#I would twist my ankle every day of the week bad luck when walking home

[joyfulcollectordreamland]

I'm lucky in the bad luck sense of the way

[ramblesofajester]

whispers of a witch (chap1/?

this is just a self indulgent fic for me to write when I feel like shit and yes it will have nsfw

info: they/them, curvy body, glasses, anxiety.

The cool wind sweep past your cheek as you squat down, fingers numbing and turning blue from the constant foraging across the forest floor to fine the herbs you require, its late winter and you have just run out of several herbs you use quite frequently for personal use and when healing the villagers. of course as always there is a catch when you need to get something done. one, you where delivering a baby a good portion of the day, then doing your normal round with the villagers, so soon night is to fall, two the Lycians have been testing there luck with the village borders as of resent, three the only place those herbs are left growing are near Heisenberg's land due to you harvesting all the more accessible ones previously. and just to top it all of duke wouldn't be able to gather a shipment until the next new moon, that being two weeks away so here you are right before dusk cut plants with frozen fingers outside of a missive chain-link fence in the middle of the woods. Gazing around, you are in a small clearing, the village is about a mile, mile and a half to the south west of here. the factory's smoke stacks just visible over the tree line. Sighing you focus on the task at hand, slowly griping the base of the plant you say thanks to the earth and pull it up root and all, listening to the birds as there song slowly drifted thru the trees. standing up you, make your way over to the next bushel of plants emerging from the thin coat of snow. suddenly all the brides stop singing setting off of several alarms in your brain knowing its wasn't you who disturbed them wiping around, franticly looking you hear and see movement all around you just out of sight in the brush you cant tell what it is. assuming it to be Lycians or and angry bear or even a stray ghoul from the castle grounds. garbing the dagger from your boot you crouch down to an defensive position slowly making your way toward the path you came from. as you take a step back slowly a few Lycian emerge from the tree line teeth bared eyes holding a burning hunger. a soft gasp leaves your lips if there are this many you know more are soon to follow

"well shit, I couldn't just go and have an easy day now could I?" you ask the Lycians sarcastically not really expecting a reply. a deep chuckle caught you off guard and in your shock you hear the swift shifting of metal. the feeling of cold steel on your ankle stealing your attention from the fast change of gravity as you are hoisted into the air, dangling like a prized fish. attempting to regain your bearings. you look around seeing the Lycian pack now completely surrounding you.

"well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," standing clear in the path arm outstretched to hold the chain around you feet taking a step further with every word.

"a lost little bunny, who is hoping around where they should not be..." he says in a little tune with mirth in his step. finally stopping right in front of you raising you so your face is level with his shoulders you reach out attempting to swipe at him with you dagger, as soon as you weapon is revealed is ripped from your grasp and now spinning around you and the lord. a large gloved hand grips your face forcing you to look at lord Heisenberg.

"now I cant tell if that was stupidity, or bravery little bunny but I'm guessing you dont know who I am." he speaks with amusement as he examines your face and, forces you to look at him. you stop squirming long enough to stare at the round shades perched on his nose. this being the first time you have seen the lord this close ,its usually only in passing or from the shadows as to not be noticed, but now you have to admit the stubble and scars, the cocky smile, the smell of oil, pine, smoke, and Tabaco is actually not that bad.

"No I know who you are, just really dont care cause I'm a little busy" you immediately wiggle from his grasp and start reaching for the chain around your ankles. a boisterous laughter is released from behind you and suddenly your falling about a meter, back connecting with the ground a large "oof" emanating from you. Rushing to get the chain from around you ankles it fly from your hands. jumping to your feet you face Heisenberg head held high

"oh... you do know me, so it must be stupidity, that must explain why your on my land as well" Heisenberg ponders aloud." so you must either be lost or have a death wish" he says with a chuckle

"nope not lost, just need some of the herbs here and if you live in this village and haven't runaway or offed yourself you have a death wish" you reply flatly brushing the dirt of of yourself as you stand to gather your things. "now" you say turning back to him "my dragger if you'd please" extending you hand cautiously with and expectants look.

"wow, you've got some balls on you" puffing on his cigar "you better watch that attituded bunny" you are suddenly painfully aware of the small pack of hunger Lycian circling you both "and remember who the man in control is" hand still outstretched you snap back with

"listen hear 'lord Heisenbitch' I am sorry for trespassing on you land but I need 7 different herbs and at least 5oz of each, I need them before tomorrow evening, some of them for mother Miranda, as well as a women who just gave birth in the village. Now unless you wish to explain to Miranda why her healer is missing, and her people dead due to illnesses I would like my dagger back and you and your fine fuzzy companions to kindly fuck of." you knew your words where dangerous but at this point in the evening you really didn't give a fling fuck and the shock on Heisenberg's face when he recognizes you almost made it worth it.

"Wait your Miranda's prized witch, oh man this is great, how have you lasted so long, your so small bunny" this just pissed you off more you want your dagger back but he's just so infuriating. your dont have time for this

"Fine, just keep the dagger" you say shoving past him. Growling at the Lycians blocking the path they stay there ground and growl back, only to glance behind you whimper, and slowly back away clearing the path. A chain roughly wraps around you waist spinning you around and pulling you flush against Heisenberg before returning to his trench coat pocket. blowing his smoke in your face he drawls

"wow wow wow, slow you roll peter cotton tail I ain't being stingy, I just wanna talk a little" as he says this he wraps his arm around you waist slipping your dagger back into its sheath leaving his hand to rest on the dip of your hip, the other griping your chin forcing you to look up at him

"Let. Me. Go!" you hiss out never braking your gaze of his glasses

"now what would Miranda think of this, her pet of the leash, not respecting or listening to your lord" he teases not lessening his grip at all

"I dont give a scraggly rats ass, just let me go you bastard!" you spit at him, resaving a chuckle as a reply .

"ohhh I like you bunny, you've got fight not a lot of that left hear any more. but I need something from you darling, so we are gonna take a little walk back to your place, your gonna help me, then ill help you with your little situation how does that sound there bunny?" spinning you around arm still securely on your waist, he starts to walk still puffing on his cigar, quickly you realize you have no choice in the matter. the Lycians slow start to follow you keeping there distance at about 3 meters back this continues for a wile and it might have even been pleasant having company for once on the walk, you if you ignore the hungry Lycians and the fear Heisenberg will get angry or be done with his little game. slowly the forest edge and the village come in to the distances well as a small well worn foot path leading into a thick pine forest near the base of the Benevento valley

"so bunny, which way is it" Heisenberg ask moving his arm up to rest on your shoulders using the other to jester at the path ways.

"This way" you mumble out, gesturing to the pine foot path. now moving forward on you own accord tiered of being user around like a lost child. you dont make it very far seeing as soon as you start to move away he tightens his grip

"ohh come on bunny, no need to get cold feet. your getting something good out of this too, you just chill a little there thumper" he says smirk never leaving his face.

"well it sure as hell dont feel like it, this feels more like a kidnaping only we are headed to my own dwelling" you watch as the pine trees grow thicker with every passing second drawing closer to your burrow. soon a large moon gate covered in rosemary and lavender comes into a view just beyond it several greenhouses small and large soft light emanating from a few

"Now hold up thumper if you have all of these, what were you doing traipsing around by my factory? you weren't trying to get my attention were you?" he jabs at you obviously trying to get a rise out of you.

"What I was looking for I do not grow because it is local and I had a store of some, but it a since been exhausted, lots of sick ones this season." you replied tiredly seeing as dusk has passed a wile ago and you had been called out well before day brake. now you where just too tired to deal with his shenanigans. continuing forward you approach the door and tap the center of the door with the old iron key handing from your neck three times then you insert it into the keyhole and twist it three times to the right and it slowly creeks open. rushing forwards in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you you start to tend to the fire stroking the coals and adding a few logs. while your bussing your self Heisenberg makes himself at home pulling out a chair and throwing his feet on top of the table and popping a new cigar between his lips . Turning to grab your tea pot you see this unfold waltzing over to him and slapping his feet of the table

"That is mahogany" as you say this he goes to protest " no 'lord' Heisenberg you in my domain now no feet on the table" you snatch the cigar from between his lip and toss it into the fireplace "and no smoking in the main room."

"alright, alright," he says holding his arms in the air "one you could have just put it out and handed it back thumper, and second of all watch who your talking to darlin" to this you quickly respond with

"Still dont care" he gives you grunt as a response

"third of all I still have yet to disclose the nature of my visit I need you to look at something for me" and with that he stands up his chest now centimeters from your nose he reaches for his hat and sunglasses setting them on the table, tossing his trench coat on to the chair. your face quickly turning a shade of red dark enough to rival the radishes out in garden as you realize just what he is doing. pulling of his shirt with a wince. Holding his shirt in his hands, you try not to make your gaze obvious, he slowly turns to reveal a large, deep laceration very poorly bandages and clearly in the throes of a terrible infection. you immediately push all other thoughts aside concern taking its place, you recognized this wound, you where present when he resaved it .

flashback

"you stupid man child, you know nothing you should just leave the talking to the adults like a good little boy"

"shut your dame hole you bitch"

they have been going at it for 37 minutes and counting Alcina said something Karl disagrees and so the back and forth begins about 5 minutes ago Karl brought out his hammer and been waving it out in the open. tensions have been rising and your a little worried it is about to get violent. Anggie who had been watching the argument from you lap starts to vibrate with joy sensing the approaching violence.

"ooooooooohhh its aaboutttttt tooo get goooooodddddd!!!" she sings while hoping off your lap to sit closer on donnas lap seeing as you are perched by the back wall behind Miranda. and just as you both had predicted disaster struck.

"you insolent fool." Alcina suddenly cry's, swiping her hand forward as Karl turns his back to her slashing from shoulder to hip. you immediately rush forward, only to be stopped by mother Miranda holding her arm in your path.

"ENOUGH, stop the foolishness NOW!" Miranda's voice ringing out clear through the entire hall "Heisenberg my son, stand," she demands. he slowly makes his way to his feet now facing mother Miranda "your actions have been stupid and reckless as punishment, I shall leave you with this burden to care for. maybe it will teach you how much effort it takes heal rather than destroy. and what if feels like to live with ones mistakes." you hand covers your mouth as you bite your tongue. you may not like Karl that much but he still is not as bad as they say.

end scene

"BY THE GODS, how has this not healed yet!? have you been rubbing dirt in it? I knew this was a stupid lesson. I knew I should have gone against that two faced, false goddess, pretensive ass, bitch and marched my happy ass to that factor. THAT WAS TWO WEEKS AGO, this should have been gone ages ago!!!" you shout while carefully examining the laceration. quickly you pull out the char he was previously siting on out, so he could sit on it with his back to the fire and lean on the back of the chair. grabbing Heisenberg's shoulders you gently shove him into the chair. rushing around you grab several herbs hanging from the ceiling in bundles. then over to the counter you produce a mortar and pestle along with several oils and extracts

"woooow, thumper slow down, slow down," he chides calmly garbing your shoulders, your arms still packed full of items. slowly he starts to set the items on the table. "now I didn't rub dirt in it, but there might be some oil, its not healed because I have no idea how to treat a wound this large. and what's this about Miranda being a bitch and ignoring orders?" as he says this you realized just how bad you have fucked up.

"OH MY GODS, I didn't mean a word of it lord Heisenberg I meant no disrespect please I am so sorry dont tell mother Miran-" you franticly bow keeping your eyes to the floor hoping he would ether spare you make you death quick. while he clearly doesn't like Miranda or her family he was still a part of it.

"hay hay hay thumper calm down your alright. I'm not gonna go all psycho on you, and your secret is safe with me, your not the only one with unsavory views on that bitch Miranda." your slowly look up at him in shock it is widely know that he disagree with the other lords but this is a first. you gingerly make your way over to the table and start to mix together several herbs and flowers. "and thumper just call me Karl" he says with a flirtatious grin, you blush but grinding the herbs into a powder

"only if you stop calling me thumper." slowly adding some drops of oils to the mixture making a thick green salve.

"well I gotta have something to call you bunny" he say grin stretching across his face as you blush even more now

"well my name is (Y/N) ok, now stop" you say while puffing up you cheek in a pout. rushing behind him so he can no longer see your face and you can apply the salve" this is going to sting" not give him tome to proses any thing you said you rip off the bandages and start to carefully apply the salve. a shout bubbles up in his throat the second the salve touches his shoulder

"SON OF A Bitch..." he snarls" maybe a little more warning next time y/n" as soon as he growls out your name you short circuit you hand no simply resting next to his wound "y/n... y/n" he waits a couple of seconds before trying again. "y/n!" jumping a little you come back to reality " you all good back there" Karl questions

"almost done just need to finish this up, then I will apply bandages, and all you need to do is rest for a day or two" as you Finnish saying this you reach for he bandages and gently begin to properly wrap the wound "this is how you properly wrap a wound Karl" you make sure to say first his name. "go all the way around and over and around the shoulder" slowly and carefully placing the bandages showing him the movements and positions. you move around to the front of lightly wrapping his shoulder "dont go to tight when bandaging joints, it increases mobility but not lose enough to move" as you speak solely focused on you task at hand you dont see Karl staring at your face, a look of adoration on his face which he is quick to drop once you turn to him. gently patting his shoulder "now all you need is a lot of rest and a hot meal" smiling you slowly make your way over to the fire removing the teapot and hanging a medium sized cauldron over the fire. turning kettle in hand you see Karl putting on his hat and going to pull his coat on having already put his shirt on

"well thumper its been wonderful but I have to get back to my-" you cut him off taking his coat and hanging it by the door.

"oh no you don't, you need rest and real food, and not to make any assumptions but I doubt you'll get any of those in your factory" as you say this you put the chair back in its normal position swiftly going to a small spare room on the side. grabbing a thick blanket you walk to the table, and drape it over the back of the chair. patting it flat you open your arms and jester to the chair "now please have a seat food will be done shortly" you say with a smile as he just stand there slack jawed at you attempting to boss him around. slowly he take a seat and just watches as you prepare a cup of tea for you both "hear this should help with the pain" you say handing him a large mug that still looked too small in his hand. you turn and head back to the counter and start dicing us vegetables and some fish to put the cauldron.

"thank you" he mumbles quietly watching you dance about the kitchen a soft smile on his face. "so what's your story? you obviously dont like Miranda so why stay and be her little pet healer on her beck and call." Karl jests wanting to know more about you now that he has the chance with out his stupid family there

"well a long time ago I has someone I had to look out for, they needed help I could not provide it, Miranda could. So I made a deal, help her, and ill do as wish. So I comply to keep her safe and happy, if it went for her, I would have sent that false deity to her flaming grave decades ago." you finished cutting the veggies and meat depositing it in the pot, you make your way opposite of Karl at the table and take a seat. slowly sipping your tea. "now I just tend to the villagers for Miranda and visit my belladonna"

"wait who is belladonna" he askes a look of confusion overtaking his features

"my apologies, I mean donna, before Miranda adopted her and gave her her gift she was a sad and lonely child with parents too ill to save, so after her parents passing, I watched over her and loved her as my own" you say a soft smile on your face looking around the room I was the only one she let touch Anggie, she was such a kind child asking so many questions behind closed doors and always eager to learn new skills" you reminisce the old days setting your now empty cup on the table. "but now she's grown and well, and happy, so that is all that matters" you say curtly standing and heading over the the bubbling pot of stew and giving it a stir.

"so wait your telling me you the witch who raised Benevento," Karl spouts astonishment clear in his voice. "One how are you not dead yet? Two that's why you spend so much time in that spooky ass house, and three how come you aren't an old hag you dont look a day over 25?" even in shock this man some how still manages to throw in a flirt. you give a small chuckle.

"well when I struck my deal with Miranda," you make you way over to a tall cabinet and withdraw two wooden bowls and a large ladle ." donna was just become a young adult, so she new what excepting Miranda's gift would entitle, including the prolonged life." returning to the stew and scooping a hefty serving into Karl's bowl and only filling your half way. "after her parents suicided she couldn't handle the loss another parental figure, her words not mine, she refused the treatment unless Miranda changed me as well." hanging the ladle on the wall and carefully turning back to Karl and making your way to him. "I had already had my go at life and helped as many as I could so I agreed not expecting to come out alive," you say calmly sitting down in the seat acres from Karl. "unfortunately my will was to strong so hear I am now, a fail experiment serving out my end of the deal" you give a sarcastic smile and do a little jazz hands as your story comes to a close. Karl is still for moment then burst into a deep laughter, but still alarmed at your willingness to except death.

"I'm sorry bunny I dont mean to be insensitive," he attempts to suppress his chuckles. "you are really the one that raised donna?"

"yes I am I know its a little hard to believe, but yes." you say solemnly feeling a little weird everyone who knew you too be donnas nanny have long since passed.

"no no no, there ain't nothing wrong with that darlin! In fact you did fucking awesome, out of all of us monsters she has the best manners and turned out the best." he says in a panicked tone, afraid he has said something wrong.

"Karl none of you are monsters, and your ok you didn't say anything wrong" you say quickly adding " none of you are monsters! you and the other were forced into the experiments, unlike donna and I. your only a monster when you subject an enter village to a false religion just to slaughter them for her experiments under the name of a sick false family she has not love for!" you say venom and hate for that hag dripping from each word. a stern but caring look on your face as you look rights in his eyes as you say this "you aren't a monster. you where a kid with out a choice, and now you are a man surviving and your doing amazing in your situation." you cautiously grab his hand resting in the table " you are not a monster no mater who has told you that including your self" He pulls back lightly but does not remove your hand from his., allowing you to rub his knuckles.

"but I-" he starts but you dont let him continue

"nope you cant convince me other wise, I'm the village crazy witch I am all knowing and wise." you say in a cherry tone, garbing his hand with both of yours. using one to tap out a small tune on the back of his hand. that nice deep laughter made an appearance again you have to admit its nice to hear him laugh instead of ague with everyone.

"well dame bunny, can't argue with that logic now can I " A large toothy grin takes over his face little crinkles show at the corners of his eyes. shaking his head he gives a chuckle then picks up the bowl of stew and finishing what was left in the bowl in a few gulps. setting the bowl down he asks "shit that hit the spot, can I just take you home with me and have you cook for me every night that some dame good stew" he jokes. laughing a little you finish your bowl, garbing his you stand and bring them to a bucket at the end of the sink.

"no I cant come home with you every day" rinsing the plates before setting them in the bucket you continue. "but you can come over when ever the lantern on the porch is light, if its not I am either in the village with a patient, or visiting donna or Miranda, or foraging. I am a busy witch Karl, just a warning." he chuckles

"ill make a note of that expect me often that shits good." he says pointing at the pot hanging over the small flames.

"well in that case ill put some in jars so you can take it with you when you leave tomorrow" you say off handedly while making your way over to the pot fishing the leftovers out, and putting it in two large mason jars. out of the corner of your eye you see him deflate a little when you when you mention his departure tomorrow. moving over to a wall of cupboard you store the two jars "to night you can take my bed or the cot in the guest room, though I dont know if you'll fit" you say walking over to said door and opening it reveling a small room with a vanity in the back left corner to the left of the door was a small sink and counter with a basin next to it. opposite to that was a small cabinet and in the back right corner a small wooden cot about half the side of the man now standing directly behind you in the doorway. so close, when he took a deep breath you could feel his shirt brush your, and his warm breath fans across your neck. now with bright red face you make you hastily make you way to the cabinet to the right of the door and start to grab a large quilt and a pillow or two. Karl enters the room looking around taking in the new environment and casually making his way over to the cot and taking a seat. you head over to him staring at the blanket hoping that he would not see your face

"thank you, y/n you really could've just sent my packing I really appreciate it I do" he says with a soft smile resting on his scared face, 'it suites him,' you think to your self 'he should smile more.'

"well hear you go this should be think enough it gets pretty chilly in hear and I haven't fixed the heater yet so if you need more there are some in the cabinet you say gesturing to the cabinet with your head. holding the blanket and pillow out for him to take he reaches hands grazing against yours as he takes them from your hands pulling them closer"

"thanks bunny I re-" he is abruptly cut short by a sharp wine of wood under duress followed quickly by a loud snap of the cot braking a the loud thud of Karl's ass hitting the floor. "OH FUCK" Karl was now the one looking up at you. slapping a hand over your mouth to suppress the laughter about to burst from you.

"OH by the gods, are you ok" you say still trying to hold back the onslaught of giggles offering a hand for him to take

"so this is what the weather is like down here" he says jokingly as you hoist him off the ground carful of his shoulder and back. gently slapping his chest

"I'm only a little shorter than you, ya know" you say "but in light of me needing to purchase a new cot from duke, I guess you'll be sleeping in my bed tonight." he gives you a flirty look

"dame thumper if you wanted me in your bed that bad all you had to do was ask not buries my ass first" he says with a deep chuckle.

"I am not tying to get you in my bed" you say panicked face exploding with red. "I wont even be in it with you, and secondly it wasn't that far of a drop so the only thing damage was you ego and my cot obviously. now come follow me please." you say now attempting to lead him out of the room. Karl looks at you as if he was trying to figure something but soon trailing behind you like a lost puppy. you lead him through the main room down a hallway with three doors heading to the furthest down you push open the heavy wooden door. letting Karl enter first you make your way to the bed garbing your favorite pillow and a thick blanket off the bed spread "well she's all yours" you say jokingly waving your arm over the bed as a invitation dont lay on your back or shoulder" you say making your way back to the door arms now full "sleep well." and with at you turn to leave only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder.

"wait if I'm sleeping here and I just demolished your spare bed where will you be sleeping" he ask concern lacing his voice a he turn you around to face him

"well ill go clean up the old cot and then ill just use some spare blankets as a mattress for the night." you say with out a second thought.

"no no no, I will not let you do that you have done enough for me. I'll just go back to my factory and be out of your hair." your face scrunches up.

"you say that as if I am annoyed by you, but I can assure you, you do not annoy me. next I wont let you leave this hut you need to rest and I need to change those bandages as soon as you wake." you say no room for argument evident in your voice. "and if you have such an issue using my bed but I apologies its the only one, and I wont let you sleep on the floor with that wound." you with finality.

"then I guess well just have too share it. cues I will just jump through a window to go back home" he say with a laugh. you have no idea if he was joking or not. still, gazing up at his face the smirk remained "so" he asks "which will it be will you join me or and I gonna have to practice my long distance sprint." you sigh growing tired with every passing second your long day finally catching up too you. no longer having any energy to argue.

"fine" you huff out walking over to the bed where Karl was I like the right side" climbing in you take a body pillow from the back of the bed putting it in the middle " you better stay on your half of the bed old man" you say climbing back down from the bed and heading a dresser under a large window. you produce a pair of sleep thin pants and a large think white long sleeved shirt. "I need to change so ether steep out or just dont look." to tired to care at this point you look over your shoulder and see him turned away from you sitting on the left side of the bed. replacing your dirty clothe with fresh sleep pants and a oversized top. garbing a spare pair of large sleep pants and shirt before making your way back to the bed, flopping onto it comically ,while tossing the change of clothing on his side of the bed "hear you go, this should fit" he looks down at the articles of clothing.

"well thank you bunny," undoing his belt and changing his pant, completely ignoring the new shirt. "but uhhh I dont think that shirt is gonna work though" he says smirk evident in his voice.

"and why would that be-" you ask confusion clear on you face as you roll over to face him without thinking. face exploding in color as you freeze up, now staring at his bare chest brain loosing any train of thought.

"my eyes are up hear now bunny," he says with a deep chuckle "but please dont let me interrupt your staring. as for why I never sleep with one its confining" smirk never leaving his face, as he lays down on his half of the mattress. quickly you roll over

"I wasn't staring, I zoned out. Just toss the shirt on to the top of the dresser" he gives another chuckle but says nothing. pulling the thick comforter up to you chin due to the chill, reaching over you turn the knob on the lantern smothering the flame. "good night Karl sleep well" you say without a second thought closing your eyes slowly, reality fading out as you hear Karl

"goodnight thumper sleep well" a gentleness to his tone that sends the rest of the way to sleep.

word count: 5884

ps: please forgive my horrid grammar

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Satisfied, Part 32

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~~~

Marinette bit at the inside of her cheek as she walked him home. He’d argued a bit that he’d be fine, that she’d be more likely to be attacked when alone than him, but she wasn’t having it. Now, though, she wished she had just let him go, because the silence was killing her.

