you wanted to talk to him.

"Well, did you need something G?"

"... Yeah, do you have a civilian phone number?"

"Oh yeah! I should have told you ages ago! It's xxxxxxxxxx"

"Great, Pearl made a group chat, do you want in?"

"Oh! Sure! That sounds fun"

-Winners- Martyn: So? Martyn: Any news. Scott: I'm pretty sure he just went back to sleep. Grian: Done. Scott: I stand corrected. [Grian added Scar]

*End of chapter 7*

[5-puthyyy]

The Apprentice (Agatha x Rio x Reader) - Chapter 6

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary:

Life has been about survival for you ever since your coven banished you for the simplest thing: desire. Since then, you've travelled from Inn to Inn, making ends meet, until you sense a powerful Magick presence coming from two mysterious women. They take you in as their apprentice and you end up learning far more than what you came for...

CHAPTER WARNINGS! -- (18+ ONLY) SEXUAL CONTENT IMPLIED?

Ch.1 ~ Ch.2 ~ Ch.3 ~ Ch.4 ~ Ch.5 ~ Ch.6

“Y/N…” Agatha moans sweetly into your ear as she nibbles at your neck teasingly. Squirming from your place between her legs, you let out a whiney moan of your own, desperate for some attention. Your head falls back onto her shoulder and she takes the opportunity to claim your lips in a gentle kiss. It quickly turns rough the second Rio gets involved, growling from between your legs as she kisses at your coated inner thighs.

“Y/N…” Rio groans as she finally gets a taste of you, immediately wanting more, no, needing more. That’s all you see in her eyes; a desperate, primal hunger for you. “Y/N,” she groans again, then whispers, “Y/N?”

Blinking as her face between your legs turns into a frown, you wake up from your daydreams to Rio’s concerned face. The brown-eyed witch is already on her feet with her hand pressed to your forehead, fearful you may have caught a fever of sorts.

“Oh,” you mumble, cheeks instantly flushed as you take in your surroundings. There is absolutely no chance you were just daydreaming about that at the table during breakfast with the very stars of your dreams. No way. You refuse to acknowledge this has just happened.

“Are you feeling unwell, sweetheart?” Rio asks, her tone softer than you’ve ever heard. She gently caresses your jaw with her fingertips, her touch feather-like yet leaving a hot trail on your skin. Though you think that has more to do with you than her.

Agatha clears her throat from the side, forcing your head to turn to her. “This may help if it is a fever. If not, well, it does taste delicious,” she winks as she hands over freshly brewed tea with a half smile, the concern clear in her eyes behind the playfulness.

“I’m well. Sorry, I’m sorry, I did not sleep well last night,” you apologise, keeping your head down to avoid their intense gazes because those eyes are hitting you directly at your core; it’s pulsing, hot, and ready to explode at any given moment.

But Agatha takes your lack of eye contact as sadness instead. “Did I not tell you I wish for you to stop?”

You look up, face twisted in confusion. “Stop what?”

“This,” Agatha gestures to you with her hands, “Do not apologise as if you have done something wrong. You can feel unwell, you can feel tired, you can feel good if you’d like,” she emphasises, her eyes flickering down for a moment, “Be honest, and unapologetic.”

Despite it still being early in the day for a lesson, you take it as such with a nod, your shy gaze shifting into a slightly stronger and more determined one. You begin to wander if you’re even good enough for them, but realise what they want is for you to see you as good enough for yourself.

“Can we train together today?” you ask them without hesitance in your voice, clear and hopeful.

Agatha and Rio smile softly at you before looking at each other for a moment, having a silent conversation. The tea you begin to sip is warm against your tongue and you blame the flush on your cheeks on that as you observe the way their eyes soften, how Rio can’t stop herself from glancing down at Agatha’s lips, how Agatha’s eyes switch to teasing Rio.

“Sure,” Agatha answers simply, “If you want to play, we can play,” her teasing words are joined by a wide smirk as she looks back to you, taking in your clearly flustered state. Maybe this wasn’t your brightest idea…

“If you were to ever fight a witch like Rio, you’ll need to know how to defend yourself first, and understand when will be the right time to attack,” Agatha starts standing in the middle between the two of you, “Rio is powerful,” she carries on, eyes shining as she praises her lover, “She’s unique, has some spell and skillsets that are only available to her, so you cannot counter her with her own spells. All you can do is defend,” Agatha finishes, spinning to face you fast. You spot the purple balling in her fist and immediately throw your arms up in a cross over your chest, forcing the power coming at you to dissipate.