She wanted to ask about their near-kiss, she really did, but she couldn’t be the one to bring that up! What if she was wrong? Had it been an accident when he was trying to grab the coffee back? Was she only hoping it was flirting?

And he wasn’t mentioning it, either.

She couldn’t seem to think of much else, unfortunately, so the silence stretched on.

After what felt like years of walking they reached Wayne Manor.

She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “If you go another three weeks without talking to me I’m telling Jason.”

Tim gasped quietly and instantly the tension between them shattered. “Traitor!”

“Just be glad I’m not telling Dick how much coffee you drink when you’re with me.”

“Only because he’d think you’re a bad influence,” he argued. “If anything I’m the one keeping that secret for you.”

She grinned. “Sure, sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “See you later, bean.”

She blinked once at the nickname, then smiled as a blush fought its way onto her face. “Later,” she mumbled.

She watched his retreating back walk up the hill and then turned around to walk home.

Her skin prickled.

She was being watched. She searched the crowds for a flash of light, some hint of the paparazzi. She didn’t know if she was comforted or put on edge when she couldn’t find any.

Marinette pulled her bag closer to herself. Should she call Tim back down? Ask him to send her a car? Was she just overreacting?

She looked around for a group heading in the direction she needed to go and started walking. She turned off early to make sure she was being followed and frowned as a man in a suit followed after her.

She was only more worried as she realized she’d seen the suit before.

The girl broke into a run.

There was a curse from behind her and they picked up speed. She heard a crackling noise from behind her and he yelled something in a language she didn’t understand. She hoped it wasn’t what she thought it was.

She darted down the alley, only to find another person in a suit rounding the corner.

Great. He’d called for backup. She hated when she was right.

Her eyes flickered over the alley for anything she could use. There was a dumpster, but it wasn’t high enough for her to get to the roof. The fire escape, then?

She’d barely gotten a few rungs up before a hand locked around her ankle and twisted.

A pained cry slipped from between her lips.

She let go and dropped into waiting arms.

A burlap sack was forced over her head.

She didn’t bother to struggle as they carried her through the streets. What was she going to do even if she managed to get out of their grip? Run? Her ankle wouldn’t like that.

It was somewhat annoying that she could hear people talking, could feel them looking at her, but they weren’t actually putting in any effort to help. She had to remind herself that they were civilians, that they probably wouldn’t be of much help even if they tried, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t hurtful.

She was thrown into a chair with way more force than necessary and fought back the urge to throw a blind punch as a hand touched her wrist. They’d already shown they didn’t care if she was hurt. She didn’t want to test them. She allowed them to bind her wrists and ankles.

When the sack was finally pulled off of her she found herself in a new abandoned warehouse. How many did these people have?

Harley Quinn stepped into the light and Marinette bit the inside of her cheek anxiously. Had they figured her out? Was it just chance? She did have pretty rotten luck, this would be very like her.

“Hello, miss,” she mumbled.

The woman smiled and rested a hand on top of her head. “Hey, darlin’!”

“Is... is there a reason I’m here? Did I do something?”

“Guilty conscience?” She cooed, her blue eyes sparkling with interest.

Marinette swallowed thickly. “I guess. But, really, is there a reason or...?”

Harley raised her eyebrows slightly and then glanced around. It was here where Marinette realized it wasn’t just the two of them. Her eyes flicked to Poison Ivy and Scarecrow.

“You’ll be fine, we don’t want to hurt you,” said Poison Ivy, resting a hand on Marinette’s shoulder.

“Too late for that,” she muttered bitterly.

The Rogues all frowned and looked at each other.

“What?” Asked Scarecrow when Marinette didn’t offer any information.

Oh. Oh. They don’t know! Her eyes flicked to the two who had chased her and found them shuffling anxiously from foot to foot.

Well, if she was going to die, she might as well take some assholes down with her.

“Those two twisted my ankle when I ran from them. I think it’s sprained.”

The Rogues’ eyes flashed with anger and she felt a twinge of guilt as Scarecrow grabbed them both and dragged them away.

Poison Ivy leaned down and untied her ankles, only to wince. Wow. That must not be good. She walked away and came back with a cup of tea and some elastic bandaging.

“Here, this should help with the pain,” said Harley, untying one of her hands so she could actually drink.

Marinette smiled weakly. She really hadn’t expected things to go like this when being kidnapped, but she wasn’t complaining. She sipped at the drink and suppressed a cringe, but continued to drink. “I still don’t know why I’m here...”

“Well, we’re kinda short on money at the moment,” explained Harley.

She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from asking if it was because they kept renting out warehouses every time they saw her.

“I don’t have any money for you, I haven’t even paid off my apartment yet.”

Poison Ivy shook her head and started bandaging her ankle. “Not from you, from your friend. The Wayne... wait, your friend is as billionaire and you have an apartment?”

Her face reddened. “Hey! I could like apartments!”

“You said ‘could’, so you don’t,” Harley pointed out.

She huffed and drank her tea again. Which was more bitter: her expression or the drink? Who knows.

“Anyways, we’re holding you for ransom,” explained Poison Ivy. “We might do some makeup on you to make it look like we roughed you up a little if he takes too long, but we really had no intentions of hurting you.”

As if to prove her point, one of the men from earlier gave a guttural scream. Marinette’s eyes widened. She hadn’t heard a sound like that in ages, that kind of senseless pain and fear. What was he doing to them? She hadn’t thought much about what would happen but really they deserved --.

“STOP!”

Poison Ivy paused the bandaging of her ankle.

“I’m fine, really, it’s just a little pain. It’ll be gone in a week. Don’t...” Marinette swallowed thickly. “Don’t hurt them. Please.”

The silence was deafening. Then Harley stood up and walked off, hopefully to tell Scarecrow to stop.

Marinette reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, handing it over to Poison Ivy.

She blinked. “Why?”

The real reason was because Tikki was in her purse and she didn’t need them finding out her identity, but instead she smiled and said: “Might as well just hand it over? Get this over with?”

She frowned a little bit but started scrolling through her contacts until she found the one labelled ‘Tim Wayne’. She clicked it and held it to her ear.

“Marinette? You’re calling? What happened?” He asked, his voice panicked.

Harley walked in with Scarecrow in tow. Marinette looked around for the two she’d been chased by, but they didn’t reappear. Her voice shook as she spoke: “I’m getting held for ransom.”

“Alright, how much?”

She blinked. Oh, right, Jason had mentioned that this sometimes happened to the Waynes and their friends. She didn’t know whether it comforted or concerned her to know this was common enough for him to not really be fazed by it.

“Bean?”

She snapped out of it. “He wants to know how much money you want.”

“She’s cute, I say at least a hundred,” said Harley.

“No, that’ll take a while, I say fifty,” offered Poison Ivy.

“What about we meet in the middle and say seventy five?” Scarecrow offered, rolling his eyes.

No one argued this, so Marinette sighed. “Seventy-five thousand.”

Tim sighed softly. “Fine, where are you?”

She passed the address on and Poison Ivy hung up.

Marinette sighed as she sipped at her tea. “How long does this usually take?”

“Anywhere from an hour to two days.”

She groaned and rested her head back.

Marinette cringed as, the moment her tea was gone, they tied her hand back to her chair. She was hoping they’d forget and she could make a great escape in case it took too long.

She tipped her head back. “Fun. Wanna play cards?”

About five hours later, Tim walked in with a duffel bag over his shoulder. The four were drinking tea together over a game of poker (Marinette was glad they weren’t playing for money, because she was losing).

Everyone looked up as the door shut behind him.

“Oh, hey,” Marinette said with a tiny wave.

“Bean... did you... make friends with them? They kidnapped you!”

“I’m over it.” She cursed in French as she saw her hand. “What I’m not over is how you’re all cheating!”

“We’re not! You can’t prove it!” Said Poison Ivy, which wasn’t suspicious at all.

Marinette sighed when everyone revealed their hands. Great. She’d lost again.

The game done, Harley skipped over to Tim, holding her hand out for the money.

He didn’t smile. “Let me make sure she’s okay first.”

Scarecrow narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but with a glance from Harley he untied Marinette’s legs so she could get up.

She stretched out a bit then made to walk over to Tim --.

Ah. Her ankle. She’d forgotten about that.

She suppressed the instinct to tap twice (damn it, Red Hood--) and shifted her weight.

Tim’s eyes narrowed at the pause in her step.

“You’re hurt,” he said. His hands gripped the bag tighter.

“The two who did it were... appropriately punished,” promised Scarecrow.

This didn’t seem to make Tim feel any better.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Marinette said, smiling at him.

She limped over to him.

“Hand it over,” said Poison Ivy, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Tim nodded and dropped the bag at their feet. The three Rogues quickly darted forward to grab it and started sifting through the money.

Marinette watched her friend struggle for a minute before sighing.

“Can I pick you up?”

She blushed and nodded.

He picked her up bridal style and gave the Rogues a small nod before leaving.

“Why don’t you arrest them?” She mumbled, resting her head on his shoulder.

“It’s more complicated than that, unfortunately.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

She nodded. “I’ve dealt with worse,” she mumbled.

His face didn’t look any less grim, but he nodded.

“Sorry about the money. I’ll pay --.”

“Forget it. I had to ask my brothers for some cash to get there quickly but it’s fine.”

She blinked a few times as she processed his words. And then: “YOU HAD SEVENTY-FIVE THOUSAND ON HAND AND IVE BEEN USING YOU FOR COFFEE?!” 

~~~

Brain: I have the perfect word to describe this situation

Me: but it’s in English right

Brain: yes

Me: not some weird mix of English and Spanish you just made up

Brain: yes

Me:

Brain:

Me, after looking it up to be sure: BITCH --

~

“You set up the Timinette dynamic way too well”

i KNOW and it was an ACCIDENT

i literally have no idea when this became timinette or if it was timinette the whole time and i was blind

~

Taglist

@comet-kun @thatonecroc @trippingovermyfeet @swiftie-miraculer13 @nickristus-dreamer @moongoddesskiana @i-am-ironic @indecisive-mess-named-me @thebooki3h @insane-fangirl-of-everything @deepestobservationwombat @theymakeupfairies @fatimaabbasrizvi @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanofalittletoomuch @iamablinkmarvelarmy @nathleigh @lilkymilky @silvergold-swirl @dino-lovingreen-angel @thestressmademedoit @kissa-chan @ladybug-182 @alysrose-starchild @t1dwarrior-of-earth @spyofthenightcourt @rowanrouge @nik-nak-3 @momothefemur @aestheticnpoetic @labschaos @our-preciousss @mochinek0 @eliza-bich @mythogaychic @severelyenchantedwonderland @sashakoi @smolplantmum @bluesimani @tropestropestropes @kitsunebell @keepingupwiththemalfoys989 @sassakitty @2confused-2doanything @too0bsessedformyowngood @all-mights-asscheeks @demonicbusiness @meg-an-ace @fantasiame

<3

[buttonso]

Happy Birthday, Harvey

WELL.... it’s Winter 14, gotta do something to acknowledge it! My drawing game is garbage today, so, I thought I would post a chapter from the fic I’ve been working on since summer.  This is actually the fourth chapter, but one could read it as a standalone.  The fic itself is rated Mature on AO3, but this chapter is pure fluff and should be appropriate for teens- there are a few swear words.

14th of Winter Ascending

Standing before the floor-length mirror on the back of his bathroom door, Harvey stood up as straight as he could, puffing his chest out. Unable to sit still or relax the last several hours, he’d taken exceptional care with his clothing this evening, putting on his best suit and tie, polishing his glasses and combing his hair carefully. ~Well... do I look handsome? Manly?~ He drooped and sighed. ~Or am I just a dork in a cheap suit?~ He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for tonight.  It had all the hallmarks of a romantic date, but neither of them had stated their feelings explicitly.

He hadn’t helped himself any with his own indecision. All that concern about ethics… he was starting to wonder if that had just been his fear talking, an excuse not to put himself out on a limb, not to take a chance. Or was he now, in turn, just rationalizing away his ethics in order to try to get what he wanted?  

~And what do I want?~ he asked himself as he adjusted his tie for the umpteenth time. ~I’m not just trying to… to get in her pants.~ He blushed to even think that vulgar term. He’d be lying if he claimed to not be interested in that, but…

But, but, BUT… “I’m going to give myself a stroke if I keep thinking about this,” he said aloud, frowning at his reflection. Aura was his friend. He trusted her, and thinking about not having her in his life was just too difficult to contemplate. No matter what happened tonight, it was bound to, at least, be a pleasant evening with a dear friend. He glanced at his watch and nodded to himself.  He’d have to get going soon if he was going to make it to the farm by 6…

Just as he turned to pick up his building keys, the buzzer linked to the after-hours doorbell began to ring. He froze, listening to the harsh sound, not really registering it for a moment, then dropped his keys on the table in exasperation. Of course. OF COURSE there would be an emergency, right now. ~It had better be something damn serious,~ He thought irritably as he stomped down the stairs into the clinic, through the lobby to the front door, throwing it open with some force…

Only to find Aura standing on his doorstep, holding a large basket and looking a bit sheepish.

“Um… hey Harvey.” She looked a little disheveled, her hair escaping from what had probably once been an elegant twist at the back of her neck. Her red scarf was drooping off her shoulder and trailing in the slush on the street at her feet.  “I’ve… had some difficulties,” She said slowly, giving him a weak smile.

“Are you all right??” He exclaimed, pushing the door open wider so she could come in.

“Yeah… I’m fine except for… everything I had planned… being… completely… fucked…” She answered through gritted teeth, her forced cheerfulness fading with every word until she sounded near tears. “My piece of shit oven crapped out on me… sorry for swearing so much, I just… just…” Her shoulders started to shake and he quickly took the basket from her hands, setting it on the clinic’s front counter.

“Don’t worry about that, just… come on, let’s get you warm,” He said quickly, picking up her scarf as it finally fell off her shoulder.  “Where’s Buttercup?” Surely she hadn’t walked all the way from the farm...

“I-I walked…”

DAMN IT. He opened his mouth to scold her, but she continued to speak in a rapid, somewhat strained tone.

“…Buttercup threw a shoe earlier today… I took her to Marnie’s but she said the farrier couldn’t come until Tuesday… didn’t want to risk laming her.. that wasn’t even the first thing to go wrong today. First thing this morning Murphy brought in a… I don’t even know what it was, I swear it was the size of a raccoon… but he dropped it on me in bed and the fucking thing was still alive…  Then I dropped a preserve jar in the kitchen and the goddamn thing EXPLODED, I had cranberry jelly all over my kitchen AND ME, it was even in my hair…I swear, I’m going to start taking that bullshit fortuneteller on TV seriously, you know, she said it was a bad luck day when I got my ass kicked in the mines, too…”

“Why didn’t you just call and cancel?!” Harvey interrupted, aghast, as he pulled the door closed behind them. He tried to take her coat, but she waved him off.

“No way… I wasn’t going to leave you in the lurch on your birthday,” She said stubbornly. “So... I improvised.” She gestured impatiently at the basket on the counter while Harvey made a second attempt at taking her coat.  She evaded him, pacing the length of the counter and back.

“Aura, how do you think I’d feel if you… if you broke your ankle and fell into some snowbank and died of hypothermia or something?!” He asked crossly.

“I imagine you would resurrect me just so you could yell at me,” She sniffed and shrugged out of her coat, tossing it onto the counter.

She wore a simple long-sleeved red and black striped sweater-dress that hugged her body to just above her knees, with black leggings and little in the way of jewelry besides a silver chain that rested in the hollow of her throat.  On her feet she wore black boots, laced tightly to mid-calf. The outfit was so simple, but it looked amazing on her. He knew he was staring… and that he should stop… or at least say something…

“So…” Aura’s cheeks, already pink from the cold outside, flushed a bit brighter as she moved jerkily towards the basket on the counter. “I think… there’s something we should get out of the way, before this evening goes any further.”

“Oh…?” Harvey’s breath caught in his throat, and he had the curious sensation of standing on a precipice.

Aura’s hands trembled slightly as she opened the flaps at the top of the basket and reached inside, slowly drawing out… a bouquet? A sweet-smelling mass of purple, blue, silver and white. Purple and white crocus blooms were interwoven with bright blue crystal fruits and white snow yams, the whole thing secured with a wide dark-blue ribbon. She held it out towards him, her expression shy.

His heart skipped a beat.

Could it be…?

“I’ve been told that people around here declare… feelings… that is, romantic feelings… with a bouquet. I wasn’t sure at first… I mean, most places I’ve lived, people don’t really do flowers at all, let alone women giving them to men, but… I asked Marnie if it was true and she said it was.”

“You… talked to Marnie about this?” Harvey asked, his mouth going dry.

“Yeah. After I went home from the clinic,” She replied.  “Well… I knew if I bought a bouquet at Pierre’s, the whole town would know about it before… before the person I wanted to give it to. And it’s not like I didn’t have time to kill over the last week…”

“…I see…” The leaves shivered as his hands closed over hers. Her hands were trembling as much as his were.

“Harvey… I think it’s pretty obvious even without these flowers… how I feel about you. But, just in case it’s not, well… here they are.” Her silver eyes held his. “For awhile now I’ve felt like… like we’re holding ourselves back.  I don’t want to hold myself back anymore. But if you don’t want it, then... then we’ll say no more about it, ok?”

She tried to pull back, but Harvey’s hands reflexively tightened around hers.  He couldn’t speak, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go either.

“…Harvey?” She tilted her head slightly. “…Are you OK?” A thousand emotions and thoughts were clamoring in his mind, making it hard to focus.  This was everything he’d wanted for so long… he’d told himself, over and over, that it was wrong to wish, to hope, wrong to want her. The excuses varied from day to day, moment to moment. Either he wasn’t good enough for her because she deserved someone more handsome, or someone braver, or someone stronger… whatever way he felt inadequate that particular day. If it wasn’t that, then he told himself it would be ethically wrong, to hit on her while she was his patient… but it was all a way to keep a greater heartache at bay.

“Harvey, please… either reject me or…or don’t…” She whispered. Her silver eyes were shadowed with vulnerability.  He’d dreamed of her for so long… could he really hurt her now?

“Aura, I…” He cleared his throat. “…I’m not strong enough…”

“Oh, DAMN IT, Harvey…” She stomped her foot in frustration, but before she could say anything else, he pulled her to him, crushing the lovely bouquet between them. Purple petals scattered around them as he wrapped one arm around her, holding her against him, finally holding her like he’d wanted to for months, practically from the moment they met. They each still had one hand on the bouquet, now squished awkwardly between them, and Aura’s spare hand clutched at his shirt.

“I was going to say… I’m not strong enough… to pretend like this isn’t exactly what I wanted,” He said in a shaky voice. “I kept coming up with excuses as to why I couldn’t be with you… because I was so afraid…”

“Harvey…” She squeaked. “Ribs…”

“Oh…” another flurry of purple petals as he released her, his hands going to her side, anxiously probing her ribcage while she continued to awkwardly held the smashed bouquet at arm’s length.

“Harvey….Harvey.” Her free hand batted at his shoulder. “Trying to feel me up when you haven’t even kissed me yet?” A bit of her usual dry humor was back in her voice, though with a bit of a tremble to it. When he looked up, her silver gaze captured him again, and she smiled, brushing her fingers across his cheek, then trailing enticingly over his lips. “You have beautiful eyes, you know,” She told him softly. “Lovely hazel green…It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”

Harvey wasn’t sure if he kissed her, or she him, but it seemed as if every nerve in his body came to life when her lips pressed to his, a deep thrill running up his spine and making him shiver all over. There was a soft rustle as she finally dropped the bouquet and wound her arms around his neck, pressing her chest into his. When they parted, they were both a little breathless, and he felt himself smiling so broadly it almost hurt.

“I guess… I’ll just have to take the bus to the city when I have the sniffles,” She said archly, resting her forehead against his. “Since you’re so hung up about having to be my doctor…”

“Aura….” There were so many things he wanted to say, that it was her eyes that had drawn him in at the beginning, that he’d dreamed of this moment for so long…

…That there were so many things he was still afraid of…

“Just… just don’t ever let yourself get hurt like that again… my heart can’t take it…” He finally answered, shaking his head and hugging her as tightly as he dared to. “Thinking I’d lost you… I’d never been so miserable…”

Aura let him hold her for another long moment, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’ll do my best… it’s not like I enjoyed having a brush with death,” she answered, voice muffled. Then she gave him another, lighter kiss, this time on his cheek. “Happy birthday, Harvey. I may not have been able to make the dinner I had planned, but I brought leftovers from yesterday and I just thought, well…. We could just be together for a little while?”

“I didn’t think this birthday could get any better…”  Harvey said as they stepped away from each other, hands tightly linked.  He looked down in regret at the pile of blue and purple petals scattered on the floor around them. “I’m so sorry about that though… it was so beautiful, it really was..”

“Maybe I’ll make you another next year…” She said as they both knelt to scoop up the fallen flora.  She fished out a crocus that had survived the tumble to the floor, still intact, turning it slowly in her fingers, then absently tucked it behind her ear. “Save these, though, the crystal fruit make for pretty decent wine. Waste not, want not.”

Harvey caught her hands again, turning them over to admire her long, strong fingers, tracing the callouses on her palms before tugging her to her feet. “Come on.. let’s just worry about the mess later. You’re probably starving.”

“But we can just…” She began, then shrugged. “OK, birthday boy… you’re the boss.”

In that moment, it seemed the light in her smile would keep him warm for the rest of the winter.

____

If you are interested in reading more, it can be found here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158031/chapters/60962605

[lostinbl]

A bad night | Tutor x Fighter | Why R U

So… @occasionally-writing literally asked for “something close to hurt/comfort and filled with fluff” but my brain short-circuited and you only got hurt/comfort with a little fluff ? I swear it was not supposed to be this sad but somehow I just… went there ??? I’m sorry please suffer I mean enjoy asdfgfdsa

—

Tutor does not cry. Tutor did not cry when his family lost their wealth, he did not cry when he lost his job at the café nor did he cry when one by one all his students left him and he was faced with the realisation that he could soon be without a roof over his head. He did not cry when he twisted his ankle or when he broke his finger. In short, Tutor does not cry.

And yet, no matter how much he tells himself that, no matter how many times he repeats that sentence over and over, he can’t stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. If he were to tell the reason why he’s crying to anyone, they would surely think it’s reasonable and that they would too, and yet Tutor feels as though he lost a game he didn’t know he was taking a part in.

He should’ve seen it coming. Nothing ever goes right this long. He got a new job with higher pay, he aced all his exams and his relationships with people got better. Fighter became a little less annoying, Hwahwa was happier and Day.. Well, Day was Day.

And then he got a word that his father’s friend screwed him over and the business he and Tutor’s mother had tried so hard to build was in jeopardy. Tutor is sad for them and sad for himself and angry at the entire world. And his anger makes him even more sad because who is he to complain when there are so many people suffering far worse than he has. In his messy state, his body finally betrayed him by opting for the one thing that would not most certainly help anyone: crying.

Tutor’s sitting on the street, the asphalt cold under his bottom and the carbage smelly on the other side of the road. It’s dark already, it has been for far longer than Tutor realised. He’s not sure how long he has been sitting on the ground crying. To his luck, it’s Thursday and not a weekend. Only a few people have passed by. Tutor only managed to walk two blocks from the convenience store he works at before he collapsed in the more secluded area of the neighborhood. Tutor, however, knew the area to be safe, filled with working people and their families and hence he was not worried. Not that it really mattered in the state he’s in. Even if he was scared, he’s not sure he could get up any faster. Tutor is convinced even a little kid could rob him now if they wanted to. Not that he has anything to rob though. How truly pathetic.

More tears fall down Tutor’s face. He doesn’t wipe them away. He did at first when he had not yet completely given up but after his legs gave out and the tears didn’t stop he let them fall down and make his cheeks itchy. Tutor looks at the street with his blurry eyes, for the first time completely lost. Before, no matter what, he always had a plan. When he lost his job, he started to look for a new one. When he lost his students, he looked for another job. But now? What was there to do? No matter how hard Tutor worked the money was not enough. It was not enough for him so how could it be for his family? Tutor presses his face against his arms as he leans on his knees. He knows he should get up and he will. Soon.

-

Fighter is walking down the street, keeping his eye out for anyone familiar. He knows it’s far-fetched to find Tutor here but there’s no harm in trying. Two hours ago, Hwahwa called him in panic, pleading for him to go out and find Tutor. His shift at the shop ended at 6 PM and he had promised to meet Hwa in the café near his house. When an hour later he had not arrived and was out of reach, she got worried. She knows her best friend better than anyone in the world and she knows, she just knows that Tutor would never disappear like that. She went to his dorm, but he wasn’t there and that’s when she called Fighter for help. And Fighter, of course, agreed to help. Fighter was still in the university when she called and decided to look for him there first, just in case something suddenly came up and he had to go back. After Fighter didn’t find him, he went into the shop Tutor is working in and was told that the boy left work at 6, just like he’s supposed to. So, why is he not home yet?

Fighter doesn’t let himself get too worked up. He walks the streets slowly, looking into every alley on the way to Tutor’s house. If something serious happened he doubts Tutor would still be in this area, but if he got beaten up? Someone might’ve hidden him into the alley and ran away. Fighter hopes not but he still looks behind the dumpsters.

A few minutes later Fighter sees someone and his stomach drops. A person is sitting on the side of the street curled into a ball. The moment Fighter lays his eyes on him, he knows it’s Tutor. He doesn’t need to see his face or recognise his clothes, he knows it’s him. Fighter sprints forward and with six steps he reaches the boy. He crouches down and gently places his hand on Tutor’s shoulder. Tutor flinches and lifts his head, his eyes wide. Fighter wants to flinch too. He has never seen Tutor like this, and Fighter would bet all his money that no one else has either. Tutor’s eyes are red and puffy, his cheeks wet with tears and his skin so irritated his entire face is red. Tutor’s hair is a mess and he’s sweating from the humidity of the night.

“P’ Fight”, Tutor greets his senior. His voice cracks and more tears fall down his face. Fighter’s sure a part of his heart breaks off and withers away. Someone as beautiful as Tutor should not cry. “Shit”, Fighter curses and he gets closer. He cups Tutor’s face and wipes away his tears. “Stop crying okay? Look at your face, your poor skin”, Fighter scolds gently and Tutor sniffs. Fighters warm hands on his cheeks burn against his irritated skin. And yet Tutor doesn’t wish him to get off. With a lot less effort than Tutor thought it would take, he takes a deep breath and stops crying. Fighter smiles but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s better. Can you get up?” Fighter asks as he pulls back, giving Tutor the space he needs to attempt what he was asked. In the end, that’s all it is, an attempt. Tutor can not stand up. “Huh”, Tutor lets out as he looks down at his legs. He must’ve been sitting here for too long. Fighter rolls his eyes. “You’re such a baby”, he mumbles as he turns his back towards the younger guy. Tutor is sure he’s going to walk away but instead, Fighter crouches down and takes a hold of Tutor’s hands. He drags his arms over his shoulder and before Tutor has any time to protest, Fighter lifts himself up with Tutor on his back. On a reflex Tutor tightens his arms around Fighter’s neck as he finds himself moving. “Put me down! I can walk!” Tutor curses at the older boy but Fighter ignores him. He starts walking towards Tutor’s dormitory. “P’ Fight! Put me down!” Tutor tells him again, his voice slowly becoming more and more clear. Fighter rolls his eyes and with a quick jump positions Tutor better on his back. “Stop nagging. If I let you down now you won’t be able to get back on your own. Hwahwa will kill me if I leave you out here”, Fighter complains. He’s annoyingly aware that what he’s saying is only half the truth. Tutor fights back again but Fighter shuts him up with a quick shh as he answers his phone. “Hello? Yea, just found him… No need, we’re on our way back… yea he’s okay… he didn’t drink enough and was a little weak…. no, don’t worry, I’ll handle it… yes, I promise… okay… bye”, Fighter ends the call. Even without hearing the other end of the line, Tutor is pretty sure it was Hwahwa and that Fighter just saved his ass with his lies. He feels a little warmth in his heart. It feels refreshing after all the pain. Tutor decides to shut up and let Fighter carry him back. He’s already being a big nuisance after all.

-

Back at the dorm Tutor takes a hot shower and eats the instant porridge Fighter prepares for him. He doesn’t necessarily want Fighter to be the one to take care of him but there’s not much he can say. Fighter found him and brought him back and, well, truthfully, Tutor is in no position to take care of himself. After he crawls under covers, he turns his eyes to the boy in his room.

“You can sleep. I’ll clean this up and then go. I’ll make sure the door is locked”, Fighter says as he picks up the empty bowl. Tutor doesn’t turn his eyes away. Fighter ignores his stare as he continues cleaning up.

It’s.. awkward. Very awkward.

Even though the two of them have not been fighting or getting on each other’s nerves as much, they can’t be called friends. A few more months and they might get there but not right now. That and the kiss.. Fighter can’t say he regrets it for he has wanted to kiss the boy ever since the first day he saw him, but admittedly it was stupid and rash. Still, Tutor got over it. A few weeks of nasty looks and he was done with his grudge. After that Fighter paid extra attention to keeping his mouth shut even when every fibre of his being was shouting at him to say something stupid, and with few weeks of absence from mean comments, Tutor was a little nicer towards him. And Fighter’s need to say stupid shit is no longer as strong as it was before. All in all, it’s an improvement.

Fighter turns around finally done with cleaning just to see Tutor in the bed with his eyes closed. Fighter lets out a sigh and smiles. He turns off the ceiling lamp, walking over to Tutor’s bed. He stands next to the bed for a little while, looking at Tutor’s sleeping face. It’s creepy, he knows but he doesn’t care. Once he can’t excuse his own behaviour anymore, Fighter reaches over for the light still burning next to Tutor’s bed. He turns the lamp off and retreats back. He gives Tutor one more look with a heavy heart and turns around. A firm hand wraps around his wrist. Fighter freezes and turns his head.

“P’ Fight.. please stay?” Tutor’s request is barely audible. Fighter doubts he’s even awake anymore. “You want me to stay?” Fighter asks just to make sure. The last thing he needs is Tutor waking up in the morning and kicking him off the bed in anger. Tutor doesn’t answer, he just tightens his hold and pulls Fighter a little closer. With a resigned sigh, Fighter follows the hand. Tutor moves over, making space for Fighter and after a lot of hesitation, he crawls under the covers. At first, he was planning on sleeping on top of it but seeing how much the a/c is blowing, he would most likely freeze.

Fighter lays his head on the pillow, stiff with tension. At the start of his day, he never imagined he would end it in someone else’s bed. Definitely not in Tutor’s. The two of them stay quiet for a long time. Just when Fighter thinks Tutor has fallen asleep, the younger boy opens his mouth.

“Just for tonight.. with no attachment and the promise to never talk about it again… can you hug me?” Tutor asks quietly, his voice shaking. Fighter turns his head. Tutor is already looking at him and their eyes meet. Fighter searches Tutor’s eyes for any malicious intent but he sees none. There’s nothing but pain in his eyes. Well, then. Fighter nods and opens his arms. Tutor moves closer, wrapping his left arm firmly around Fighter’s body as he presses his face against Fighter’s neck. Fighter wraps his arms around Tutor’s body. For a big guy like him, he fits into Fighters arms almost too perfectly. So perfectly that it makes Fighter not want to let go. Tutor breaths in Fighter’s scent and closes his eyes. It is still a mystery to him, how a man he thought he hated can bring him so much comfort. And yet here he is getting his pain hugged away by a pair of arms he thought he would never have around him. And surprisingly, he does not want to ever remove himself from those arms. Knowing he still has several hours until the morning comes and he has to face the world again, Tutor closes his eyes. In the morning he might be in pain again, but for now, he’ll let the comfort of these arms be his lullaby.

[artificialqueens]

Nostalgia, Part 3 (Rujubee) - Dartmouth420

nostalgia is a series that follows the re-ignition of raven/jujubee’s friendship (with benefits) while jujubee competes on all stars five and raven is working on set. there will be one chapter for every episode of AS5 where jujubee appears. drag names used with male pronouns.

summary: Jujubee’s coming off the thrill of the challenge win and the lip-sync battle. But jealousy is a double-edged sword… and bad habits are hard to break.

tw: smut, dom/sub dynamics, mild degrading language, mild jealousy

a/n: i’m enjoying the heck out of AS5 and i hope y'all are too.

Jujubee was very pleased with his performance in the challenge. Designing and presenting the hotel room had been surprisingly fun and despite his early misgivings, India and Alexis had been great to work with. Jujubee was confident, he’d been funny, coherent, and had delivered exactly as he’d intended. One hundred percent pure Laotian gold sheets indeed.

Raven hadn’t been around much and Jujubee hadn’t sought him out.

“Girl,” said Mariah, in that patient, knowing drawl of his as they painted their faces in the mirror in preparation for the runway and the judging, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Do you now?” responded Jujubee, carefully covering his mild panic. Not that there was anything to panic about but he had technically broken an important rule…

“Don’t you look at me like that, I ain’t a snitch!” laughed Mariah, “But I noticed that hickie. Maybe next time I’m feeling the stress of the competition I’ll go see for myself if darling Raven is around. I’ve got good memories of that mouth.”

“Since when?” responded Jujubee. He hadn’t realized the two of them had ever been involved, though hook-ups were certainly common among the community.

“We’ve both been around for a while,” said Mariah, with a knowing shrug, “We’ve both been getting around for a while.”

“Damn, who hasn’t he let fuck him?” joked Jujubee lightly, but slight jealousy was twisting in his stomach. He couldn’t deny Raven’s reputation. Though Jujubee had vaguely hoped he had the other man to himself, at least if their on-set shenanigans were going to continue.

“Out of the old generation? That list is short. From what I’ve heard he and Raja are working through the younger ones, too… just ask baby Naomi.”

Jujubee chuckled and he and Mariah returned to the task at hand. 

-

Jujubee won the fucking challenge! 

He couldn’t help letting a few tears escape his eyes as the pride and relief overflowed. It was a lot. And then the damn Untucked was a lot, too. Connecting with Mayhem and Blair was great, but emotional as hell. Nerves and anticipation were creeping up for what was to come next.

He spoke with everyone, changed into his leopard-print catsuit, picked out his damn lipstick and then before Jujubee knew it he was standing on the runway, and Ru was shouting “Ru-veal yourself!”

Jujubee turned, heart in his throat as he stared at the screen and the assassin contained behind it. Jujubee’s prediction from the other week in the bathroom with Raven returned to him, and his heart pounded in anticipation. Was it Raven behind that screen? Production would never be able to wrangle it, there was no way, but-

The screen rolled up and Jujubee saw soft orange velvet ankle-boots and while they were lovely shoes Raven would never wear something like that in a million years. As the screen rose Jujubee forced Raven to leave his mind as he focused on the task at hand, which was going to be beating Monét-motherfucking-X-Change in a lip-sync battle, to a Lizzo song.

All Stars Five was hard, damn it.

Monét gave an amazing performance, and Jujubee did his best but the emotion of the day left him a bit thrown off. Jujubee was disappointed with the loss, he could admit that. Somewhere in back of his mind he knew if he had been lip-syncing against Raven he could have beaten him, and felt ever-so-slightly cheated that his prediction hadn’t come true. Oh well, it was water under the bridge. 

Then there was the matter of sending Mariah home which was way more fucking tragic than anyone including Jujubee had been ready for. 

“Good luck, girl,” whispered Mariah in Jujubee’s ear as they hugged and he left the runway, “And have fun.”

-

When Jujubee finally, finally got back to the hotel after a very long day, he walked down the hall to his room and noticed a figure leaning against the wall next to his door, one arm tucked under the opposite elbow, eyes down on his phone.

It was of course, Raven, looking like a tall drink of… chaotic whore. But what else was new? Jujubee approached, quiet, waiting for Raven to notice him. 

“Hey bitch!” said Raven when he looked up, a grin his face, “I heard a rumour that you won the challenge today.”

“Mm-hmm,” replied Jujubee, self-satisfied, sliding his hotel key into the slot and then opening the door. The day had been an emotional roller coaster, full of highs and lows. He was dead tired on his feet. 

Raven followed him inside without needing to be asked and said, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, fuck I needed a win.”

“I know, you deserve it. It’s been a long time coming.”

Jujubee tossed his day bag onto the chair, and laughed, “I thought it was gonna be you behind that screen. Bitch I was like ooh shit we just talked about it last week and now I’ve won? Hope he’s ready… ”

Raven put his phone down on the table, “I wasn’t lying to you when I said I’m not an assassin-”

“Jury’s still out on that, I can’t trust anyone.”

Raven laughed, and Jujubee gave him a suspicious side-eye that was mostly for show. Mostly.

“Monét destroyed you.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘destroyed’,” replied Jujubee, mildly insulted. He thought he’d held his own pretty well in the lip-sync, but the disappointment that it wasn’t Raven had thrown him off… 

“Kicked your ass, cut you to pieces, sliced and diced,” continued Raven, stepping closer to him.

“Shut up.”

“No, I live to give you a hard time,” said Raven, passing by Jujubee and making his way over to stand next to the end of the bed, “One more bitch down, huh?”

Jujubee took a moment. Raven was posed awkwardly, looking down at the bed with his arms crossed, avoiding eye contact. Jujubee cocked his head to one side, and considered his response. He was pretty damn tired tonight but elation and pride were still tingling under his skin. He had just won, after all. And curiosity was pulling at him.

“Did you get a chance to say goodbye to Mariah?” asked Jujubee, casually, reaching for the water bottle he’d left out on the table.

“Yeah, I saw him afterwards. You know how emotional the eliminations are. We, uh, talked,” said Raven quickly. Jujubee recalled his earlier conversation with Mariah, noted Raven’s avoidance of eye contact and presumed something must have happened. But it seemed odd that Raven wouldn’t brag about it.

“Did he say anything interesting?” asked Jujubee.

“Interesting?”

Jujubee shrugged and took a drink of water. All he could picture was Raven’s mouth around his cock the first week in the supply closet, how good it had felt and whether Raven had done the same thing for Mariah. Jujubee was certain that he had, but there was no rational reason to feel jealous. Both he and Raven were in serious, if open, relationships and fucked all kinds of people on tour and in the ins and outs of their lives. This wasn’t anything special. 

“Anyway,” said Jujubee, putting his water bottle down. He decided to be straightforward. “It’s been a long day girl, what do you want from me?

“Oh, well,” Raven practically purred, an absolutely salacious expression appearing on his face that caused a tight thrill to swoop in Jujubee’s stomach, “You won today. I’m here so you can claim your reward.”

Ah, of course. I’ll let you fuck me if you win. Jujubee had assumed Raven meant the crown, not just a main challenge. Perhaps Raven was using it as an excuse, and he was more interested in keeping this thing going between them than Jujubee had realized. What exactly were they to each other?

“I don’t have the energy to top you tonight, I’m exhausted,” said Jujubee, crossing his arms.

Raven’s mouth fell open for a second, and then he closed it, and he shifted, still standing by the bed.

“Okay, but like, I prepped and everything-”

“Wow. Someone’s entitled.”

“Fuck off.”

“I don’t think I will bitch, this is my room.”

Raven let out an annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes. Jujubee felt a kind of calculating power, because there was something so fun about fucking with Raven. It was easy. It was almost as much fun as actually fucking him.

“Sit down,” ordered Jujubee and there was an instant change in the air, and to Raven’s expression. But Raven didn’t obey immediately, he waited, drawing out the moment. And then Raven sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Jujubee expectantly.

Jujubee approached him. There it was, the thrill of the power exchange that occurred so smoothly between them every time. 

“Keep your mouth shut,” said Jujubee. “I don’t want to hear your whining.”

Raven bit his lip and nodded.

“Take your pants off.”

Raven unbuckled his belt and undid his fly and lifted his hips, sliding his jeans to his ankles and taking them off his feet. Jujubee just stood and watched, and then brought his hand up and examined his nails, performing indifference. Raven huffed and removed his underwear as well. He was already hard. Well that was certainly fun, considered Jujubee, allowing an approving smile to appear on his face.

He approached, closing the distance between them and took Raven’s face in his hands. Tilting his head back and kissing him. Raven responded, hands going to Jujubee’s back. Jujubee broke the kiss and stepped back out of his reach. “Don’t touch." 

Raven looked disappointed but he didn’t say anything, doing as he was told. A jolt of excitement shot down Jujubee’s spine.

Jujubee decided he might as well cut to the chase.

"Open your legs.”

Raven obeyed. Jujubee stepped froward and dropped to his knees, hands on Raven’s overly-tanned thighs and regarded his cock for a moment. Raven was still, practically holding his breath.

Jujubee dipped his head and took Raven’s cock in his mouth and felt the other man practically shudder at the sensation. Jujubee went to work with his hand and his mouth, and while he didn’t fall over himself to suck cock at any given moment the way Raven did, he’d been doing this a pretty damn long time and he was pretty damn good at it too.

“Mm, fuck… ” murmured Raven.

Jujubee pulled back instantly, digging his nails into Raven’s inner thigh. Raven hissed at the pain, and Jujubee grabbed him by the chin with his opposite hand. 

“Did I say you could talk?”

Raven shook his head, a smirk growing on his face. Jujubee held eye contact until Raven looked away and pressed his lips together, pouting, submissive.

“Keep your mouth shut you little slut, and maybe I’ll let you finish.”

Jujubee wasn’t entirely sure where that had come from, because he really hadn’t been planning for things to get this intense. But Raven inhaled sharply, and his cock twitched and he obediently remained silent, so Jujubee returned to his task. 

They really shouldn’t let this become a habit, considered Jujubee as he sucked on the head of Raven’s cock and Raven let out a heavy breath. Warm nostalgia rose in Jujubee’s chest.

During All Stars One there had been part of the Untucked that had remained unaired, during the heavily staged Fuck, Marry, Kill conversation. Raven had just infamously and hungrily told Manila, “I would actually fuck you.” But what Raven had said next, in response to Jujubee’s name coming up had been to simply give him a wink and say, “Been there, done that. Marry.”

They hadn’t done anything yet, of course. Raven had been holding off on him since Season Two. It had only made the tension between them higher, much to Jujubee’s frustration. Jujubee’s response to Raven’s name had been, of course, “Fuck. Baby, I’ll make sure you can’t walk the next day.”

And he had.

Jujubee snapped back to the present, because it seemed like Raven was going to come soon. Raven had fallen back to his elbows, his breath shallow, and a flush was beginning to creep up his neck to his face. They really weren’t supposed to be doing this. The stakes were too high and Jujubee wasn’t exactly sure where Raven would fall under the ‘no conjugal visits’ rule, should anyone find out.

But anyway, Raven finished, staying obediently silent and keeping his hands off Jujubee as ordered. There was a certain satisfaction to it. Jujubee efficiently spat into a tissue and tossed it into the wastebasket in one swift movement. Raven lay back on the bed with a lazy hum, rolling onto his side. 

Jujubee didn’t have anything better to do so he flopped down next to him, propping himself up on his elbow. 

“You can talk now,” said Jujubee dryly.

“Mmm, permission received.”

There was silence for a moment. Jujubee considered whether he wanted to go to the effort of having Raven give him a handjob or something and then decided against it. He was dead tired. Sleep was looking attractive.

“You know you could be getting laid plenty this season, if you want it,” said Raven, seemingly out of the blue.

“What makes you say that?” asked Jujubee.

“That short bitch Cracker wants you, it’s obvious,” stated Raven with feigned nonchalance, rolling onto his back, tucking his arm under his head, “You going to fuck him?”

“Perhaps,” replied Jujubee, delicately touching his collarbone, giving Raven a smirk, “Are you jealous, bitch?”

“No,” said Raven, rolling his eyes, “You can do what and who you want, obviously.”

But Jujubee knew him well enough to read his body language, to see the set of Raven’s jaw and the tension in his shoulders. Raven was such a brat, and he was clearly feeling insecure about being left behind for someone younger and more fun. Oh, sweetie. 

“Well, now that I know such a great place to fuck people on set-” began Jujubee.

“Hey, no, that’s my spot!”

“Who else are you possibly fucking at work?” joked Jujubee, a vision of Mariah flashing before him.

“Eh, there was this twink PA I liked but he’s working somewhere else now, so-”

How intriguing. Ah, Jujubee could certainly pursue Cracker if he wanted to, the man wasn’t unattractive, but playing with Raven’s ridiculous emotions would probably be more fun. It wasn’t that Jujubee wanted to actually hurt him by any means, but Raven could be so dramatic and self-centred that there was a certain satisfaction to winding him up.

“So it’s just me?” teased Jujubee, pushing his luck.

“Do you think you’ll fuck Cracker?” responded Raven, dodging the question.

“Hmmm… I could.”

“But will you-”

“I don’t know yet, bitch!” laughed Jujubee, “I need to focus on winning. We probably shouldn’t even be doing this, it’s a distraction.”

“No it isn’t,” said Raven, a sly smile growing across his face, “This is what they call emotional support." 

The two of them laughed and Jujubee rolled his eyes, "You’re so stupid.”

“You like it.”

“To a point.”

Raven shrugged and then yawned, “Well I better go, I have to drive home.” He looked down at himself, amused, “Ha. I’m still naked.”

Jujubee admired Raven’s ass as he got up and pulled his underwear and jeans back on, heaving a deep sigh.

“Bye bitch,” called Jujubee, as Raven got his phone and left with a casual wave of his hand. The door shut behind him, and Jujubee blinked, the exhaustion of the day crashing back down on him. He got up and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

Tomorrow would be another challenge, and in all likelihood another twist. But whatever, Jujubee was ready. Bring it on, All Stars Five. 

[casualpaladin31]

Second Chance (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Requested: No 

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence and mild language. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Beginning(n): late 12c., "time when something begins;" c. 1200, "initial stage or first part," verbal noun from begin. Meaning "act of starting something" is from early 13c. 

Beginning. From where I stand right now, the beginning seems so much more tame than what I know now. Spencer would usually tell me some sort of fact associated with the ‘beginning of the world’ if he were here right now. But he’s not. If only foresight were real. And I had it’s full power of never saying what I did. Never pushing him away. But I guess hindsight isn’t 20-20. And words can’t be taken back.  

~~~

April 12. Seems like a regular day to anybody. But not to me. Not to Spencer. He and I have been in what feels like an endless storm of arguments since Christmas. He and I had always been each other’s rock. Our anchor with how stressful our jobs are. I was there for him when the cases got rough and he was my shoulder when a case got way too personal. We just fit. That is, if you didn’t count the small little quirks in our relationship. One of which being my tendency to be like Morgan and jump into situations without too much thinking.  

I won’t lie; he absolutely hates it. Case in point: 

“Spence, come on, I can walk on my own now. The swelling’s gone down.” I complained, groaning at my tall and lanky boyfriend who was currently forbidding me from standing up from bed. So, maybe I might have gotten my ankles fractured and twisted by an unsub when I had tackled him prematurely and he and I went tumbling into traffic. No biggie. Other than the fact that one of the BAU’s SUVs ran over my ankles. Hotch didn’t see me. I don’t blame him. 

Spencer rolled his eyes as he pushed me back into bed as I tried for the fifth time that morning to get up to go to the damn kitchen and eat something. “The doctor said you need three weeks of bed rest. It hasn’t even been two yet.” Spencer reasoned, tucking me into the covers of our shared bed before I could protest. 

“Spence, I’ll be fine going to the kitchen. It’s not that far away.” I tried again, sitting up from the bed and pulling covers off of my body. “I promise I’m fine.” 