“Well done,” Rio grins widely at your quick reflexes, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing a shirt that is loose around her, but it has no sleeves so the muscles in her arms are far more noticeable and therefore far harder to look away from. It’s almost like she can read the thoughts in your mind as she flexes her arm muscles subtly, smirking right at you with knowing, playful eyes.

You choke on literal air, falling into a mini coughing fit for a moment. Agatha’s warm hands on your back make it even worse and you brush her off quickly, dismissing her concern. “I’m fine,” you rasp out, clearing your throat. It seems your default setting around these two is blush.

“Right,” Agatha says cautiously, not believing you for one second, but she finally moves on to the actual training. She steps back from the makeshift circle in the basement, now a simple onlooker to you and Rio’s fight. She gives you no tips, no help, nothing but a smirk and a nod to indicate the fighting may begin.

With a nervous smile, you turn back to look at Rio who now has her arms to her side, tilting her head as a beautifully vivid shade of green takes over her eyes. Her fingers wiggle around teasingly as if she’s waiting for you to make the first move, but you know that’s just a test. This is a defence class, so you immediately put your hands forward and create a protective shield of Magick.

Not needing it, but definitely wanting it, – okay, maybe needing it a little – you glance at Agatha and get a raised brow of approval that sends a warmth down your spine. Rio doesn't seem to like that the attention has come off her so she immediately blasts a ball of green Magick towards you. The impact has your feet sliding against the ground as you’re pushed back, but your shield remains intact. Intent, you remember. Strong Magick is about intent. And you intend not to disappoint them.

The next few minutes are filled with Rio’s endless attacks and you manage to defend most of them, trying one of Agatha’s tricks by balling up the Magick she throws your way and pushing it back towards her. You’d think the brown-eyed witch would grow increasingly frustrated but she’s still calm as ever, if anything she’s more excited by the second. Thrill and adrenaline glow in her eyes as you play with each other, circling, flying above and around, disappearing and reappearing in a poof. You find yourself actually having fun doing this.

But eventually, Rio decides to test you further. You don’t know what spell she has cast or how she’s broken your defences, but there’s suddenly a blockage in your throat. Your shield drops immediately, hands clawing at the skin of your neck as you struggle to breathe.

“Rio!” Agatha yells out harshly, the spell breaking immediately at her tone. Finally catching your breath, you glance up at them to see Rio with an adorable pout on her lips, “Be gentle with her,” Agatha demands before scrying to you, falling to her knees beside you, “Are you hurt, little dove?”

Rio rolls her eyes. “She’s fine, she’s strong. Stop babying her.”

Agatha rolls her eyes and snaps her head back to her partner with a teasing glare; her hand continues stroking your back tenderly as you watch on. “Jealous?”

You freeze at the implications of her words. Have they caught on? Is it over if Rio says yes? Dread sinks into your stomach as you stare at Rio with wide, terrified eyes. But the brown-eyed witch simply tilts her head with a slow smirk.

“Yes. But not sure of who.”

Oh. Oh, that means something entirely different. But before you can sit on it and really let the words sink in, Agatha’s pulling you to your feet, claiming you’ve had more than enough combat training today and can tend to the garden. As you water the flowers later, you cannot get the echo of Rio’s playful words out of your head. It only confuses you further. Does she want you? Does Agatha, or has she taken offence to Rio’s words? You glance towards the cabin every now and then, looking through the window to the kitchen hoping to catch a glimpse of them, but they remain out of sight. Definitely not out of mind.

You’ve lost track of time with Agatha and Rio; it feels as if you’ve been here forever. They’re all you know and all you wish to remember. It’s a few evenings later when you’re all sat together in the living space, Rio sits on the chair by the fire – typically Agatha’s spot – while the blue-eyed witch takes the long upholstered armchair, almost as flat as a bed. There’s more than enough space for two on there but you’re far too on edge to be sat near either of them, so you take the smaller armchair in the corner by the table.

“What are you reading?” you ask Agatha curiously, sipping on your tea. Your knees are pressed to her chest, comfy and cosy in your little spot.

Agatha looks up from her book after a moment, finishing off her sentence before giving you a soft, tender look. “William Blake,” she says simply, waiting a moment as you hum and take another content sip, “Would you like to hear some?”

Hear? As in, she would read it aloud to you? In her voice? “Sure,” you answer in a whisper. Rio glances up curiously, putting her own book down to listen in. Agatha clears her throat before beginning.