Spencer shook his head and gripped my hands, trying to lay me back down. “Actually there is plenty of space between here and the kitchen, Y/N. The inflammation and swelling process is to remove the damaged tissue from your fractures. Your ankles can’t heal until you let the swelling complete its course. This wouldn’t have happened if you had just waited for me.” Spencer sighed again, the end of his words having a bit of a jabbing tone that sparked a sharp ache in my chest. 

“What?” I asked, with half a laugh and half disbelief. “Are you serious right now? After all the things you’ve done without orders? Don’t make me list them, Spencer.” I hissed, half pissed that Spencer would even bring this part up. Sure, Hotch had given me a few weeks off due to my injuries, and I had gotten a case of major cabin fever since that included bed rest from the doctor. But that seemed to be forgiven by everyone. I still got calls from Penelope every few days to check on me for the rest of the team. But I guess this was still an issue. Even after we already had this argument. 

Spencer grunted as he stood up straight again, seemingly towering over me in all of his 6’1 glory. He may be making me mad right now, but he was still my tree. And I his squirrel. If that makes any sense. 

“Don’t start this please, I don’t want to argue with you on this.” Spencer tries, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

I gritted my teeth and scoffed. “Then why bring it up? Especially the way you did? Why, Spencer? Why? Cause I’m itching to know.” I instigate. Not the best move on my part. As Spencer’s eyes flickered with anger. It was clear he really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. But he should’ve thought about that. 

“Y/N do you really have to do this? Can’t we have one day without an argument?” Spencer huffed, running a tired hand through his hair. I roll my eyes in anger and I plant my feet against the hardwood. 

“You started this Spencer, not me. I just want to know what the hell you meant by what you said.” I retort, trying to reel back my anger. This argument wasn’t going anywhere. We hadn’t been communicating. It didn’t take a profiler to see that. And it seemed all that miscommunication was coming back to bite us in the ass. 

“You want to know what I meant? I’m tired of you throwing yourself into danger like that. Morgan does it, yes, but that does not mean that you should follow in his footsteps, Y/N.” Spencer says in a half accusatory tone and half calm. How the hell does he stay so calm when we argue? Even when I know he’s angry? 

“Oh, so Morgan does it better than me or something? If it’s so bad, Spencer, then go scold Morgan too why don’t you? Maybe you’ll actually get somewhere with him.” I jab at Spencer, instantly regretting my comment. 

Spencer is grunting with anger as he tries to formulate a response. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Y/N! All these arguments? They never end well for either of us! If you hadn’t been so reckless maybe we wouldn’t have to be having this argument!” Spencer finally quips back at me. I widen my eyes and I furrow my eyebrows after a few moments. I open my mouth to respond before Spencer leaves the room, shutting the door a bit harshly as he does. 

I scowl and scoff as I unwillingly roll back over into bed. I was so done with this constant arguing. What had happened to that spark we used to have? That perfect routine where everything just fit? 

After a few minutes of sulking in my own anger I sigh. This was ridiculous wasn’t it? Sure. But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet. At least Spencer has another day or so before he’s gotta get back to the BAU. I can apologize to him before bed tonight. Can’t go to bed angry. 

I couldn’t help but remember a poem that Spencer had read to me previously. It was on the tip of my tongue. I remember he had a collection of them that he liked to leave for me whenever he got home before me. Or if I left before him and I was expected to come home early. Especially when he had to work and I didn’t. It was just something we enjoyed. Well… used to anyway. 

The poem was Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelly, I think. Yeah. That was it. I can only remember part of it though. 

The fountains mingle with the river

   And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of heaven mix for ever

   With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

   All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

   Why not I with thine?

What happened between us? What did we do to get this far away from our paradise that we had made together? 

I sighed as I recalled the poem, shifting through my nightstand and finding the small notebook paper that he had left for me on my pillow months prior. Was this relationship even salvageable? Would we ever get back to this point of love between us? Or would this rift grow ever larger, and keep us apart? 

I let out a tired exhale and began to slowly get up from my prison. I hissed as my ankles began to wobble from the sudden weight. I gripped the nightstand for dear-life before I found my balance, and I started to wander into the apartment I’d been kept from for the past week and a half. 

I wobble my wounded and swollen feet into the living room, gripping onto everything that I could to get there safely and without a fall. Knowing Spencer’s state of mind it would probably feed into another argument. But though all odds were against me, I made it to the couch. I plopped down and picked up a forgotten book that laid next to me. La Divina Commedia. Why am I not surprised Spencer’s been reading that? 

Before I could pick the book up and even attempt to read it in it’s natural text, I hear the plop of a ready back by the front door. I sigh. Of course there’s a case. A case while I’m down for the count. My fault, I guess. 

I sigh and put the book down. “So you’re leaving?” I question, trying to sound at least remotely sincere. 

Spencer doesn’t even acknowledge that I’d even spoken, too busy with his bag. At least he had the manners to respond. “Yes, I am. Three women were abducted in Oklahoma. It will probably take a few days.” He says, his usual tone of sorrow for having to leave absent from his voice. Almost like he was thankful for this break from me. 

I bite my lip nervously and fight the urge to sigh yet again. “Well… Tell the team I said good luck.” I say as audibly as I can without giving away the hurt pounding in my chest. 

Spencer at least nods before he grabs his now full bag and exits the apartment. Not even looking at me once. 

Kidnapping case, huh? 

~~~ 

Spencer’s POV 

Spencer can’t help but notice the seething anger he was emitting as he walked into the bullpen to set his stuff down before the case briefing. Morgan and Prentiss both gave him looks as he set his bag down and tried to gather what he would need for the case at hand.  

“Hey kid, something… going on at home? I can feel your anger from over there.” Morgan prompts, pulling Spencer into a half head lock with his arm. Spencer sighed and pulled away from Morgan’s attempt at communicating. 

“It’s fine, Morgan. Really. Did you know that couples find themselves fighting about household issues about seven times each month? A survey of 2,000 Americans, commissioned by a furniture company, found couples wind up averaging about 72 spats each year over home improvement particulars.” Spencer starts to ramble, unable to hold back his concern for the topic. At least his attitude and overall tone wasn’t deteriorating from where it had been before he left. 

Morgan nodded, suddenly understanding where the conversation was leading. “Ah, so you and Y/N having some trouble in paradise? She getting cabin fever yet?” Morgan teased, poking Spencer in the shoulder. 

“I don’t believe there’s ever really paradise in a relationship. A study proposed by the company Eharmony suggested that although 64% of couples are happy in their relationships, that other 36% isn’t. But that number continuously changes. And relationships end everyday over small things.” Spencer rambled again, his hands being shoved into his pockets as Morgan began leading him into their meeting room. 

Morgan shook his head. “Man you got it bad. Just try to make it up for her when you get home, alright? You don’t wanna go to bed angry, you know what I’m saying?” Morgan suggests. Spencer sighed and went silent as they pushed through the glass doors and took their seats at the round table to let JJ announce their newest case. 

"We've got three missing women in Oklahoma city, all from low socioeconomic classes. Danielle Jones, Katie Hurtz, and Cassidy Weirton  were all last seen by their boyfriends at a party they all attended yesterday. Their cars were found dumped into the nearby river with signs of chains digging into the paint. Almost as if they were pulled into the river." JJ explains, turning to face the team. 

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "Don't they all look a little like Y/N? You know, h/c, e/c, s/c?" She brings up, slightly catching Spencer’s attention. Spencer looks up and looks at the photos currently on the screen. Emily was right. They did all look like her. 

Morgan nods in agreement. "Yeah, they kinda do. I'm kinda glad you ran over her ankle, Hotch. She might've had to deal with Mr. overprotective here if you didn't." He teased, gesturing his thumb to Spencer. 

Spencer raises an eyebrow and looks at Morgan in a bit of shock. "I don't follow." He asks. Prentiss shook her head and gave Spencer a knowing look. 

"Come on, Spencer. We all heard it from Y/N herself when Garcia called her. You're giving her cabin fever by keeping her in one room all day long." Emily points out, teasing him a bit along with Morgan.  

"Why is this important? She needs approximately 3 weeks of bedrest as determined by her doctor. I'm just trying to make sure she heals right." Spencer expressed in annoyance. Although Prentiss was definitely right. Y/N had been showing him signs of just wanting to move from the bed to the couch so that she wasn't bored from her surroundings. But she still shouldn't be moved all that much. Especially since she didn't have any sort of cast or boot to help with the healing. Only a brace. 

"She isn't coming with us on this case, so there isn't any reason I need to worry, is there?" Spencer reasoned, growing tired of the teasing. 

Morgan raised his hands up from where they had been resting on the table. "I guess not. But kid, seriously. Take it from a man who knows: don't fight her on this." Morgan encourages. 

Maybe he was right, Spencer thought. 

~~~ 

Three days had passed since Spencer had gone on the new case. I was absolutely and completely, lonely. And it was almost suffocating. 

Thankfully Spencer had left me an apartment full of food, so I needn't worry about having to cook or, god forbid, have to go grocery shopping in my condition.

But I was tired of the four bare walls of the main area of my and Spencer’s apartment. I could only bear them for so much longer before I completely combusted from boredom and fourth stage cabin fever. So… I went out to go get a few books. What? We had crutches from the hospital. And taxis exist. So I was fine.

Besides, I knew Spencer hadn't read books from this author yet. And I was partially hoping that he would take them as mostly an apology gift and the rest just a gift. I wanted to try and get back into the swing of our relationship. Try and just maybe get back into a somewhat normal routine. Even if I was incapacitated. 

I clobbered around the bookstore, my more injured foot swinging as I used the lesser to get around. There were so many books I just didn't know which ones to get for Spencer and just how many I wanted to get for myself. 

One I picked up reminded me of a case that had come across my desk. The case was actually in Quantico. An unsub was kidnapping women around the ages of 20 to 35 and the bodies were found dumped into the river, raped and mutilated. But there were only two victims at the moment, and the period between them was months, so it hadn't seemed like one to worry about. I heard the unsub left a letter to each of the families of the victims. Almost taunting them. Weird how you can make connections like that in real life compared to your second one. 

But eventually I hobbled again over ro the counter and heaved about 5 books up into the clerk's view. The clerk looked me up and down and smirked. 

"Rough day?" He asked, beginning to scan the books into the system. I groaned and chuckled slightly. 

"More like rough life." I reply, heaving myself back onto the harsh arm rests of the crutches. The man nods in understanding.  

"Very true. But hey, I'm sure you'll get off of those soon and get back to your normal routine." He says, telling me my cost. 

I fumble through my wallet and pull out my credit card. I hand it to the clerk. The clerk then takes it and swipes it for me. 

"Do you want to sign up for our rewards program? You get a book free with every purchase." The clerk prompted. I raised an eyebrow at the sudden offer. I'd never gotten this offer when I'd gone here before. Was it new? 

"Not today, sorry." I begin, taking my credit card back from the clerk and beginning to put it back into my wallet. 

"It's something new we're trying. Get more customers interested in reading and stuff. And… I kinda promised my boss I'd get at least one my next shift. I'd really appreciate it." The clerk prompts again. I sigh. Would it really be that bad? Spencer might appreciate it. Getting more books for only a quarter of the price? He'd like that. Hell, I'd enjoy that. Why not? 

I shrug and I nod. "Alright, alright. You need my number and stuff?" I ask. The clerk nods. 

"Uh huh. Just name, number and address." The clerk says, beginning to type into the computer at the counter. 

"Y/N L/N, 555-555-5555, (insert random Quantico apartment address here)." I list, piling the books up and putting them into a bag the clerk handed me. 

As the clerk finished up I smiled at him. "Have a good day sir." I say as I begin my hobble back towards the door. 

"You too." 

~~~ 

I wobble on the crutches as I clop back to Spencer and I's shared apartment. I sigh as I begin to fumble with my keys. My phone drops out of my pocket as I do. 

I grumble and lean over to grab it. I turn it on out of curiosity. No new messages. Nothing. Not a single 'How are you?' text. Kinda pissed me off a bit. 

But instead I sigh and just type a quick, and small text. 

Y/N - Hey, can we talk when you get home? I wanna make it up to you. Please.  

I sigh and shove it back into my pocket. I'll deal with it later, I think. 

I finally unlock my door and shove it open. When I do though, I find a letter shoved under the door. Couldn't they have put it in the mailbox? 

I pick it up and shut the door behind me. I hobbled over to the dining room table and put the bag of books down, along with the crutches as I began to investigate the letter. 

I don't even get the chance to fully open the letter before I'm grabbed from behind and a cloth is shoved into my mouth. Chloroform. 

I try instantly to cough and spit the rag out, but by the time I do, I've already begun to breathe the gas in, and my vision began to grow cloudy and spotty. 

The only thing I hear as the lights begin to fade and my capture begins to drag me away is "Good… go to sleep now." 

~~~ 

Spencer sighed as he sat on the plane in mid thought. They thankfully were able to capture the unsub and bring him to justice before he could kill any of the girls. But something had struck him as they had finished up the case. Y/N had texted him, wanting to talk. He'd tried to reach her that night by calling her cell, but it went straight to voicemail. He didn't think much of it. She was probably sleeping. As she should be. 

But still. She was right. They both needed to resolve this. Nothing was going to improve if they didn't try. 

"Hey kid, whatcha thinking?" Morgan asks, taking a seat next to Spencer as the plane got ready to land. 

"I think I'm going to talk with her tonight. See if we can come to an understanding. A compromise maybe." He sighed, fumbling with his fingers. 

Derek grinned. "Alright, Spencer, my man!" He exclaims, lightly hitting his shoulder. "Good. I'm proud of you, kid." He says, prompting Spencer to smile. 

"Thank you Morgan. I just think we'll find a better normal is all." He agrees, unable to focus on the current case report he'd just written. 

Prentiss wanders over and takes a seat next to Spencer as well. "I'm glad you've decided to tame the beast, Spencer." She teases. 

Rossi's ears perk up at the conversation. "Are we talking about Y/N here? Cause she's untameable." He expresses, pulling a smile onto Spencer’s face. 

She really was untameable, Spencer thought. Maybe that was a good thing. 

~~~ 

Spencer stretched his arms as he walked to his apartment. After the long and hard case they had, he just wanted to hold you and pull you close. Those girls looking so similar to you had messed with his head. 

Spencer exited the elevator, ready bag in hand as he turned to head down the hallway with his and Y/N's shared apartment. When he finally stopped, he noticed the door was ajar. Weird. Y/N always had a quirk about insisting he close the door behind him whenever he entered or exited a room. So why would she leave the door open? 

Spencer cautiously entered the room and saw the lights all completely turned off. Maybe she was in bed, he thought. 

He flicked on the lights and noticed a bag of books on the table, and a half opened envelope laying there as well next to forgotten crutches. Spencer rolled his eyes as he noticed the books were newly bought, guess Y/N couldn't stay in bed while he was gone. 

That's when he noticed the letter again. He opened it up and began to read the complete horror that met his eyes. 

Hello. 

I'm glad we share an interest in books. I've always liked reading. Did you know that? I've also loved (h/c) haired girls. All my life. When your (e/c) eyes met mine, I knew you had to be mine. So, please don't fight this. All I want is for us to be together. Forever. 

I promise I’m not like him. Your boyfriend. I won't leave you alone on weekends with fractured feet. 

Just obey me, and you'll be happy. I promise. 

Love, Z.H.E  

Spencer felt tears building up in his eyes. This man, this--this Z.H.E had taken Y/N. Taken his girlfriend at her weakest. And he wasn't here to protect her. 

Spencer thrust the letter onto the table and dropped to his knees. You were gone. Out of his reach. And there was no telling how long you'd been gone. How long you've been in this unsub's hands. So there was no way to know if you had any chance. 

Spencer clutched at his shirt and tie as he began to quicken his breathing and his heart began to pound faster. He had to do something. Anything. 

Then he felt his phone vibrate. That was it. He had proof. This wasn't Y/N's handwriting. They had a case. They just had to get permission. 

Spencer shook his head. Fuck the permission. He was going to find Y/N and put the bastard who took her in prison. They didn't have much time, but he was going to find her. Dead or alive. 

Spencer pulled his phone out and immediately began dialing Morgan’s number, tears still streaming down his cheek. 

He was going to find you. He had to. 

After a few rings, Morgan finally answered the phone. "Reid? Kid it's like 11 o'clock at night. What's wro-" Morgan groans. 

Spencer immediately cut him off. "Morgan, Y/N's not here. Some-someone took her. Th-they left a-a note and u-uh… they signed it Z...Z.H.E." Spencer rambled and stuttered, his voice almost inaudible from his tears and his voice growing faster with his nerves. 

Morgan’s response was to be expected. "Wait, what? You serious kid? Hold on, I'll call Hotch. Bring anything Y/N might've had with her the day she got taken with you back to the BAU. We'll meet you there." Derek ushered, the sound of a TV being shut off in the background. 

Spencer tried to calm his breathing, but it only got faster and harder to control. "O-okay… got it." Was his only response as he hung up the phone and pulled out a pair of gloves from his pocket and began searching the apartment for any sort of sealing bag he could put the letter in for evidence. If the bastard wasn't wearing gloves, they needed to be able to find fingerprints. Not just his own. 

Once he found something, he slid the envelope and the letter into the bag and sealed it shut. Once he had it, he grabbed the bag and the bag of books and began to carry them out the door. 

~~~ 

I groaned as I lifted my head up from where it had hung for I didn't know how long. My neck ached from the change in position, and I heard a few painful pops as I moved it. I felt my head pounding. Seems like that head wound is finally giving me trouble. 

I tugged at my arms, feeling rope dig back into my skin in retaliation. I gritted my teeth and began to try and use my fingers to attempt any sort of chance this asshole decided to leave the knot in close range of my hands. But alas, he didn't.  

My legs were tied to the chair as well, almost tighter than my arms were. I sighed. It had been 4 days since this asshole had taken me. And it wasn't pretty. I had a large gash on my cheek, and bruises that scattered my torso and thighs. This guy wasn't subtle in his obsession with me. He needed to see me multiple times a day. And if I didn't do what he asked, he whipped me. And the guy got off from it. 

I sighed, at least he decided to move me from the dangling chain prison he'd had me in the first three days. The first one he just needed to see all of me. I was just unlucky enough to wake up prematurely. 

I'm glad I wasn't awake for most of it. It still hurts. Every time I close my eyes I try and focus on Spencer. His hazel eyes looking down at me with love in them, telling me it'll be okay. 

But when I open my eyes again, I'm back in my own personal hell. 

I sigh and look around, hoping the blood that was pooling above my eye didn't drip down into my eye where I couldn't see. I'd already viewed this whole room dozens of times. But it was something to do while this asshole lived upstairs with his wife and their young daughter. And they do nothing about it. 

My eyes find the only window in this hell of a basement and I see that the light is brighter than usual. Must be noon. I can't tell. That can only mean he's going to be here soon. Gonna take another piece of me that I'll never get back. 

"S-spencer…" I whimper quietly, squeezing my eyes shut as a tear builds up in my eye. If I hadn't gone out like he told me this wouldn't have happened. I'd still be in our apartment and I would've been there to welcome him home. Not here. Not with death looming over my head. 

"Oh, poor baby. You seriously want him? When you have me? You've got all you could ever want and you never accept me. Why?" The most disgusting and smoke-induced sounding voice echoed into the basement. 

I turn my head and glare at my capture, my right eye squinting as the blood from my forehead began to drip over it. I don't answer him, afraid he'll just beat me again for my answer. He'll beat me anyway. 

He growled and pulled my face towards his, holding it harshly as he spat into my face. "Answer me, bitch! That's all you are!" He yelled, pushing the chair against a beam. I cough as my head collides with the wood. 

I shake as my head slowly lifts to look at him again. "I… I don't want you… I w-want to g-go home…" I stutter. He wants an answer. But I don't want to play into his game. I feel disgusting. 

He then launches a punch to my gut, causing me to cough up a spat of blood and begin to groan from my bruises. Add another bruise to the pile. 

"WHY?! I am a better man! THE better man! You are mine! Accept it!" He spat, tossing the chair aside along with me. "It's like you don't even like me!" The man growled. 

I groaned and began to shrink as much as I could into the chair. Why? Why me? He had a wife and a kid upstairs. A perfect normal life. Why couldn't he just settle? 

The man shook his head and growled. "No. No we're gonna show this 'boyfriend' of yours just how good I am to you." He insists before he fishes through the clothes that he had torn off of me and pulled out my phone. I could only hope that Garcia could track its location fast enough. 

~~~ 

Spencer gripped his hair tightly as everyone was scrambling to try and find some way, some connection to bring them close enough to be able to find Y/N. But they had nothing.  

So far, they hadn't found any fingerprints on the letter that Spencer or Y/N hadn't left themselves. And the bag was obviously only carried by Y/N. So they were stuck until they could get another piece of information.  

Morgan sighed as he watched Spencer go over the letter for what he knew was about the twelve hundredth time that night. He really didn't deserve this. 

Morgan took a seat and tried to get Spencer’s attention by lightly grabbing his wrist. Spencer jumped from the sudden contact, sighing slightly. 

"Nothing… After 5 hours of searching we have found nothing. All we have is a reminder of how terrible I was to her." Spencer sighed, his esteem having grown drastically low in the time that he had spent reading the letter over and over again. 

Morgan sighed. "Kid, you were not terrible to her. Come on. She loves you, man. Seriously, I can see love. And she's got it for you." Morgan insists, nudging Spencer’s shoulder. Reid sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Still, the last thing I did with her was argue over her being reckless. That might be the last thing she ever hears from me." Spencer expressed, clutching harshly at his chest. 

Derek sighed again and nudged Spencer once more. "Come on, kid. We'll find her. That won't be the last thing you say. The last words you ever say to her will be on your shared deathbed kid." Morgan teased. "Come on, the girl got you five books when she was supposed to be resting. If anything that tells me she loves you more than the pain she feels." Morgan chuckles, gesturing towards the bag of books on the evidence table. 

Reid shrugs and looks down for a moment before it hits him. He stands up suddenly and starts shifting through the plastic bag for the receipt.  

"Woah, kid. Did I say something to set you off or-?" Morgan asks suddenly, confused by Spencer’s sudden movement. 

"The books! She-she would've taken the b-books out if she had been home l-long enough to put them away-" he rambled, searching and flipping through each of the books, desperately trying to find the receipt and to find some sort of indication as to when she was taken. 

"Right, but Reid I don't-" Morgan starts again. 

Spencer shook his head. "Just-!" He exclaims almost exasperatedly. Then he finds it. Deeply nestled into a copy of Edgar Allen Poe's greatest poems, was a receipt for four days ago at a bookstore a few miles away from their apartment.  

"Found it." He whispers, smiling happily. Maybe he had a chance of finding Y/N after all. 

Morgan widened his eyes. "Does it got a date on it, Reid?" He asked, getting up from his chair in a quick haste to know if they had a new clue. 

Reid nodded, a few tears building in his eyes. "Four days ago. She's been with the unsub for...for four days…" Spencer sputtered, forcefully putting the small receipt down so he didn't crumple it more.

Morgan gave Spencer a sympathetic look and opened his mouth to speak. 

"You're gonna wanna see this, Reid." Garcia came onto the screen, pulling Spencer’s attention to it.

"Hold on baby girl," Derek says before he rushes to the glass door that connected the council room to the rest of the bullpen. He opened the door and called in Hotch, JJ, and Rossi. Prentiss came in as she was coming down the hall.  

"What is it Garcia?" Hotch asked as he came in, settling into the room and looking at the screen she currently showed her face on. 

"Okay, but this is kind of… gore-y. You might not want to see this Reid-" she began, trying to warn Spencer of the video's contents. 

Spencer shook his head. "Show the video." He insists. Garcia sighed, but clicked play. 

On the screen showed a much less clothed Y/N and a hooded figure in the room. A single light bulb was hanging from the ceiling. 

"Since princess here can't accept me, let me just show you what I've done to your precious girl." A distorted voice echoed through the video speakers. 

Spencer’s eyes were wide as he was forced to watch the screen for more information on where his (nickname) was. 

The hooded figure then pulled out a knife and advanced towards Y/N. Y/N herself bit back a quiver and a whimper. Spencer knew it by her bitten lip. 

The figure then used the knife to cut a long gash along Y/N's left arm, before grabbing the right and cutting his initials into the soft skin that was there. 

"You're mine, now. What boyfriend would want you now with another man's claim on you?" The figure growled at Y/N. 

Y/N took in a shaky breath and looked into the camera. "I-I can take it. I-i p-promise. S-spencer,"  mouthing one word before the figure slapped her across the face for doing so. 

"You bitch‐!" The figure growled. Spencer shut his eyes tightly and looked away from the screen. He could barely make out what she mouthed. Basement. 

Hotch looked to Reid, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Did you catch it? The word she gave?" He asked calmly, understanding Reid's need to look away from what this man was doing to the love of his life. 

Spencer shook in terror for a few speechless moments before he was finally able to lift his head back up.  

"She… s-she said basement, Hotch. She's in a basement." He announces, keeping his eyes away from the screen. 

"Meaning this guy could have a complete other life. And that nobody knows what he's doing downstairs." Morgan infers, Prentiss nodding towards him in agreement. 

JJ speaks up next. "Sorry to burst the bubble here, but I think I found the case this unsub is connected to." She says, dropping a very thin case file onto the table. 

"Two women, between the ages of 20 to 35 were taken from their homes in the mid afternoon. Yet no one saw or heard. At each of the scenes, a letter is found that is similar to the one we found at your apartment, Spence." JJ informs, sighing. "Each of the women were found two weeks after their capture dumped into the river and stripped of their belongings. With sighs of rape and mutilation." JJ says sorrowfully. Spencer’s fist tightens at his side, his eyes squeezing shut again. 

He could've been there for you if he hadn't taken that case in the heat of his anger. He would've kept you from going out and attracting the attention of this unsub. But he was more focused on his anger. 

"Reid, do you have anything new?" Hotch asks, jotting down a few notes to be able to refer to later. Spencer sighed and nodded. 

"Y-yeah. I found the receipt from the bookstore she went to. Four days ago. It's called Zander's Stories." He says, looking up to face Hotch for a moment. 

"Good. We'll head there and talk with the owner, see if we can find any employees with our profile. And if they have cameras we'll check to see who checked Y/N out." Hotch informed. The rest of the team nodded and began to get back to work. 

Spencer stood up and stopped Hotch for a moment. "H-hotch, what is the profile? If you don't mind my asking." He asked shakily, his hand grasped at his sleeves nervously. He had been so focused on the letter and understanding the handwriting that he only had a portion.  

Hotch sighed. "Reid. We're looking for a man most likely in his thirties or forties. Has a history of being flirtatious, almost creepily so with customers. Most likely has a wife, maybe a child as well. But never wears his wedding ring. Almost wanting to lure women closer to him. He probably talks mostly of himself and his own accomplishments than those of his coworkers. Takes every conversation as a chance to turn it about himself." He answered, giving Spencer a sympathetic look. They all wanted to find her. But they had to be careful. 

Spencer nodded as he took the profile in, taking a mental note to think of any people he might know. Anyone who might've been watching them before now. But he found nothing. 

"The handwriting seems to be gleeful almost in tone. A-almost as if he'd finally gotten what he wanted. Like a child sending a thank you letter to Santa for the presents they got for christmas." Spencer expressed, picking up the letter to point out the darkened graphite marks on the letter page. 

"Interesting. He might've been watching her before. Have you and her been out before this? Perhaps gone to this bookstore before Christmas?" Hotch asked, gathering together the papers he had written on. 

Spencer searched his mind for a moment, trying to reach as far back as his photographic memory would go to help him remember if he'd ever encountered a man that matched the profile. 

"For Christmas she did get me a-a new poem book. A-and a book on philosophy. She might've visited the store then." Spencer informed, his hands gripping tightly and his knuckles turning white. 

"That's it. He watches them for months in advance. He seems very organized. He kidnapped her without much fight. Even with her being injured she would've been able to fight him off if he simply grabbed her. He planned this." Hotch then grabbed his things and rushed out the door to join the others. 

Spencer felt his body still as he tried to figure out what he could do. What he could say to help find another clue as to where you were. All he could think of was to try and come up with a geographical location from the different victims and the profile. 

He just hoped they wouldn't be too late. 

~~~ 

Again I opened my eyes exhaustedly. It seemed I'd been here ages. I didn't know the times between when I'd wake and when I'd pass out. But those times between when I'd wake and after I'd fallen asleep were the best. I got to see Spencer. In all his gentle and warm light. 

"S-spencer… I'm scared…" I whispered, not hearing any echos of breath in the tiny basement this man was keeping me in other than my own. 

I almost imagine him replying; Why? I'm here.  

I choke back a tired sob. "I-i'm afraid… a-afraid I'll never s-see you again…" I whisper in a reply so hoarse and tiresome. 

Again I can imagine his response, almost hear it. Don't give up. I'll see you soon, sweetheart. 

I swallow a choked sob and close my eyes once more. My hope was almost gone. I'd been here so long. I knew it was at least 4 days. Maybe 5 at the most. I don't know how much I can handle his beatings. Or his possession. 

I sniffle and clear my throat as I hear footsteps above me. He's coming again. 

The door to the basement slams open and I jump from the sudden noise. His feet pound against the wooden stairs as he rushed down the stairs. I squeezed my eyes shut as he came into the light, unable to face him. 

"You didn't tell me you were fuckin' FBI!" The man yelled, slapping me for good measure. I bite my lip and hold onto my whimper. I swallow harshly, not replying to his obvious question. 

The man snarls, raising his hand to slap me once again before he stops himself. I almost let myself think that maybe by some miracle he'd grown some sort of conscience. That maybe he'd show me a little mercy. But of course, I was wrong. 

The man pulls out his knife and cuts my bindings, pulling me off of the chair abruptly. He grips my wrists so tightly I was sure he'd break them if he squeezed any tighter. 

He stayed silent as he dragged me across the floor, digging his nails into my wrists. He hoisted my body up like a ragdoll and enclosed my damaged and rope-burned wrists into chains, allowing me to hang there limp and tired. 

"See this, this is what happens when you lie to me, bitch!" He yelled, picking up a long piece of wood he kept in the basement and thrusting it against my stomach. I sputter and cry out before I could even attempt to silence myself. I could feel my insides aching and throbbing. And the nailheads sticking out of the wood bruised my skin, almost breaking it from the force. 

The man pulled the wood back and thrust it against my legs, making me whimper from the pain. The nails dug into my calves and my thighs, drawing blood from the wound. I was losing my resolve to fight and to push through the pain. 

The man then brought it back to my torso, and thrusted it against me. I felt my ribs cracking and popping. Pain throbbed from my chest, and it grew stronger with each thrust I endured. 

Again and again he beat me, the wood and nails digging into my skin and bruising it well. Moments later I found my eyes slowly falling closed as each thrust collided with my body. 

Before my eyes could close completely I felt the wood thrust against my back, causing tremendous pain to my spine. If I had the ability I would have crumbled to the ground. 

"You're gonna pay for this. You were supposed to be mine. You are not his. Mine, and mine alone!" The man growled, pointing a finger at me. I look away, only for him to force my face towards him. 

"I think it's time you went to sleep, sweetheart~" he purred just as he thrusted the butt of his knife against my head, sending me back to my dreamscape.

~~~ 

Spencer found his phone once he heard it begin to ring. He'd been eyeing it since he'd finished the geographical map. He could only hope and pray that whoever called him would have some sort of good news. She had been missing for four days. Five now. And they weren't any closer to finding her. 

JJ had gone on TV for a press conference. Try and bring the unsub out since most like to inject themselves into the investigation. Spencer had been against it. He'd seen time and time again what happened to the agents that unsubs found out what they were. Prentiss had gotten a beating for it while Reid had to stand back. 

But this was the best course of action, according to Hotch. And Spencer had no choice but to agree with him for now. 

When his phone began to ring, Spencer jumped in his seat and immediately answered, having seen it was Hotch. 

"H-hotch, tell me you've got something." Spencer begs, not even trying to hide his worry anymore. 

"Zander Harrison Edison. He's the owner of the bookstore. The employees all agreed to him fitting the profile. He has a wife and a daughter. And has been reported to flirt with a majority of the female customers." Hotch reads off. "I got Garcia working on an address now. But we need you down here. Just for when we have one." Hotch informs, his speech a little quicker than normal. He was probably hurrying out of the book store to get to the SUV. 

Spencer let out an audible sigh of relief and his hand finally loosened it's tight and tense grip. "Yes, o-of course Hotch. I got a geographical pinpoint I can send her before I head out." Spencer offered as he began to gather his things in a haste to get to Y/N as quickly as possible. 

"Reid, calm down. She's going to be alright. And sure. That'll help her get the address narrowed down for us. Just hurry, we don't have much time to lose." Hotch agreed with Spencer, the sound of a car beginning to start sounding in the background. 

Spencer took a shallow breath and nodded. "R-right...r-right I just gotta… j-just gotta calm d-down…" he says with uncertainty. He hangs up the phone and immediately begins to head towards Garcia's office with the geographical pinpoint he had narrowed. 

Spencer's feet couldn't carry him any faster than they did as he hurried towards the technical analyst's cave. Spencer hastily knocked and pounded on the wooden door much harder than he intended to, bringing an impatient Garcia from her office. 

"In case you haven't heard, we're a little busy right now with a kidnapped-" Garcia began to scold before he noticed Spencer’s hurried and worried expression. "Oh, Reid. Sorry you don't...don't usually knock that hard. I'm finding the address as we speak-" she starts. 

"I-i've got the geographical location, Garcia. It-" he sighed, messing with his tie nervously. "It'll help." He says, as his eyes wandered around anxiously. 

Garcia nods and gestures for Spencer to go ahead. "Alright then, lay it on me my love." She prompts, turning her chair around and swerving into her desk. 

Spencer nodded hesitantly and then began to detail the geographical pinpoint. "Try around the downtown Quantico area. Specifically the more suburban areas. This guy has a basement he's keeping her in." He lists off, pulling back his fingers from his fists as if counting each detail. 

Garcia smiles slightly as she types. "Perfect, just imput the owner and/or the renter of the home and-" Garcia trails for a moment. "There, (Random Quantico suburban address here). Go get your Princess, Reid." Garcia insists, handing him a sticky note with the address. 

Spencer took the note with no hesitation and spun on his heels towards the exit of the building. "Will do." He replies as his paces grow wider and he finds himself run-walking down the stairs instead of the elevator. 

He was going to find you. You were going to be okay. 

~~~ 

I was unlucky enough to wake up only an hour later. Thankfully, he was gone. And I was alone. I hung from the ceiling like a pig in a slaughterhouse. It certainly felt that way too. 

My ankles were thankfully not chained. The cold metal digging into my wrists was enough. 

I squeezed my eyes shut again, and tried to imagine Spencer once more. Maybe fall asleep again. Seeing him again seemed like a lost cause now. Maybe he'll find someone who doesn't jump into situations without thinking like Morgan. Maybe she'll bring him more happiness than I ever did. And maybe she'll get along with everybody better than I did. Maybe he'll want to marry her too- 

Before I knew it tears were cascading down my cheeks. No. No, I couldn't give up yet. We've found people who've been missing for weeks. Though of course that's a rarity. But it still happens. 

I'm still alive. As long as that's true, there's hope for me yet. 

I heaved as air desperately tried to enter my lungs from this position. Everytime I tried to pull up enough to breathe, the harsh and rusted metal cuffs dug farther into my skin.  

I hissed as the cuffs felt sharper around my wrists. I recalled the pictures of the other two victims. They too had deep abrasions on their wrists. Guess they got this treatment too. 

I gripped the chains loosely, trying to give my wrists a break from the harsh edge of the cuffs. I dreaded his return. Knowing it was just going to be more torture. He'd gotten his taste of me. Now he just wanted to see me bleed. 

Suddenly, I heard footsteps above me. I swallowed nervously, bracing myself for whatever he had planned for me next. But that's when I heard the thud of a door being kicked in. My heart skipped a beat as I heard it, hoping for the love of God it was who I thought it was. 

Then the footsteps got quicker and they pounded against the floor above me. I heard a hurried turning of the knob to the door of the basement, before another thud was heard and a plethora of curses followed it. 

My chest got painfully tighter with the hopefulness that I was saved. That maybe… maybe he'd come for me. But the pain was worth it. 

The knob was turned hastily and the door opened. I still couldn't help but lose my breath for a moment. This could all be a misunderstanding. He could be coming down here to kill me. 

But then I saw the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes turn the corner and break at the sight of me hanging from the ceiling. 

"She's down here! I need a medic!" Spencer called back up the stairs. He then raced to my side, trying desperately to undo the cuffs. 

"Y/N… Y-Y/N s-sweetheart…" he whispered, looking at me heartbroken. I swallowed hard and gestured towards the desk in the corner of the tiny basement. 

"O-over th-there. T-the keys…" I whisper hoarsely. My voice must've died on me from all the screaming. Spencer nodded and quickly spun around and grabbed the keys from the cluttered desk of weapons the man used on me. 

Spencer swallowed harshly as he took in the tools that lay against the wood of the desk. Many of them still had blood on them, previously used. It ached deep in his heart. He turned his head away from them and focused on her. On the only one who mattered right now. 

Spencer brought the keys back towards me and quickly unlocked the cuffs. I fall into his arms and he wraps them around me tenderly. "Y/N...t-thank God…" he whispered. His large hand raised up and cradled my head. "I-i'm sorry… s-so..so sorry…" he whispered into my ear, crying as he held me.  

I, although exhausted, found a smile pulling at my lips. "F-for what? F-finding me?" I teased, trying and failing to put my feet on the ground. 

Spencer slightly chuckled and pulled me up farther into his arms. "N-no… not that…" he sighed, pulling me as close as his arms and my body would allow. "Don't put your feet down. Your ankles are still fractured sweetheart." He slightly teases back. I let out a small, tired laugh. 

"S-spence…" I whisper. "P-please… did-" I begin to ask hesitantly. He nods. "He's been taken care of, Y/N. He's in our custody now. I promise." He says, gently caressing my cheek. 

I lean into his touch and sigh in relief. Soon after, Morgan comes down into the basement and almost scares the shit out of me. 

"Thank God…" Morgan sighed in relief upon seeing me. He then turned to Spencer. "Reid, help me carry her up to the paramedics." He insisted. Spencer nodded and began to hoist one of my arms over Morgan’s shoulder to help carry me. "I got you, baby girl. You're safe now." He assured me. I nodded weakly as my eyelids began to fall from exhaustion. 

They carried me up the stairs and helped to lay me onto the stretcher that was brought into the house. The paramedics then brought me out to the ambulance. Spencer was by my side the entire time. 

The paramedics hoisted me into the ambulance and began to work on me and my injuries. It was by around now that I began to really fall asleep. Finally able to sleep without the fear of waking up to a beating. 

One of the paramedics looked to Spencer as he watched Y/N as they began to prepare to head to the ER. "You coming?" He asked. "We don't have long for her." 

Reid looked to Hotch, hoping to be given leave enough to be with Y/N in the ambulance. Hotch nodded. "Go on, Reid. We'll take care of it from here." He assures. 

Spencer smiled at Hotch without another word. He turned around again and entered the ambulance, sitting beside Y/N as the engine started up and they began to drive away. 