“O rose, thou art sick!  The invisible worm,  That flies in the night,  In the howling storm,  Has found out thy bed  Of crimson joy,  And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.”

Oh. Oh, God, the pulse in your chest feels as if it’s seconds away from bursting out and reaching for Agatha. Her voice is so sensual and soft, raspy as it always is before bed. It transformed that pulse to between your legs, begging for attention. Rio seems to be similarly transfixed, gazing at Agatha with a dark lust in her warm brown eyes.

“Another?” Agatha asks simply, teasingly, knowing your answer already. It’s wicked; she’s wicked and she knows it. It’s cruel torture making you feel this way while not doing a thing about it. It’s probably too big of a risk for her, for Rio, for all of you to cross that line you have been sensually playing with for the last few weeks.

“Yes, please,” you whisper back politely, a blush already tainting your cheeks. Agatha grins, chuckling lowly before those slender fingers take their sweet time flipping through the pages.

“A flower was offered to me, 

Such a flower as May never bore; 

But I said ‘‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’’ 

And I passed the sweet flower o’er. 

Then I went to my pretty rose tree, 

To tend her by day and by night; 

But my rose turned away with jealousy, 

And her thorns were my only delight.”

Rio lets out a snorty laugh at Agatha’s choice, not bothering to cover her delight. All while you sit on your chair, legs almost trembling as your need grows more and more. It’s not just physical, it’s something deeper within you that needs her, actively seeking the comfort she can give you. It’s the way she tends to your wounds, physical and emotional. The way her eyes soften when she looks at you, and how she’s so observant of your needs as if she never looks away from you.

Then there’s Rio, wild and free. She’s playful, and dark, dangerous but can be serious and gentle when needed. She never pushes too hard but does test how hard she can push, and it excites you how she challenges you. It excites you to see how often she challenges Agatha and how many of those times end up with blue eyes darkening, turning black with lust and desire leaving you no room to debate what they’ll be doing that night.

You think of that night you saw them, heard them, knowing they were thinking of another woman. With the way they’ve been acting around you lately, and the way they’re both looking at you now, you can’t help but foolishly wonder…are you the other woman?

Agatha gazes at you with a charged look in her eyes. It’s both enticing and terrifying having her look at you with such intensity. Those eyes trace your neck as you visibly gulp down the ball of nerves that just formed in your throat. You’re unsure what’s to happen next. Will she pounce, like you’re prey to her? Will she take Rio to their room and bid you goodnight? Will she–

“Come here, little dove.”

Not even registering your movements, you end up on your feet slowly walking towards her. She pats the spot by her on the long armchair and you sit obediently, mind flashing to the first morning when Rio demanded you sit at the table. Agatha’s eyes were far more dangerous then, still cautious and purposely clouded. They’ve changed since then, slowly opening up more and more, no longer hiding all her emotions from you. When you finally take your seat, you allow yourself to think that there’s one thing she’s clearly telling you with her eyes.

She wants you.

“Do you remember what you said when I asked you what you truly wanted?” Agatha asks, not moving from her position. She’s sat comfortably with her knees tucked under herself. All it takes is a finger to motion for you to come forward, and you do.

“Freedom,” you whisper croakily, blushing at the sound of your voice so obviously twinged with desire, “Acceptance,” Agatha nods for you to continue, her small smile growing wider by the second, “And to be who I am.”

Agatha leans forward slowly, calculatedly, now lifting a hand to rest on your jaw, her thumb circling your skin. She’s inches away from you, her nose a sliver away from yours, “Unapologetically,” she finishes your sentence for you, a challenge shining in her eyes.

Your breaths are laboured at this point, hitting her lips with a desperate desire. Agatha breathes it all in eagerly, her eyes wide and wild and so blue it’s so hypnotic you think you may be swaying a little.

She says one last thing, the nail in the coffin to steal all the air from your lungs. “I want you to take what you need, unapologetically. No apologies, no fear, no thoughts but those of what you want.”

It’s tense as you physically freeze up. There’s only one thing she could be talking about right now with how she’s holding your face in her hand, how she’s looking at you, looking through you with intensity. It’s playful, it’s powerful, it’s beautiful and you do the one thing that has been on your mind from the very moment you saw her. 

With a ragged breath, you break the distance.

masterlist + guidelines

ITS GETTING SPICYYYYYYYY GRAB YOUR SENOR SCRATCHYS FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

[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

[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