Spencer leaned farther and closer towards Y/N, feelings of both relief and sorrow washing over him. He had her back. She was safe. She wasn't dead. She was very much alive. 

~~~ 

Hours later Spencer sat in the waiting room for an update on Y/N. He had been separated from her immediately once they arrived, having no news of her afterwards. Anxiety was all he knew as he dreaded what the doctors were going to say about her injuries. Just how much pain Zavier had caused her. What he did to her. 

JJ, Prentiss, and Morgan all flowed into the waiting room, smiling as they found Spencer bent over with his face deep in his hands. 

"Hey Reid. So… any updates?" Morgan asks, trying to give his friend some space. Spencer rubbed his face tiredly and shook his head. 

"Nothing. Not since we got here." He says with a hard sigh. Emily frowned and caressed his shoulder. 

"She'll be alright. We'll get the evidence we need and she'll only have some scars. I'm sure." Emily assures, giving Spencer a gentle look. 

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose but nodded. They were probably right. "Probably…" he says softly, looking around once more in hopes that the doctor would come through the door. 

Each opening of the door into the actual ER got Spencer worked up. He kept thinking it was the doctor or a nurse calling him back to see her. To see Y/N. But alas, it was not. Time and time again, each and every turn of the knob wasn't for him. 

JJ sighed. "I should've taken this case more seriously when it came across my desk, Reid. Especially when the girls looked like Y/N…" she apologizes, looking down at her feet in shame. 

Spencer looked up and shook his head. "There was nothing you could've done that would have kept him away from her, JJ. Or prevented him seeing her. He'd already had his eye on her and-" Spencer took a deep breath. "My point being that it isn't your fault. Alright?" He promises, looking up at JJ from where he sat. 

JJ sighed and crossed her arms, holding her sides uncomfortably. "I still don't like this. He literally kept her down there and his wife did nothing. This is reminding me of Janice and Cameron Hooker all over again." She groaned, looking towards the hospital entrance as Hotch and Rossi entered. 

"How is she?" Hotch asks, standing next to JJ and next to where Morgan sat. 

Morgan answered for Spencer in a matter of seconds. "No news yet. They still got her back in intensive care. They'll let us know when she's stable, I guess." He shrugged. 

Spencer sighed again and ran another hand through his hair. Hotch noticed this and spoke up. 

"How are you handling this, Reid? I can give you a few days off with her after she's out to get settled. If that'll be alright." Hotch suggested. Spencer felt unease begin to grow in his belly. He almost spoke up on it until Hotch finished his portion of the conversation. "Afterwards I plan to arrange for her to work at her desk and help Garcia. To put both of your minds at ease." Hotch assured. "We cannot have either of you constantly worrying about the other's well-being while on the job for the next few weeks." 

Spencer’s uneasiness immediately faded and was replaced with a feeling of relief once more. He let a small smile find its way onto his face and nodded to Hotch's suggestion. 

"Y-yeah… I think I'd like that." He says softly. 

Not a moment later the door opens and a nurse begins calling for Reid. "Is there a Dr. Spencer Reid here?" The nurse calls. 

Spencer rose to his feet in an instant, biting his lip anxiously. "T-that's me." He answered.

The nurse nodded. "Alright, well we just finished her surgery. She's got a few cracked ribs and one fractured one. She also has some minor damage to her spine. But other than that, just a medium concussion. She's asking for you, by the way." The nurse announces, smiling gently. 

Spencer again couldn't help the smile that teased at his lips when he heard Y/N was asking for him. He followed the nurse back into the ER and towards the recovery room. His heart slightly pounded as he wandered closer and closer to Y/N. 

Then, he saw her. 

Laying in a hospital bed angled slightly up to support her spine, laid Y/N. She looked up at Spencer with tired eyes, smiling at him instantly. 

"Spence…" she called. Spencer was glad to answer to it. He found himself placed at her side immediately, pulling her gently close so as to not damage what the doctors had fixed. 

"Y/N… sweetheart…" he called in a soft whisper, kissing the nape of her neck gently. She hummed softly and held her arms limply around his neck. 

"Spencer… I-I'm sorry… f-for the a-arguing. I j-just-" she began, pulling slightly away from him, although she could not find anything else she feared more. 

Spencer shook his head and pulled her into a full kiss, cupping her bandaged and bruised cheeks. His thumbs gently wiped away her incoming tears and caressed her cheek lovingly. She pressed her lips against his moreso, relief flooding her senses. 

She let herself collapse into his embrace and his kiss, ignoring the pain that came with moving too far forward. Spencer laid her back against the bed to prevent any more injury before he continued to kiss her gently. He'd wanted this for a week. And now he had it.  

After a long moment, Y/N reluctantly pulled away from the long-overdo kiss. She let Spencer’s touch remain on her cheek as he continued to hold her. "Sweetheart, none of that matters to me anymore. You're alive. You're breathing. That's all I need right now." He says sweetly, kissing her forehead as tenderly and as gently as he could. 

Y/N let out a soft giggle and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Dr. Reid." She teased. Spencer chuckled softly in return. 

"I love you too, Y/N." 

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Catching Feelings 4/? (Keanu x OFC)

Summary: AU in which Keanu is down on his luck after he comes to  Hollywood  trying to be an actor. To earn some money, he joins this app for   escorts and meets Steph, a rising star who hires him to try to forget   her ex. Neither of them are expecting to fall in love and all the   problems it brings. Previous chapters: 1 2 3

Author’s Notes: Once again, thank you for all the lovely feedback. They really make my day. Here we are with a new chapter. Let’s get on with the angst.

Wordcount: 3146

Warnings: smut (unprotected sex; prostitution).

His new jeans were still a little uncomfortable tight and the t-shirt felt a little itchy even if the fabric was soft against his skin and, as Keanu looked at himself in the mirror of the bathroom, he couldn’t understand how he looked so different when he was wearing the same type of clothes he always did.

Maybe it wasn’t about looking different but feeling it. The fabric covering his body right now cost more than two months of rent for his apartment and that was a strange thing to know. Also strange was the fact that Steph bought all of this for him in a blink of an eye, without hesitation or asking him anything in return. Keanu didn’t know what to do with that. Only that it didn’t feel right. It felt like he was taking advantage of her, of her kindness and it made him feel like a piece of shit.

“Ke, you’re ready?” she called out and he smiled at the nickname. He loved how it sound in her voice.

“Yeah,” he combed his fingers through his hair one last time, before stepping out of the guest room, jacket hanging from his arm.

He found Steph sitting on the couch while putting on her ankle boots. She was dressed in a short black dress that hung above her knees and accentuated her gorgeous curves and he felt the familiar stirring of arousal in his belly. He could just flip her skirt and fuck her senseless right there on the couch.

“I know that look,” she said with a smirk as she stood. Even in heels, she was so much shorter than him. “Not yet, lover boy.”

She grabbed the tweed coat that was laying beside her and led the way to the garage and threw him the car keys, which Keanu caught more out of reflex than anything.

“Can you drive, please? I hate doing it in heels.”

Keanu nodded, getting the door for her, before sliding onto the driver’s seat of her Audi, hands caressing the soft leather of the wheel as he admired the vehicle.

“Do you want me to give you two a moment?”

“Sorry,” Keanu replied with a chuckle, starting the engine and groaning as it purred to life. This was one hell of a machine.

“Are you sure? I think this car is turning you on more than I do,” Steph teased as she got the gate open and Keanu flashed her a grin.

“Nothing turns me on more than you do,” he assured, maneuvering the car into the street and Steph smirked.

“That’s good,” she said, turning her body his way and glancing at Keanu under her lashes. “Because the car didn’t forego its underwear just so you could fuck it in the club’s restroom.” She pulled her skirt up high enough so Keanu could catch a glimpse of her dark curls, before she pulled it back again, smoothing the fabric over her legs.

“Fuck Steph!” he hissed, his dick throbbing in his pants. “You can’t just do and say stuff like that when I’m driving.” She just chuckled in response, looking out the window.

“I’ll be good from now on. I promise.”

Steph did keep her word and dinner was a quite pleasant affair. They talked and laughed and ate some delicious dishes that Keanu couldn’t name for the life of him. He had only one glass of wine through the night so he could drive without breaking the law, while she worked her way through some of the sommelier’s suggestions.

Keanu cut her off after the third glass because her eyes were getting a little glazed and her speech slurred. If it was up to him, they would go straight home – and he didn’t want to think over the fact that he was thinking of her house as home – but Steph insisted that she was perfectly fine and still wanted to go out dancing.

He helped her back into her coat and tucked her closer to his body as they walked through the small mob of paparazzi waiting for her outside. Keanu was nearly blinded by all the flashes and questions shouted, but he managed to get her safely inside the car without any incidents.

“You’re ok?” she asked as he pulled the car into traffic, hand rubbing circles on his thigh. “I know how that can get overwhelming.”

“I’m fine, babe. A little blind,” he joked, making her chuckle, but it was weak. “You hate it, don’t you? That part? The lack of privacy?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she sighed, looking out the window. “It makes me wonder if it’s all worth it sometimes.”

“Do you love what you do?” Keanu asked and Steph nodded, glancing at him as he caught her hand and squeezed lightly, making her smile. It actually reached her eyes this time around. “Then it’s worth it.”

“Thanks, Ke.”

Things went a lot easier in the night club Steph led him to. It was pretty exclusive and the bouncer waved them in as soon as he spotted her. They dropped off their coats and she led him straight to the bar, opening up a tab and asking for a shot of tequila.

“You’re sure you want to go straight for the hard stuff?” Keanu asked, shouting over the pounding beat of electronic music.

“Yes!” Steph declared, sprinkling salt on his hand, before licking it, swallowing her shot and sticking the lime in her mouth with a wince and head shake and Keanu just chuckled, ordering himself a beer, before following her to the dance floor.

They danced most of the night. Well, Steph danced, Keanu stood close to her, swaying awkwardly from side to side. It made her giggle and pull him closer, trying to guide his movements with hands on his hips, but without much success.

She pressed her back against his chest, grinding against him and Keanu swallowed hard, mouth going dry and skin even more overheated in the bad illuminated club. He knew she was doing it on purpose by the way Steph pushed her ass against his crotch, bringing his hands to her thighs. Better men than Keanu would get a hard-on from that.

“I need a sec,” he said in her ear, feeling the vibrations of her laughter before he pulled away and headed for the restroom, washing his face with cold water to try to get himself under control.

Once Keanu was sure he was ok and his dick was under control, he checked his phone, noticing a few missed calls from his bandmates. He texted his apologies, promising to be at rehearsal tomorrow, before pocketing his phone and heading back into the club.

A small wave of panic caught him when Keanu didn’t spot Steph right away. She had a little too much to drink and was vulnerable to creeps. He should never have left her side. He was there to take care of her, keep her safe.

“Hey buddy,” he called out to the bartender, catching his attention. “Did you see the girl I was with?”

“Steph?” he asked, and Keanu should’ve known she was a regular there. He nodded and the bartender gestured over Keanu’s shoulder. He turned around to look, catching sight of Steph arguing with her ex at the balcony of the VIP area.

Keanu made a beeline to the stairs, worry increasing by the second, but was stopped at the stairs by a bouncer.

“Sorry pal, can’t go up without a bracelet.”

“My…” he hesitated, unsure of how to describe Steph. “Friend is up there.”

“Sure, they are,” the bouncer snorted in disbelief, blocking the way, arms crossed over his chest. Keanu took a moment to evaluate the situation. He could probably take this guy, even if he wasn’t much of a fighter but that would get too much attention and he knew that was the last thing Steph wanted.

With worry still twisting his guts, Keanu stepped back his gaze shifting to the couple in the VIP lounge. What had looked like a heated argument moments ago had shifted into an intimate conversation. Kevin was crowding her space; his hand tracing patterns on Steph’s arm as he spoke in her ear. Jealousy burned in the pit of his stomach and something in his chest ached.

Keanu had been so stupid to let himself believe this thing between them could be anything more than some adventure to her; some crazy fun. Hire a hooker, sleep with him while she was on a break with her boyfriend. Maybe even let herself be photographed so he could see and be jealous. Keanu meant nothing to her, and he should’ve known.

He snorted at his own naivety and moved away, grabbing his jacket on his way out. The cool drizzle falling made him hug himself as he hailed a cab. When Keanu got inside the car, he thought he heard his name being called out, but ignored it.

---

In the first couple of weeks, Steph would send him requests every day. They hadn’t shared phone numbers and the Mars and Venus chat was only available when both parties accepted the transaction. So, Keanu kept refusing it until she gave up; even if it broke his heart every time he got a new notification and saw it wasn’t her.

Keanu shoved the clothes she bought him to the back of his closet and made sure to keep himself oblivious to any news that featured her. He blacklisted her name on his google news notifications and avoided all gossip magazines whenever he stopped by the newsstand to buy himself some cigarettes. If Steph’s face showed up on his TV, he made sure to change the channel as quickly as he could.

Instead, he threw himself into his band and work. He upped his price again on Mars and Venus and Keanu really thought that would make his requests drop, but it only seemed to encourage these women. Like Scott had told him, they were mostly older, some widowers or divorcees who wanted a company for the night or something pretty one their arms for an event. Every once in a while, a married one would hire him to make her husband jealous.

Keanu made clear from their first interactions in the chat that he wouldn’t sleep with them and most of them accepted his conditions. Some still tried to seduce him, but he remained adamant even if he felt attracted to them. He was never good at keeping feelings away from sex so he couldn’t let himself be vulnerable to what happened with Steph.

After a month, he had made enough to get himself a better apartment and moved away from the one he had shared with Scott. Keanu was even managing to send some money back home, help his mom and sisters a little. He didn’t feel as awkward about being an escort anymore and got quite apt at hiding his face whenever he was out with a client in an event and someone happened to snap a picture. Keanu liked to keep his anonymity.

He still worked at the bike shop, more out of habit and love for bikes than actual need and Dogstar finally managed to record their first demo. Now they only needed a producer to give them a chance.

With all that was going on in his life, Keanu managed to push Steph mostly out of his mind. She still haunted his dreams, but there was nothing he could do about that. It wasn’t all that surprising that he was caught off guard when Gard called out his name one day, holding the phone against his chest.

“Ke, there’s a woman on the phone wanting to talk to you about a bike.”

Figuring it was just a customer he had helped in the shop, Keanu didn’t think twice about answering with a quiet greeting.

“Hi,” she breathed out and it was enough to make his heart hammer against his chest. “Please don’t hang up. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“How did you get this number?” Keanu asked, his voice breaking a little and Gard shot him a worried look.

“I researched all bike custom shops in Los Angeles until I find one owned by a Gard,” Steph explained, and he could hear the small sad smile in her voice. “I know you don’t want to see or talk to me, but your bike has been sitting in my garage for a month and I know how much it means to you so I just wanted to know if you want me to arrange it to be sent to Gard’s shop or…”

“No,” he cut her off, squeezing his hand into a fist to keep it from shaking. “I’ll pick it up. Can I?”

“Of course, Keanu. It’s yours,” Steph replied with a sigh. “I’m leaving for France in a couple of weeks until then…”

“I’ll pick it up tonight,” he said running his fingers through his hair. Keanu should just get this over with. “Is eight, ok?”

“Sure.”

Keanu hung up without saying goodbye, dropping the phone and rushing to the restroom, dry heaving on the toilet as his lungs struggled to catch a breath. He thought he was over this. Over her. Apparently, he had been wrong.

At eight, Keanu stepped out of the cab in front of a house he thought he would never see again. His hand shook as he pressed the call button on the intercom, hearing the electric buzz of the lock releasing. Steph saw him through the security camera and let him in without a word.

His foot felt like they weighed a ton as he crossed the red brick pathway to her front door, which was pulled open before he could even reach the porch. Keanu froze at the sight of Steph standing there, oversized t-shirt – his he realized – and dark leggings, her hair falling messily around her round face, her brown eyes sad and hesitant as she watched him.

And he knew he was going to regret it later but he stalked towards her, hooking an arm around her waist and catching her lips in a kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs coming around his waist as he lifted her up and pushed her against the wall, kicking the door shut with his heel.

Their kisses were hard and frantic, almost bruising as they all but tore each other’s clothes off, hands desperate to find skin they craved for. Keanu dipped his fingers inside her panties, spreading her wetness over her folds before his fingers pushed inside her, making Steph gasp and claw at his shoulders. He hissed against her neck, biting at the tendon, his cock throbbing and aching for her.

“I need you inside me,” Steph gasped, tugging at his hair to make him look at her. “Right now.”

“I don’t have any condoms with me,” Keanu said, rubbing at her clit to make her moan and rock her hips.

“I don’t care,” she whimpered, pulling him closer again for another hard kiss. “Just fuck me, Ke.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grunted, her tone making him just as desperate for her. He pulled his fingers away from her cunt long enough to rip her underwear away and line himself against her opening.

They moaned together as he pushed inside, the feel of her walls quivering and stretching to accommodating him, hot and wet and so goddamn tight nearly driving him to the edge.

Keanu held her against the wall, his hands probably leaving bruised on her soft skin as he supported her weight and started to thrust into her.

Steph groaned, her hands grabbing at his hair, squeezing to the point of pain as she gasped and panted against his mouth and Keanu could taste the wine in her lips as their breaths mingled together and he swallowed her curses and praises.

“Yes, Ke. Just like that,” she pleaded, head thudding against the wall as he sped up his movements. “You’re gonna come inside me, babe? Fill me up?”

“Fuck yes!” he grunted, and she bit on his lip and ran her tongue over to soothe the sting. “I wanna see my cum dripping out of you.”

Steph whimpered again, her hand sneaking between their bodies to swirl her own clit and Keanu could tell she was close by the needy little cries and the way her walls were squeezing him. He was nearly at his limit too, pleasure building on the base of his spine and making his body hypersensitive and his movements uncoordinated.

“I’m gonna…” he warned, thrusting a couple of more times before his climax made his vision white-out for a second and he almost missed the way Steph moaned his name as she came too, cunt pulsing around him deliciously.

Keanu locked his knees together, his thighs quivering with the effort of keeping himself and Steph upright. He gulped huge gasps of breath as she ran her fingers through his sweaty hair almost soothingly.

“Let’s go to bed,” she invited, pressing soft little kisses over his face and Keanu sighed. He wanted to say yes. He really did.

“I can’t. I have a client.”

“Oh.” Steph’s eyes clouded for a second before she looked away from him and nodded. “Better put me down then. You don’t want to be late.”

“No,” Keanu sighed, letting go of her legs so she could stand on her own. “Can I…?” he gestured towards her bathroom and she nodded, still not looking his way.

He felt like a jerk as he cleaned himself up and tucked himself back into his jeans. When Keanu stepped out, Steph had put his shirt back on, but he could still see the evidence on their desperation on the marks on her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said touching his own neck and she shrugged.

“They’ll fade,” she said, leading the way to the garage where his bike was parked right next to her car, the keys inside his helmet.

“I wasn’t getting back together with him, you know?” Steph said, starting Keanu. “He tried to sweet-talk me, but I knew he was only doing it so I could put a good word for him with Fincher. Which I wasn’t gonna do.”

“Oh,” Keanu said dumbly, guilt making bile rise to his throat and he swallowed around the painful lump and looked away. “You deserve better anyway.”

“I know,” she nodded and stepped up to him, kissing his cheek so gently and affectionately, it brought tears to his eyes. “Goodbye, Keanu.”

He didn’t manage to say anything in response before she had the garage door open for him. Keanu looked at her one last time, his throat blocked by sorrow as he put on his helmet and sped away from her house and her life. Or so he thought.

xxx (tbc) xxx

go to part 5

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@toomanystoriessolittletime @meetmeinthematinee @theolsdalova @krazycags01 @beyond-antares @cumberbatchbaps @sgt-morgan @futuristic-imbecile @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day @a-really-bi-girl @fanficsrusz @nonsensicalobsessions @poisonedjoinery @soarocks​@baphometwolf666​ @thesadvampire​

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 challenge 18 and 19 - Blue and Substance

Yep, doubling up prompts again... it’s Nano, I’m only human. 

Summary: Extra, extra... Commander Shepard’s gotta engage in some mild censhorship after a tabloid leaks a photo of him imbibing a mysterious substance. Just what is it... and why does it smell like blue raspberry? The hell is the Alliance up to these days? 

---

…

Why did he get the feeling he was being watched by more than just hamsters?

It was probably just a feeling, but Alistair couldn't shake it as he entered Citadel Critters that afternoon.  Normally this was his favorite place on the station, but... well, the walk over from the docks had been unnerving to say the least. If anyone caught sight of him, they stared. A few even whispered, but it was all too low for him to pick up.

Great, who was he fucking now according to the media?

“Good to see you, Al.”

At least Mike looked normal and happy to see him. Alistair was glad for that as he raised his hand in a friendly greeting. That was of course a mistake – from the wrist almost to his elbow he was still bandaged up like a mummy. At least the bandages had stopped bleeding.

Normally medigel would be the thing for this, but the wound type needed healing the old fashioned way. As a medic he understood it... but as a twitchy biotic, it was itchy as hell and he hated every moment of it.

The shopkeeper winced at the sight of him. “Am I allowed to ask what happened there, or is it secret Spectre shit?”

“I got too close to a krogan on Tuchanka and we traded paint. Their bacteria is pretty toxic, so I can't seal it up with medigel.” He shrugged. “Least I didn't break anything. Then that would have to heal the old fashioned way too.”

He was kind of glad that krogan was dead, all things considered. Not just because he tried to kill him, but he tried to kill his nephew during his Proving. Nobody messed with Grunt and got away with it; didn't matter what it was. Shit, he'd taken on a thresher maw for the kid and he still had to go to therapy considering them. If that wasn't proof he liked the guy, nothing was.

But anyway, he was glad that fucker was dead. Asshole.

“Now you're fighting krogan hand to hand? Maybe there's something to that tabloid story after all.” Mike winced as he seemed to bite his tongue. “Shit, I said I wasn't going to ask you about that, it's clearly bullshit...”

…

What was clearly bullshit?

Alistair frowned as he checked his omni-tool, going to a site he knew fairly well. It had been a while since he had checked in with Citadel Daily, but it looked like for the most part they were still behaving. Sure, he wound up there – but they weren't mentioning who he was fucking or anything.

The answer was nobody, by the way, because the universe hated him.

“Well... it's not from Citadel Daily, so I think you're going to have to fill me in.”

The shopkeeper looked uncomfortable as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It's from some smaller paper, but it's kind of gone viral. They ran it in last week's Spec-Check.”

Ah, he'd heard of that. Hell, he'd been in it once or twice. Half the time it was getting censored by the Council for accidentally falling ass first into the truth, and the rest of their stories were so obviously fake that they provided excellent cover. The ones about him had all been fake... but maybe it would explain the stares.

Mike grabbed his datapad from a nearby table and tabbed over to an article he had clearly read a couple times. He wasn't looking Alistair in the eye as he handed it over, and his hand trembled a bit. Clearly, someone was feeling a little guilty...

“What the hell?”

There, in bright font, screamed out “Commander Shepard: Under the Influence of Biotic Boosting Substances?” with a picture of him in armor. His eyebrow zoomed to his hairline as he realized it was taken on Tuchanka. How had he missed a krogan taking a picture of him?

More importantly, who had sold him out and why did he need to tan their hide?

“So this story...” he flicked through. “Implies that I'm on some illicit substance to boost my biotics. They know red sand is a thing, right?”

The shopkeep shrugged. “Keep reading, they imply it's some purified Alliance version they're testing on you. The paper called it blue moon...”

Alistair's vein throbbed as he flipped to the picture. Clear as day, there was a picture of him opening a tube of a obnoxiously colored, bright blue powdery substance and swallowing it down. Judging by the scenery... he had gone after a thresher maw not long after it was taken.

Ok... he could kind of see the hook there, but come the fuck on.

“I told people it was bullshit, the Alliance isn't going to risk its first Spectre on shit like that...” Mike's voice wavered. “But then more pictures showed up.”

Now he really had to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Mind telling me where I can find these guys? I think I need to give them the Citadel Daily special.”

“Is that the part where you toss them out a window?”

No, it was the part where he let Bo threaten someone with defenestration. Problem was that his XO was still back on the Normandy with her adoptive son. They were having a bonding moment after what had gone down on Tuchanka. He was eventually supposed to bring them back snacks, but... well it looked like he had to make a pit stop first.

“We'll see. Now, I gotta get to tracking them down...”

---

Unlike Citadel Daily, the office of Eye on the Citadel was much smaller and in a more run down part of the Wards. Some might have called it seedy, but Alistair didn't care as he got out of the cab and checked his omni-tool. On it flashed the details he needed and had acquired from EDI when he had informed the Normandy where he was going.

“You packing your blue moon, Commander?”

Alistair rolled his eyes as he touched the piece in his ear. “Joker...”

“Sorry, Commander. I know you're touchy about it and all. Just don't throw anyone out a window with your mind.”

Yes, yes he was. Regardless, the Spectre sighed as he approached the front door. The sign said to knock, which he did. He even stepped back, waiting. For a long while, he wasn't sure if anyone was home.

Then he heard the skittering in the background.

“Shit, it's Shepard!”

Someone wasn't very subtle. They were also looking through the peep hole directly at him. Despite himself, he gave a little wave as he waited for the door to open. Whoever was there squeaked, and it sounded like they fell down.

Hopefully they hadn't broken anything before he got the chance to try.

“Hello, are you alright in there? It sounded like you took a nasty fall. I'm a medic if you need some first aid.”

Someone was sniffling behind the door. It was so damn pathetic that Alistair sighed and reached for the doorknob. In a few seconds, his picking program had made short work of the lock. That allowed him to gently twist the handle and open the door.

Just like he thought, there was a person on the floor, holding their ankle with big tears in their eyes. From where he was standing, it just looked like a bad sprain. It was nothing a little medigel and some rest couldn't handle, and luckily he had the first ingredient on hand.

Problem was, the person who had just entered the hallway looked as though he had murdered someone.

“So Commander Shepard breaks and enters on top of consuming illicit drugs.” Their camera was out. “Eli, did he hurt you?”

Alistair's tone was as dry as Tuchanka as he motion to the prone human. “I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure they sprained their ankle falling.”

The man with the camera looked from his partner to his subject a few times. He still took a few pictures before he put it away – note to self, blast that late. A few seconds later, he was helping Eli to his feet – somewhat unsuccessfully. He was way off balance.

“If you do it that way...” He winced as both men went tumbling. “... that's going to happen. Did you break something too?”

Camera man wasn't amused as he tried to free himself from underneath his prone friend. “I'm fucking fine, what the hell are you doing here? You broke in!”

Alistair gestured to the fact he was still on the other side of the door. “I haven't even entered the house yet, good luck proving that.”

Clearly, he was dealing with a real genius. He doubted this was the man who had written the article about him – not enough imagination. Maybe it was his photos, but definitely not his words. That he attributed to Mr. Sprained Ankle, who was still trying to get up on his own power. With his luck, he probably sprained the other one...

Just what he needed, a rescue mission when he was trying to be intimidating.

He sighed and let his anger trickle out. “May I enter so I can administer first aid? You've followed me enough to know I'm a medic.”

“Yeah, a medic tripping balls on blue moon!” Camera man pointed at him. “I saw you take it twice on the Citadel, once with your fucking niece! You have a problem, and I'm going to expose you so people know not to-”

The beeping from Alistair's wrist drew the Spectre's attention. He frowned and flipped it over. A familiar program was warning him that his sugar was currently in the low 60's. If this kept up, he was going to risk really becoming a space cadet.

Talk about appropriate though.

“You're about to see another dose, actually.” He pulled the paper tube from his jacket pocket and ripped off the top. A few seconds later, down his throat it went. All he tasted was sour blue raspberry as it traveled down his throat.

He really hated blue flavors... green apple was where it was at.

On the floor, Eli sniffed. “Is... that candy?”

“Homemade pixie stick mix. It's cheaper than buying the individual tubes.” He tossed Camera Man a packet. “Test it if you don't believe me. Mine's a little more sour than the commercial mix, but it's still basically sugar, citric acid, a little bit of flavor with the color.”

Somewhere, he was pretty sure a thousand 'don't do drugs, kids' infomercials went through both men's heads as they examined the packet. The vein continued to throb as he waited for his sugar to creep back to normal levels. At least it wouldn't take long – he had caught the low fairly early.

It was Eli who took the packet, giving a little bit of the powder a cautionary lick despite his coworker's protests. When his face contorted in the classic sign of sour, the Spectre sighed in relief. Still, it was hard to resist pinching the bridge of his nose.

“He's telling the truth, Sam. It's like a high powered pixie stick.” And then the man wasn't looking at him. “Shit... you've been eating these the whole time, haven't you?”

Alistair held up his wrist, showing the blood meter reading. “Have to or I go into hypoglycemia. It's part of being a biotic for me. So I guess we can say you were kind of right about it being a biotic booster. However, I don't think anyone outside an elementary school classroom is going to call it illicit.”

He at least allowed a smile. “So, you going to let me in now to help with that ankle, or are you just going to live on the floor from now on?”

---

“So, did you throw him out a window?”

“No, and did you want the Cheetos too?”

Alistair could hear Bo groaning on the other end of the line as he picked out snacks for his trip back. He had quite a few – enough to fill the basket. That was understandable, given he was helping to feed a krogan and a high powered biotic. Between the two of them, he wasn't sure who could eat more. Some days it was a toss up.

So he added the Cheetos anyway. If she didn't want them, he'd eat them later.

“You're such a fucking boy scout sometimes, Al. You could've at least fucked with him a little bit.”

The Spectre shrugged his shoulders as he added a few more things to his basket before heading for the self check out. Given the time of day, the store was pretty packed. He still felt eyes on the back of his neck, but not as many as before.

The blog post had gone out while he was checking Eli's ankle. He had been right on the credits about who wrote for that duo...

“I got my retraction, and he learned not to stand on things while you're spying on a Spectre. Everyone walks away happy.”

“Yeah, except the people who bet you'd throw them out the window.”

Well, that was their mistake. After all, he WAS known for being the boy scout. She had said it herself. Though, he knew she hadn't bet on him, though not because she knew him well. Bo wasn't allowed to bet on anything involving him, due to the fact she was usually involved. This was a rare technicality that had kept her out of the pool.

Too bad, she could've cleaned up.

“Who managed to take the pot home?”

“Garrus. He better be taking you on some kind of date with that money when this is over.”

The thought of it made Alistair's face heat as he started scanning things through the self checkout. “Come on... we're not...”

“Not with that attitude. Also, did you get the nuggets? We were going to watch Jurassic Park next, they'd be a good theme snack.”

He sent her a picture of the massive sized bag of dinosaur-shaped nuggets before finishing up. Soon, he was out the door and blending into the crowd as he put his hood up to avoid the lingering gazes. Hopefully with time, it would settle down.

As he headed back to the Normandy, Alistair was glad for one thing... that he hadn't told anyone the thought of throwing someone out a window had crossed his mind more than once as he healed Eli's ankle. That would've probably lost the pool for Garrus, and maybe he was hoping for that date sometime this century.

Well, that and being cleared of being on weird Alliance drugs like a guinea pig. That was good too. But seriously, how the hell had they come up with that? Anyone with a brain in their head knew as a Spectre he technically wasn't part of the Alliance anymore. If they had any neat substances to test out, it would be on people they actually held marching orders for.

Oh well... at least he'd been able to get the green color this time. No more blue moon for him. Maybe he'd keep the name for the blend, though... it was kind of catchy.

[beckzorz]

Sugarplum (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Words: 1883 Prompt: “Having a crush on Bucky and leaving him a sugar plum Danish at his door every morning until he catches you.” A/N: Thank you so much to @jewelofwinter for the prompt and to @kat-lives for doing a read-through for me before I published! Hope you enjoy!

“And all I was doing was buying some plums,” Bucky finishes. He sighs and flashes Steve a sideways smile. His blue eyes are bright with a mix of amusement and melancholy. “Teach me not to go to farmer’s markets.”

You gaze up at Bucky from your spot on the floor, your breath catching at that bittersweet smile. Every time you look at Bucky, you can’t help but stare. No matter what he’s doing, smiling, frowning, whatever, there’s something about him that draws you in. Maybe it’s the gentle slope of his brow, or the dimple in his scruffy chin, or his perfect mouth, or his perfect body, or his perfect—

Wanda nudges you. You tear your eyes from Bucky and frown at her.

“What?” your mutter.

Wanda just raises her eyebrows with a gentle smirk, her eyes flicking towards the couch. Your cheeks flare with heat; dread pools in the pit of your stomach. Did he notice? You lay your head on Wanda’s shoulder and close your eyes, hoping not.

No such luck.

“You okay?” Bucky asks.

You crack and eye open and force a smile. “Just tired.”

“It is late,” Wanda says, taking pity. “And you’re still getting over that last mission.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” You force yourself to your feet, wincing—you’d sprained your ankle avoiding a mine three days back, and it hadn’t fully healed.

Bucky stands quickly and grabs your elbow. His eyes dance along your face, brow pinched in concern. Your cheeks burn hotter than ever at his close scrutiny.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asks, voice low.

You bite your lip and nod, not daring to meet his eye. Instead, you stare at his perfect mouth with its full lips and its cupid’s bow and its pink hue.

“Alright,” he says. He drops his hand from your arm, and you flee.

All your dreams that night are of Bucky.

—

The next morning, you lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling.

Yes, you’ve got it bad. Bucky’s invaded your thoughts, your dreams; there’s no escape. Wanda has told you a dozen times to just tell him, but you can’t. Shyness bites your tongue, fear stops your mouth. No matter how tempting Bucky is, you’re too afraid of rejection.

Once bitten, twice shy, or so the saying goes, and you’ve had more than your fair share of rejection. Middle school, high school, college… Even that one fellow trainee during your first month at SHIELD. All of them said no.

And none of them can hold a candle to Bucky.

Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. Confessing is impossible, but you itch to do something for him. Something secret to make him smile with more genuine delight than he’d shown last night, what with his lingering sadness about his traumatic return to the real world.

You chew your lip, hands linked behind your head. What could you do for him? He was capable of whatever he wanted. He had the money, connections, and looks to get whatever he wanted. What could you, a fresh face on the team with nothing but your resume to your name, have to offer? Certainly nothing fancy—no new upgrades for his arm, no fancy guns, no expensive gloves.

What did he want that you could get?

You roll out your ankle, and as you wince it hits you.

Plums.

Bucky likes plums.

—

Every morning, Bucky goes running with Steve. Steve had insisted at first—something, anything, to get Bucky out of the safety of home and acclimate him into the world again.

“The more people see evidence of you being normal,” Steve had said, “the faster things’ll clear up.”

So off they go to Central Park every morning, bright and early. Or dark and early, in the winter months.

By now, it’s a habit. People don’t run away from him anymore, mostly, and running with Steve is better than running alone. Steve’s the only one who can really keep up with him, at least of the folks at the tower. Thor can keep up, but he’s only around sporadically these days. The best days are when they can bully Sam into coming along, and then Bucky and Steve can be assholes together the whole time.

It’s nice.

The other nice part of running with Steve is that there’s always a sugar plum danish waiting for him when he gets back. Bucky doesn’t know how Steve does it, especially since he doesn’t go every day, but he’s looking forward to it today. After two weeks in southeastern Russia, he’s craving his danish something fierce. If he runs faster than usual, Steve doesn’t say anything.

If anything, Steve smirks and pushes him harder.

Punk.

They make it back to the tower almost half an hour early. Bucky’s sweating hard, desperate for a shower and his danish.

But there’s no danish at his door. Bucky skids to a halt.

“Steve,” he says accusingly, “where’s my danish?”

Steve blinks and wipes some sweat from his brow. “How should I know?”

“Steve.”

“What?”

Bucky jabs a finger Steve’s way. “Your danish. You get me a danish.”

“No I don’t,” Steve says.

“Yes you do,” Bucky argues. “That first time we went, I thanked you for it!”

“Well, it wasn’t me.” Steve walks backwards away from Bucky, smirking, and adds, “Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer, Buck.”

Bucky scowls, but Steve ducks into his suite before Bucky can retort. Bucky barrels inside his own suite, fuming.

Who would like him, with all his baggage? He can’t think of anyone on the team who’s stupid enough to put themselves in such a position. Well, he can think of some idiots, but there’s no reason to suspect any romantic inclinations from any of them. Scott’s busy with Hope, and Stark is Stark. The rest…

Bucky peels off his sweaty shirt and chucks it in the laundry bin. He bites his tongue as his thoughts turn to you. He’s seen you watching him closely sometimes, but he’s certain there’s nothing to it. You’re smart, sensible—too sensible to get caught up with him.

His scowl comes back in full force as he peels off his running shorts. No, you’ve got better things to do than think about a hundred-year old morally repugnant assassin.

Bucky grabs his towel and stalks to take his shower. He’s got no secret admirer. All he’s got are some unsatisfied cravings and a conniving best friend.

—

You lean heavily against the elevator wall, panting, bakery box in hand. “JARVIS, did I make it in time?”

“No, Agent, I regret to say. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes returned to their suites two minutes ago.”

“Shit.” You run your free hand down your neck and kick your heel against the wall. The line at the bakery around the corner was long today, and apparently Bucky and Steve had run faster than usual. On any other day, you’d still have fifteen minutes, easy.

You stare down at the little bakery box with its cellophane-covered window. The sugar plum danish inside looks just like every other you’ve bought: flaky pastry, glistening filling, vanilla frosting drizzle. It’s pretty.

Bucky likes them. Or at least, he’s eaten all the ones you’ve left for him over the past six weeks. You haven’t seen him eating them, but you can imagine him licking fruity glaze off his fingers. The thought is… tempting.

Far more tempting than the danish in your hand, no matter how good it looks. If you weren’t allergic to plums, you’d just eat it yourself.

If you weren’t allergic to rejection, you’d just eat Bucky up.

You groan aloud as the elevator slows to a stop at the residential floor. The doors don’t open right away. Instead, JARVIS’s voice chimes, “If you please, Agent, Sergeant Barnes is in the shower. You may have time if—”

“Well open the door!” you exclaim.

The second the doors open, you squeeze through and dash through the halls. Bucky’s suite is at the far end by Steve’s; it’s never seemed so far from the elevator. You hold the bakery box gingerly, hoping the danish doesn’t get banged out of shape.

But the second you turn the corner, you yank yourself back out of sight. You press yourself against the hallway wall, eyes wide and face burning. Bucky’s door is open, and in the split second it was in view, Bucky was standing there, staring at the clear floor at his feet.

Dressed only in a pair of jeans.

You pray he didn’t see you, but you know full well you weren’t running with light feet the way Natasha taught you. No, you’d stupidly been crashing along, heavy breathing and all. You cock an ear; Bucky hasn’t shut his door. Your heart races. Is he coming to investigate? If you leave the danish where you are, will he find it?

You bend to set the danish down, but before you let go, someone clears their throat.

Your heart stops.

Slowly, you stand up, hands trembling, leaving the danish on the floor. Only once you’re fully upright do you drag your eyes up.

Bucky is leaning around the corner, just his head and bare right shoulder visible. His hair is black with water, a few strands clinging to his cheek. His blue eyes are narrowed at the bakery box, but then he looks up and frowns at you.

“Did Steve put you up to this?” he asks.

You blanch. “No! Of course not!” You wring your hands and look away. Can he tell how hot your face is? “I’m sorry, I—”

“So you’ve just been doing this on your own?”

You nod. If you’re not emitting smoke, you should be. You push the danish towards him with the toe of your shoe.

“Why?” he asks.

“Um…” You swallow. “You like plums,” you say weakly.

“So?”

You twist your fingers together in front of your stomach, your eyes still on the floor. “I wanted to do something nice,” you whisper.

Bucky steps into your field of vision. Your eyes lift from his bare feet up past his abs and chest to settle on the dimple in his chin. You can’t bring yourself to look any higher, afraid of the frown you’re certain lingers in his expression.

But when he lifts your chin with a cool metal finger, you have no choice but to meet his eyes. You swallow at the softness in his gaze, sudden hope flaring in your chest. Could he really be glad?

“All that just for me?” His voice is soft, husky; your knees go weak.

“Yes,” you answer. You lick your lips. “You deserve nice things.”

“Ain’t you sweet as sugar,” he murmurs, his blue eyes bright. “Does that mean I deserve you?”

You take his hand and kiss the shining knuckles, your lips leaving their mark on the metal and your eyes never leaving his. Bucky slides his other hand around your waist and tugs you close. The danish box gets caught between your feet, but neither of you notice.

“I don’t know about deserve, and I don’t know how sweet I am,” you say shyly. You steel yourself with a hand on his abs. “But I do like you.”

Bucky’s smile is as blinding as the sun. “You know, sugarplum,” he says, “I like you too.”

[vagrantblvrd]

Twist of Fate (1/1)

Summary: Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for leave in a while.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who wanted Battle Buddies with one of them trying to win a stuffed toy at a carnival booth. :D?

(Read on AO3)

Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for leave in a while. Always a critical mission here or world-threatening crisis there. Enormous mountain of paperwork to forge through with command breaking down their necks, that kind of thing.

So this?

A chance to unwind for a few hours on (relatively) friendly soil before someone back at HQ secures them transport back home is a nice break.

Jeremy’s charming a booth operator, Ryan can hear him from here. He’s using that atrocious southern accent of his that slips every other sentence. Can never hold on to accent for long, will swing from southern to some mangled form of British or other to an approximation of Australian.

Irish, sometimes, when he’s feeling a little family pride.

Half a dozen other accents that would rightly insult their native speakers if they even recognized them for what they were. (Jeremy...he’s just bad at accents.)

Ryan can’t help the fond little grin that breaks out as Jeremy walks towards him. Smirking like an asshole and two heaping plates of amusement park food.

Greasy, covered in cheese, and likely to contribute to heart problems somewhere down the line just looking at it.

“The hell is that?” he asks, as Jeremy hands Ryan one of the plates, gesturing towards an area with picnic tables under canvas awnings.

Jeremy, because he’s Jeremy, shrugs and shovels a sporkful of the stuff in his mouth.

“Who knows,” he says, “Lorna gave it to us for free and promised there’s less than ten percent rat meat in it.”

That -

Okay, yes.

They are in Los Santos, cesspool of the great and beautiful state of San Andreas, so that’s a thing. (Only here, Ryan knows, would that kind of statement be something to be proud of.)

“Let’s never come back here again,” Ryan says, because any percent of rat meat in anything is too much.

Jeremy, because he’s Jeremy, laughs at him like he thinks Ryan’s joking. (He’s not, but really, what are the odds they’ll end up back here again anyway?

========

Ryan must have been a horrible human being in a past life because they end up in Los Santos again.

To be fair, it’s probably the safest place for them to be now what with the whole thing with the agency and all.

“Wow,” Jeremy says, limping a little. “This places smells worse than I remember.”

To be fair they didn’t exactly take the scenic tour through Los Santos’ sewers the last time they were here.

Oversight on their part because it’s just lovely down here.

“Less talking, more walking,” Ryan grunts, and it’s mostly the bruised ribs talking. “Also, yes.”

Jeremy snorts, moving closer and being all so subtle about worrying about Ryan falling on his face and into ankle-deep sewage as they trudge along.

One of Ryan’s old contacts has set up business in Los Santos, ought to be able to help them out, if they can find him.

Just gotta keep the cops from finding them after the commotion they got pulled into. Daylight robbery and comical ineptitude on the part of the cops that had them mistaking Ryan and Jeremy as the robbers, and they’ve only been in Los Santos for a few hours.

It’s been a hell of a day. (Week? Month? He’s lost track by now.)

========

Between one thing or another they haven’t had the chance for time off in a while. Always a job here or a heist there. Cops on their assess because Jeremy just won’t let this whole damn Rimmy Tim business go and people notice. (People in Los Santos are just different than people anywhere else. Sniff that shit out like you wouldn’t believe.)

Still.

Every once in a while they manage to get some time to themselves away from the chaos of the crew. Get the opportunity to walk around the city without someone looking at them and pegging them as public enemy number one.

They end up back at Del Perro Pier where they got their first real look at Los Santos all those years ago.  (A lifetime ago.)

It’s changed a lot since then, chic little restaurants and cafe’s replacing most of the outdoor eating areas. Food vendor booths with their questionable foods boasting about the lack of rat meat in their dishes like that was the selling point that would convince people to hand over their money.

Although...he’s not so sure the food these chic little restaurants and cafe’s are selling are much better when he thinks about it.

Ryan still doesn’t know what they had for lunch, but it was tasty enough and odds are good they won’t live to deal with the consequences anyway.

Not with the way the Fakes approach life, all chaos and anarchy and this careless disregard for their own mortality like they’re racing the clock. (Everyone’s always running out of time, more so here in Los Santos than anywhere else Ryan’s been.)

Jeremy nudges Ryan with his elbow, tips his head towards the midway and waggles his eyebrows.

“You know,” he says, grin on his face and mischief in his voice. “We never did get the chance to really check this place out before.”

That sounds ominous, given it’s Jeremy and nothing’s exploded or even combusted around them for, oh, a good couple of hours.

“Huh,” Ryan says, and lets Jeremy drag him towards trouble.

========

So here’s the thing, right.

The two of them, they’re doing alright for themselves these days.

The agency’s one of those bad memories behind them they don’t have to worry about anymore thanks to a judicious application of explosives and planing and petty vindictiveness. (Mostly the explosives.

They’re part of a crew that doesn’t want them want to claw their own skin off, might even feel like family. (The stupidly annoying kind you’d do just about anything for, but would be a mistake to let certain members know because they’d never hear the end of it, but there you go.)

High up enough in the food chain here in Los Santos without their status in the crew they could get by just fine if things ever fell apart. (Unlikely as that is.)

So why, Ryan wonders, why is he losing his goddamned mind over an amusement park game booth?

Ridiculous little pellet gun in his hands and the faces of horrendously drawn clowns laughing at him as he fails to hit a single bullseye even though he’s a damn good marksman. Hell of a sniper, even if he’s gotten a little rusty over the years with Jeremy on overwatch while he gets up close and personal, uses his size and reputation for maximum effect.

The booth operator is a bored looking teenager with this tiniest of tiny smirks tugging at the corner of her mouth and obviously laughing at Ryan and his repeated failure to win the grand prize.

A whole stack of consolation tickets and one or two low-level monstrosities meant to be some form of adorable animal, but no luck with the giant purple and orange abomination Jeremy had eyed before moving on. Or trying to, before he realized Ryan had forked over money trying to win it for him. And failed and failed and failed.

Ryan shouldn’t even care about it this much, he knows that.

They’re hardened criminal types now, and battle-weary spec ops operatives loaned out to some hush-hush secret agency before then. No room in their lives for sentiment or nostalgia and all that because those were weaknesses they didn’t need.

Jeremy had done the smart thing, passing the stupid little stuffed animal by, but Ryan?

Stupid, idiot Ryan had noticed the little flicker of a smile on Jeremy's face, some bit of childhood nostalgia or something else, and in all his infinite stupidity decided he’d give winning it a try because why the hell not?

They’d sacrificed enough to get where they are, and something frivolous like this was more than deserved.

All Ryan had to do was hit the bullseye on all the targets in a set amount of time and the damn stuffed dragon was theirs – Jeremy’s, whatever.

Seemed simple enough, which should have been a warning sign.

“Son of a bitch,” Ryan hisses, and sets down more money for another go at the stupid targets in front of him.

Jeremy’s not quite at the point of laughing at him, but the asshole’s certainly enjoying Ryan’s complete failure to win this game.

Stupid goddamned rigged game.

Ryan was one of the agency’s best marksmen, had all these certificates and cute little trophies from “friendly” competitions – and all that to back it up. (Not to mention the carefully redacted files and trail of bodies that set of skills netted him.)

He’s up there when it comes to snipers you can find in Los Santos – maybe not as good as Ray, but then again who is anymore – but he can hold his own.

And yet somehow he’s finding it nigh impossible to shoot a goddamned clown in the goddamned nose.

Nightmarish renditions of the things painted on wood and laughing at him every time he clips the outer ring around them.

“Ryan,” Jeremy says, the way he does when the situation has spun out wildly out of control in a manner that isn’t exactly life-threatening but still the kind of disaster where Ryan just wants to set the world on fire. “Oh my God, Ryan.”

Ryan glares at Jeremy because that’s not helpful, and – still laughing it up – Jeremy takes the toy gun from him and takes a turn.

Hits the bullseye every damn time even though his aim’s sure to be off with the way he’s still giggling like an idiot.

Grins up at Ryan as he shoves the stuffed dragon in his hands and a moment later gasps in overblown surprise at the sight of it in all its tacky glory.

“Oh, Ryan,” he says, hands on his face like that kid from that one movie, look of surprise and utter delight on his face. “You shouldn’t have!”

The feigned surprise and soft joy is ruined by the giggling he can’t seem to stop, but when he takes the dragon from Ryan and leans up for a quick kiss to his cheek, it’s a little more tolerable.

Okay, a lot, because Jeremy is happy, even if it’s at Ryan’s expense.

All bright joy and clear laughter and Ryan’s heart does this little flip in his chest because it’s been a long, long time since they’ve had the luxury for either and he intends to hold on to it as long as he can.

[rowan-catsandcoffee]

Kyle Ash | “She’s not yours.”

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Pairing: Kyle x MC Word Count: 1725 Notes: warning of alcohol Written for: @ikemen-discord-writers Request: "She’s not yours” with a drunk Kyle by Anon

The sky in Cradle was beautiful, especially at night when it was peppered with stars and the clouds had all gone giving MC the perfect vantage point of seeing every single shooting star across the sky.  Even the streets were lovely, everything giving her a cozy and homey feel.  The streets she was getting familiar with during the day turned into an almost fantasy setting with the crystals powered street lamps casting a calm glow on everything.

Or it would’ve been calm, and cozy, and beautiful, if she hadn’t been spending the last few hours since the sun started to set trying to find her way back to the Black Army.  Every twist and turn either brought her to places she had never seen before or back to areas that she had thought she had gotten away from.  Cradle was something of a maze at times.  If she didn’t understand that the crystals were given purpose and only had a short supply of energy to them she would suspect them of trying to keep her trapped.  But no such luck, only her bad sense of direction to blame.

The sounds of the people going about what little nightlife there was to be found was dying out, sadly just as she had decided to ask a stranger for directions.  Each step she took felt a little louder as her heels clacked against the cobblestones, her pulse beating higher in her throat.  Would she have to find a bench to sleep on?  “This is silly…. I just need to find the square or even some guards.  Then I can get home.”  The clicks increased in speed as she thought about how the others must be worrying about her and wondering where she was.

“Hey.”  A slurred voice called out.  “What cha doing?”

“Oh, hi,” MC turned around seeing some guys stumbling through an alley.  The three men were relatively large in stature and while they might’ve been well dressed at the beginning of the night they stench of cheap booze rolled off of them and even in the dim lights MC could see their clothes in various disarray.  “I’m just out for a walk.”  Her shoulders tightened and she knew she was staring.

“Do you want to come with us?  Most of the bars around here are lame, but we know a great place to get a good drink.”

“No, I really must be on my way.”  She nodded her thanks and turned away when one of them reached out, missing her wrist and catching her sleeve instead.

“No, really, we know a good place to have some fun.  It’s not too far.”

“I’m really not that interested.”  She gave them a polite smile trying to gently pull her arm free, but instead of releasing her, the guy pulled on her sleeve a little harder.  She thought she heard a tiny tear.

“Oh yes you are, trust me, you’ll be loving it in no time.”  One of the other guys wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pinning her against him.

“But if anyone asks, you’re with me.”

“No!”  The guy nearly hanging on her sleeve interjected.  “She’ll be with me.”

“Whoa, whoa,” the third man closed in on them.  “She’s much too pretty to be with either of you two, obviously she’s mine.”

MC stiffened.  “Excuse me?”

“Hey now, don’t look so cross,” he patted the side of her face, “though you look cute this way too.  But a girl, alone at this time of night? You’ll need a protector, and you’re- you’re lucky you got me.”  He fumbled with something attached to his side, before pulling out a flask, “here.  Then we can all be friends.”  He pushed it to her lips, “wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Nice?  That doesn’t look nice at all.”  A familiar voice cut through the snickering of the men on either side of her, holding her in place.  She twisted to see the swaying figure of a man that she knew.  His cheeks were almost the same shade of red as his hair, both seeming to glow under the lights of the street lamps.  Kyle glared at them.

“Huh?  Ah man, no you see, she’s with us and just getting really uptight.  It’s just a little drink, help her loosen right up.  See?  You want a go at it?”  The flask man wiggled the flask at Kyle as if that was enough.

“You shouldn’t force a drink on a lady like that.”

“We’re not.  Look man, she’s my girlfriend and this-this- well it’s a little game we play.”  He shoved one of the guys to the side so he could wrap his arm around her waist pulling her to him.  “So why don’t you get lost, can’t you see she’s mine?”  MC started to protest and barely started to push against his chest when she saw the flash of red out of the corner of her eye.”

“She’s not yours!”  Kyle shouted as he slammed against the man, knocking him easily off balance.  He grabbed her hand as the other two stumbled away staring slack jawed at their friend on the ground.  “Run!”

At first Kyle was the one pulling her along, but soon it was MC trying to tug and lead the way, only to be suddenly jerked in another direction as Kyle hissed, “this way.”

The streets passed by, some familiar, many that weren’t.  But suddenly she found herself fall against Kyle as he slowed down.  Both of them panting, listening for the sounds of anyone following them.  Nothing.

She turned to give him a smile, noticing that they were still holding hands.  “Thanks Kyle.”

“What were you doing out here this time of night?”  His voice was a little louder than she was comfortable with.  “Scratch that, are you hurt?  Did they hurt you?  Are you okay?”  He looked her up and down.

“I’m fine, it’s fine.  I was scared, but they didn’t hurt me.  They just grabbed me and-“

“Where?”  He squinted his eyes.

“Just on my sleeve and around my shoulders.  Really, I’m all right.”

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Roll up your sleeves, I need to see you’re alright.”  He pushed her down on a stack of boxes she hadn’t seen, crossed his arms and stared down at her expectantly.  “Well?”

“Oh, um,” doing as she was told she held her arms out to him for inspection.

His hands trailed along her skin, as if it was very delicate, it almost tickled if it wasn’t for the intense expression he was giving as he felt every inch of her arms.

“See?  I’m alright.”

“I guess.”  He knelt down and looked up at her.  “You know it isn’t always safe in cradle.  You know that.”  She thought back to her first night and the problems that arose between the Red and Black Armies, and everything since.  True, it hadn’t all been fun times, but the people were good people, generally.

She scowled.  “Of course I know that.”

“Good thing you always have someone looking out for you then, huh?”  He chuckled to himself as he collapsed on the ground.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just a little dizzy from all that running, just going to take a little break.”  He scooted until he was leaning against the boxes, facing down the alleyway, and forcing MC to move her legs to the side so he was more comfortable.   She was also having trouble getting her pulse to slow down, especially when she suddenly felt Kyle grab a hold of her ankle.  “Hey, are you really okay?  You know it’s okay if you’re not.”

“I’m… tired, and I really want to go home.”

“Yeah, but the full moon is still a few weeks away.”  She stared down at the red head realizing what he was saying.

“Oh, no, uh, I meant I wanted to get back to the Black Army, they must be worried about me at this point.”

Kyle chuckled loudly, “careful, if you start thinking of that place as home, you might find way too many reasons to never leave here.  When the opportunity comes, you really should- should be- careful, and-” he yawned, “-and soft.  No, I mean you should go home where you’re safe… Soft and safe….” His voice trailed out and MC felt him lean against her leg.   She did wait for him to continue scolding her but instead she heard a gentle snore.

MC groaned half heartedly, now she had a sleeping Kyle to worry about too and she was positive she was more lost than before.

“Alice?”  A soothing voice called out, “is that you?”  Her attention was pulled down the alleyway where she could see the lithe form and white hair of Blanc, along with his strange friend in a top hat who almost towered over him.

“Hi Blanc.  Hello Mister…?”

“Did you get yourself in more trouble?”  The man cocked his head looking down at her sleeping friend.

She glared at him a little, “I’m just a little lost and Kyle… well he’s a little sleepy.”

“That’s a nice way of saying ‘drunk’.” The tall man groaned, “well, come on Kyle.”  He hunched down and helped Kyle stand up, though it was mostly just Kyle leaning against the guy instead.

“Come on Alice, let’s get you home too.”  Blanc held out his hand to help MC off the boxes.  Their coach wasn’t too far away.  Once they got inside of it Kyle was set next to MC.  He fell against her, his cheek resting on her shoulder.   “Sorry about that.”  Blanc reached out to try to sit him back up.

“No, don’t worry about it.  Least I can do for him.”

“Ha!  So you two did get into trouble.”  The older man smirked at her.

“It was nothing.”  She bristled, though it wasn’t entirely true.  She had to thank him as soon as she could.

“Well either way, I’m glad to have found you two alright.  You had walked passed the bar we were all in and he just up and ran out on us-“

“Leaving us to pick up the tab again.”

“-muttering something.  I’m glad he was able to catch up with you.”

MC smiled softly down at him, there was a hint of a smile on his face as he nuzzled into her, breathing deeply. “Me too.”

[let-it-raines]

If you're still taking prompts, could you write maybe a Nurse!Killian taking care or badass Emma? You're the best

I remembered I had this prompt started the other day when I got an eerily similar one that was super along the the lines of what I had written. This was supposed to be a small one, but it’s most definitely not. I hope you guys enjoy!

The gif doesn’t really have anything to do with the story’s plot, but how could I pass this opportunity up? 

She comes into the emergency room once every few weeks with some kind of minor injury that either needs to be scanned or stitched up. It’s never anything serious, but it’s not minor enough for her to treat herself at home. After her first few visits, he worried that she was in an abusive relationship, the black and blue bruises marking her otherwise smooth skin a clear indication of the signs that she needs help, but after following protocol and asking if she did actually need help, she laughed, her head thrown back and hair cascading down her back while her stomach moved, causing her to cringe from where she thought she might have a broken rib (she didn’t, but it was bruised). She’d then told him that she was a bounty hunter and often got injured while working.

He’d quirked an eyebrow, not entirely believing her story, but then she’d pulled out her phone and shown him proof of what she did, apparently having gone through inquiries like this before. He acquiesced, choosing to believe her but staying wary just in case, before sending for an x-ray and moving on to his next patient.

He’s checking the computer, scanning through the patients when he sees the name Emma Swan in bed seven. He didn’t see her come in, didn’t hear her call for him, and even though he’s only got thirty minutes left on his shift and should be transferring his patients to Ariel, he makes his way over to Emma, slinging the curtain over and finding her laid out in the bed with her leg propped up on a few pillows.

“Hello, Swan,” he greets, grabbing her chart off the end of the bedframe and hooking it over his prothesis, “what’d you do to your ankle?”

“I fell down the stairs while chasing this bastard who would have handled my rent for six months, and he got away while I got,” she motions to her foot, “this. It hurts like hell.”

“Do you think it’s broken or sprained, love?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs, throwing her head back against the bed and closing her eyes while her chest heaves as if she’s controlling her breathing to regulate the pain, “but I’ve never felt anything like it. I usually wouldn’t come in for a little sprain, but I can’t walk.”

“That sounds broken or seriously sprained, but we won’t know until you get some tests done, okay?”

“How long is that going to be?”

“Probably a few hours. We’re a bit backed up tonight despite all of these empty beds, and broken bones aren’t high priority.”

“Fuck that. Can I say my heart hurts to get faster service?”

He chuckles under his breath before sitting down on the rolling stool next to her bed, scooting closer to her and patting her hand, squeezing her soft palm before releasing it. “No, you cannot because that’ll only charge your insurance more, and we don’t want that, love.”

“Jones,” she groans, throwing her head back again and slinging her arm over her eyes, “you’re killing me here.”

“Technically, I’m in the business of saving lives.”

“Okay, McDreamy,” Emma laughs, moving her arm so he can see the green of her eyes that are somehow not washed out by these awful, florescent lights.

“So you think I’m dreamy then, love?”

She rolls her eyes when he waggles his eyebrows, and he feels a little sense of pride getting her to smile. It’s not that they’re all too rare, but she doesn’t give them as freely as a lot of the people he sees. Of course, he works in an emergency room where people are freaking out ninety percent of the time, so he’s usually the one smiling trying to get everyone to calm down and feel better about things that often aren’t okay. He’s just glad that he doesn’t work trauma down here. Even with all that he’s seen while deployed, he doesn’t want to do that day in and day out. He prefers things to be calmer. Fewer car crashes, more fevers.

Mostly, he doesn’t want to see most of the trauma. You’d think that for a man who had his left hand cut clean off, he’d be okay with helping others deal with horrifying events, but the sight of intense traumas make him queasy…which is obviously a great characteristic for a nurse.

“Don’t you have other patients, Jones? I feel like you shouldn’t be sitting here with me when you’re literally not even examining me or whatever.”

“Eh,” he grimaces, reaching up and scratching behind his ear before checking his watch, “I’ve got about ten minutes left on my shift, and I’ve been working twelve-hour shifts for, like, three days, which is definitely not up to code. But someone is buying out the hospital, and everything is a mess.”

“Is that why it’s going to take forever for me to get treated?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” He gets up from the stool and taps her shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Swan. I’m going to go finish out my paperwork and see where you are on the list. How much pain are you in?”

“About a four, but definitely a six if I move or put any pressure on it.”

“Got it.”

He walks out of her curtained area, leaving it open as she’s not having anything done, before walking back to the nurses’ station and sitting down at his desk, finishing checking out and trying to figure out a time estimate for Emma before she gets seen. He’s not supposed to have favorite patients and he really doesn’t, but there are people who come in more frequently than anyone should. He gets to know them whether they like it or not, and that’s pretty much how he’s gotten Emma not to snap at him every time he tries to talk.

That happened for the first six months of her wandering in here, but she’s come around to not despising him.

“Hey, A,” he calls out, grabbing Ariel’s attention from the other end of the station, “I’m off the clock, but can you make sure Emma Swan in bed seven isn’t here for an unnecessarily long time? I’m already pretty sure she just has a bad sprain and not a fracture, but there’s really no way to tell yet.”

“What? You don’t want to stay and take care of your girlfriend?”

He rolls his eyes at Ariel’s teasing before twisting in the chair and scooting over to where she’s sitting and reading over her patients. “She is not my girlfriend, and you are far too cheeky for it to be six in the morning.”

Ariel slants her eyes and looks him up and down before patting his cheek. “You look like shit, Killian. You need to go home and sleep.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but you keep distracting me.”

“I know, I know,” she laughs, straightening her scrubs. “I’m reading over everything, and I promise I’m going to take care of your girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend.”

Ariel winks before rising from her chair and patting him on his shoulder as she walks away. “Whatever you say.”

When he comes back to work two days later, it’s eerily calm. There are no pressing needs to be taken care of, and he’s able to sit down and drink his coffee in the lounge while scrolling through his iPad to see how all of his patients ended up. They’ve either been discharged or admitted to a room, and he makes a note to check on Mrs. Lucas when he gets a break. She’s having issues with her cholesterol even if he keeps telling her to watch how much she snacks on her diner’s food.

It’s damn good food, so he can’t really blame her. Well, he can, but he’d likely do the same surrounded by everything she serves.

He’s just closing out everyone when he gets to the end and sees Emma’s name. He reads through her report, checking all of the tests she had done, and he was right to think that it was a bad strain. But it’s apparently bad enough that she has to stay on crunches and come in for physical therapy. He may not know a lot about her, but he already knows that she’s going to hate that.

He hated his own physical therapy for his prosthetic and his injured leg after the accident, and he likes to think he’s a hell of a lot less stubborn than Emma Swan.

Sure enough, Emma comes wandering down to his station later that afternoon. She’s walking with crutches and a boot, but the most noticeable thing about her is the sour look on her face as she marches (hobbles) right toward him.

“Hi, Swan,” he cheerily greets, bracing himself for whatever it is she has to say.

“Can you take me home?”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

Emma looks up at the ceiling and clenches her jaw while her fingers fidget over her crutches. “Look, I know that this is a weird request and probably totally inappropriate, but I can’t drive and have no way to get home.”

“Have you ever heard of an Uber or bus?”

“I don’t have a phone. It broke when I got hurt, and I’ve just been using my laptop to text my friends until I get paid again for some old cases. So I can’t use Uber. And the bus stop near my apartment is too far away for me to walk with this damn leg.”

“How’d you get here?”

“My friend best friend’s boyfriend works here, and he gave me a ride. But he’s not getting off until seven tonight, and it’s literally ten in the morning.”

“Ahh,” he sighs, wondering how the hell she hasn’t lost it when she’s seeming to have horrible luck. “Well, I don’t get a lunch break for two more hours. Can you wait until then?”

She nods her head up and down, a small smile gracing her face. “Thank you. Where can I…do you want me to wait in the…waiting room? I feel like that’s a little too on the nose.”

“Well, as long as you’re not on the foot.”

“Wow, that’s horrible,” she groans even as amusement sparkles in her eyes. “So I guess I’ll just go wait in there.”

“Hey…why don’t – you can…Bloody hell, I’m going to get you a chair in here, and I’ll let you keep me company while I go through some discharge paperwork, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

He finds an empty chair and carries it over to the nurses’ station. He’s not technically supposed to let her behind the counter, so he lets her sit right outside while he goes through his paperwork. She’s pretty quiet, but that’s what he expects. They don’t spend much (any) time with each other outside of him treating her when she’s getting hurt, so this is brand new territory.

But after about fifteen minutes she cracks and complains about how the only thing she has to look at is the floor cleaner that’s running up and down the hallway and she needs something to entertain her. Thinking on his feet, he hands her the chain of paperclips he’s been collecting over the years and asks her to unhook them. She looks at him warily, but she eventually accepts. It’s his only solution for her boredom when he really is supposed to be working.

It’s after she’s finished and has all of them divided up into separate piles for the colors that an idea sparks in his mind.

“So, I’m a right idiot for not offering this earlier, but I can call you an Uber or a cab with my phone.”

Her lips part and her cheeks flush a wonderful shade of pink before she covers her face with her hands. “Oh my God. We’re idiots. Seriously. How the hell did we not think of that?”

He chuckles under his breath and shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, I had a beautiful woman asking me to take her home. I wasn’t about to complain.”

Like the mature adult Emma Swan is, she sticks out her tongue at him and grabs a pen off the counter. “I know how to use this pen to hurt you, Jones.”

“What are you going to do? Stab me?”

“Fill out my care card as having bad service. I hear that’s how you guys get your bonuses.”

“Mighty brave of you to threaten a man’s bonus there, Swan.”

“Well, it’s likely not very…big.”

She winks at him, and all he can do is shake his head back and forth in disbelief that they’re even having this conversation. “It can be big when the time calls for it, love, but best of all, I know how to use it.” He returns her wink before adding, “But seriously. Do you want me to call you a car or are you good waiting an hour more? I don’t mind either way.”

Emma seems to take a minute to think about it, weighing her options, and he braces himself for the not surprising disappointment that will come when she asks for him to call her a car. But then maybe he’s surprised in another way. “I can wait. I literally don’t have anything to do. It’s not like I’m working anyways.”

So she stays while he finishes his paperwork and checks on a few patients, requesting tests and administering medicine when needed. There’s a particularly nasty wound he has to clean out from a patient who doesn’t wash himself regularly. It’s gruesome and disgusting, but he deals with other people’s bodily fluids every day. At some point you become immune to certain things.

When it’s time for his lunch break, he makes sure his patients are covered before heading back to the nurses’ station to find Emma and Ariel chatting…which absolutely cannot be a good thing. He and Emma do not have an Izzie and Denny situation (don’t get him started on how inaccurate Grey’s Anatomy is because he may never stop complaining), but they are friends maybe. He’s not really sure. They chat, they tease, they give each other ride’s home…this one time. But it’s completely platonic. It’d be unprofessional otherwise.

But he does like the lass. She’s a spitfire and could kick his ass even with her sprained ankle if he were to ever do something she didn’t appreciate.

“Wait. He brings baked goods in every week? Is he some kind of saint?”

“I don’t think someone can be a saint and flirt with women quite that much, but he makes a damn good peanut butter cookie.”

“Huh,” Emma sighs as he tries to keep his cheeks from going red even if he can already feel them heating, “I guess I’ll have to time my next accident better so I can come in on a baked goods day.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d give you whatever you want no matter what day you come in.”

“Alright then ladies,” he interrupts, clapping his prothesis down on the counter so Ariel will shut the hell up, “I’ve got to get Emma here home because I’m sure my lunch break will somehow get cut short.”

Ariel winks at him while Emma is leaning down to pick up her purse, and his eyes bulge while he mouths for Ariel to shut up. She’s going to be the death of him. If there was any way for her to be embarrassed, he’d do it. And teasing her about being named after The Little Mermaid because she has red hair does not work at all. He would know. He’s tried.

Emma questions him about his goods, baked that is, on the walk to his car. He’s parked a bit far away, but she seems to be handling the crutches well. It’s casual, easy conversation, and it takes out the awkwardness that he thinks would usually surround a situation like this. It’s only about a fifteen minute drive to Emma’s apartment building, and when he pulls up to the street parking, he lets out a low whistle. It’s a nice place in a good area, and he wonders how the hell a bounty hunter affords a place like this when he lives with two roommates in a crappy apartment. Of course, he could live somewhere else, but he kind of likes not having to carry the rent on his own and being able to save up for whatever his future may hold.

“This is a swanky place, Swan.”

She shrugs. “I get a good deal.”

“Wasn’t asking.”

“You were wondering.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I’ve spent hours of my life staring at your face while you stitch me up. You learn to read a guy. It helps that your face is more expressive than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“So you’re staring at my face a lot then, love?”

He waggles his eyebrows, and she rolls her eyes, something he’s seen her do more times that he can count. Two can play at whatever game this is.

“You’re impossible, Jones.” She reaches behind her to get her crutches before opening the door and stepping out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Wait, do you have a way to get to your next therapy session?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, tapping his open door, “I do. I’m getting a new phone before Friday, so I’ll just call an Uber then.”

“I thought you said you had to wait until you get paid?”

“I get a payment on Thursday. Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll be back to normal in no time. And Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“My favorite kind of dessert is anything with cinnamon.”

He’s not exactly sure when he becomes actual friends with Emma Swan, his favorite frequent flier to the emergency room, but he thinks it happens somewhere between him driving her home and her visiting him after her therapy appointments. Or maybe it’s because he brought in snicker doodle cookies as well as several other dishes with cinnamon in the month where she was visiting the hospital three times a week.

They only really see each other in the hospital, but he does manage to snag her phone number when she asks for the recipe to a cinnamon coffee cake. Most recipes he finds online, but that one is his mother’s, something she left to him before she died, and so it’s at home stored in a box of all of her things. He doesn’t tell Emma all of this, not wanting to load her down with the emotional implications of something as small as a cake, but he does take her number to text her the recipe later.

Actually, that’s probably where their real friendship starts. He texts her the recipe, and she texts back saying thanks. But then a few hours later he gets several texts in a row accompanies by pictures talking about how “fucking awful” baking is and how she never should have tried this. He laughs when he sees them, especially when he opens the picture of Emma with flour spilled down her t-shirt. How the hell did she manage to do that?

So they start texting and stop seeing each other in person. He can’t really complain about that because it means that Emma’s ankle is healing and she’s not getting hurt while at work. He feels like he takes a physical beating after every shift. He has no idea how the hell she manages to take an actual one.

And he’d really hate to see the other guy.

He’s sure that is rough because if he were to describe Emma Swan in one word, it’d be badass.

It’s a Friday evening, one he’s thankfully got off of work, when his phone rings and Emma’s name pops up.

“Hello?”

“I need your help.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. I mean, yes. I’m fine. It’s a…baking emergency.”

He barks out a laugh that causes Will to give him a side eyed glance from his spot on the recliner in front of the TV. He’s not about to anger the beast while he’s watching a football game, so he stands from the couch and walks to his room, shutting the door behind him.

“What the hell is a baking emergency?”

“You’re British. Don’t you watch the Great British Bake Off? They have baking emergencies all of the time.”

“Oi, that’s stereotyping to assume I watch.”

“Killian, you’re British and you bake. There’s a pretty good chance you watch the show.”

“I neither admit or deny anything. I’ve got to keep some parts of me mysterious. Now what’s this so called emergency?”

Emma sighs on the other end of the line before he hears a loud crash and several muttered curses of shit, fuck, shit, fuck, damn. “Okay, so it’s stupid, but my friends and I have this…tradition.”

“Go on, love.”

“It’s…back when we were broke and needed to give each other gifts for holidays, we would make them to save money. And, I mean, we’re older now with a bit of money, but we still do it.”

“And you were trying to bake for your gift?”

“Yep. It’s my friend Ruby’s birthday, and I decided to get a little more complex than cookies and make your cake even though I spectacularly failed the first time. But this one tastes like…it’s inedible, and I need you to talk me through the steps because her party is in three hours.”

An idea forms in his head. It’s kind of risky considering the tentative tight rope he’s walking with her, but as he’s learning, it can’t hurt (or maybe only hurt a little) to ask…or to offer.

“Do you…I can come over to help.”

When she’s silent on the other end of the line, he thinks he’s pushed her too hard, offered too much. But then she sighs and mutters, “you would literally be my savior, Killian Jones.”

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he curses under his breath when he walks into her apartment and sees the mess she’s created as well as inedible cake that’s sitting on the counter. “Why are you always creating such a mess?”

“Because I am a messy person.” She shuts the door behind him and ushers him further inside. “Now tell me what the hell I’m doing wrong.”

He walks into the kitchen and looks over Emma’s mess of a kitchen, and before he does anything else like clean the place, he takes a bite of the cake before immediately spitting it out and into her sink, rinsing out the taste with the water from her faucet. “Good God, that’s awful.”

“I know. I already told you that.”

“But I hadn’t tasted it. That’s…something else.”

“Just help me please.”

They have to clean out all of her bowls and pans first, scrubbing everything down. He doesn’t have his usual kitchen set up, so it’s a bit awkward moving around with Emma and handling things with his prothesis. But they figure it out, and Emma, like always, doesn’t make any kind of deal out of the fact that he only has one hand. Most people aren’t as tactful. They either blatantly stare or just ask what happened. Some patients rude enough will even ask for a new nurse. And maybe that’s one of the things that’s endeared him to Emma. Yeah, she’s a spitfire and keeps him on his toes, but she never makes him feel like less of a human being for only having one hand. She simply treats him as he is, which is something that’s been rare when meeting someone new.

After they clean, he starts the process of baking, walking her through each step even if he’s not one to be much of a teacher. He’s not sure if she actually leans anything, but he easily sticks the cake in the oven while Emma cleans up their mess.

“Um, so,” Emma begins, wiping her hands on her shorts, “I’m going to go get ready for the party. You can make yourself comfortable. I don’t care if you look around.”

He nods while she walks off, her long, tan legs on display to him until she disappears around the corner. He’s always known she was attractive, been attracted to her, but damn. Those shorts have nearly killed him the entire time he’s been here. He’s become pretty acquainted with her kitchen in the past hour, so after checking on the cake, he wanders into her living room. She’s got floor to ceiling windows that look out onto a park, lush green trees decorating the ground. He can’t help but compare it to the way his bedroom looks at an another brick building. Maybe one day he’ll have a view like this if he ever decides he doesn’t want roommates.

All of her furniture is cozy, soft whites and grays covered with plaid blankets and fluffy white pillows. Emma’s got such a hard exterior, but as he’s gotten to know her, he knows those are just walls she’s built up over the years from whatever has happened in her past. But she’s really made this apartment feel like a home, somewhere she can obviously relax. After looking through her bookshelf, he sees a telescope that’s sitting in the corner. He picks it up, the dust on it showing that it’s obviously unused, before adjusting the scope and looking out at the park.

“You see anything you like, Jones?” Emma asks, her voice shocking him so that he nearly drops the telescope. But he doesn’t, catching it and turning to see Emma bending over and slipping into a pair of heels that extend her legs in the black skinny jeans that she’s got on. Her tank top dips down, showing the tops of her breasts, and he has to look away before he does something stupid.

Something stupid like kissing her.

He knows she’s talking about his view with the telescope, but all he can think about is that he very much likes how Emma looks…that he likes Emma. Gulping, he pushes all of his thoughts down while trying not to look like an idiot. “I was just…you’re fantastic. I mean, this is fantastic. The view. With the telescope. Not you. Though you do look fantastic.”

Yeah, there goes the not looking like an idiot thing.

“Thank you, Killian.” She seems to hesitate for a minute, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth. “Look, so I know this might be a bit awkward, but you just came over and helped me, which is something you didn’t have to do. So, like, if you’re not busy, would you like to come with me to my friend’s party? It’s super low key. It’s just at her boyfriend’s house. You might know him. Victor Whale?”

Heat rises to his cheeks at the prospect of spending the night with Emma. He should say no and go home, but he wants to go, to spend more time with her. The past hour has been wonderful, and he’s not sure if he’s quite ready to give up her company.

“Aye, I do know him, and I’d love that.”

“No, I’m serious,” Killian laughs, taking another sip of his beer while Emma does the same. They’re sitting in Victor’s living room with all of Emma’s friends who he’s gotten a crash course in over the past few hours. “The craziest thing I’ve ever seen at work was a man with a python head attached to his side.”

“Where the hell was the body?” David asks, his voice incredulous. It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe this is a true story, but he thinks David might just be naturally suspicious. He’s been eyeballing him all night.

“The guy cut it off to try to get the snake to let go. Obviously it didn’t work.”

“And this dude just had a freaking python as a pet?”

“Yep.” He takes another slow sip of his beer, letting the liquid wash down his throat, while wrapping his arm around the back of the couch so that his prosthetic lands on Emma’s bare shoulder. He swears that she leans in a bit closer to him, their thighs already touching, but he’s probably imagining it. “There’s some weird shit that happens.”

“Why don’t you work trauma, Jones?” Victor asks. “You’re a hell of a nurse. You’d be fantastic at it.”

He gulps, not prepared for this question. He’s never had to explain his reasoning to anyone, and he doesn’t want to explain to a group of perfect (almost, he has known them for a few hours now) strangers. So he shrugs and fakes a smile. “It’s not something that I want. I prefer broken bones and cut fingers with the occasional snake head. I like to be low key.”

Emma must hear something in his voice because her hand finds his knee and squeezes before she speaks. “So Rubes, let’s talk about that rock on your finger. That was not there yesterday, and I can’t believe you haven’t been squealing about being freaking engaged all night long.”

He and Emma have both sobered up by the time Ruby’s birthday party is over, his cinnamon coffee cake (which was much more edible than Emma’s) soaking up the little alcohol they’ve had, so she drives him back to her apartment, finding a spot just behind his car. They don’t linger while inside of her bug, but they do when they are both get out and wait next to his.

“Thanks for tonight,” Emma finally says, swaying into his space. Her heels make them nearly the same height, and he can still smell the cinnamon on her breath. “For the cake and for coming to the party.”

He sways a bit into her space as well, feeling bolder than usual when it comes to her. “Perhaps gratitude is in order.” He’s not sure what possesses him to tap his lips, but he does.

Emma snickers under her breath. “That’s what the thank you was for.”

“Is that all saving you from a baking emergency is worth?”

“Please,” Emma laughs, her voice lighthearted even as they move closer into each other’s space, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma’s grabbing onto his jacket collar and smashing her lips into his before he can take a breath. It wouldn’t matter anyways because she steals his breath from him with the way her lips move over his and her body melds into his. Her lips are soft and warm, and he can taste her Chapstick when he finally returns the kiss and slides his hand into her hair while his prosthetic rests on her waist just under her shirt. Her hair is just as soft as her lips, if not softer, and the little groan she emits stirs him on to run his tongue over her bottom lip.

This is everything he didn’t know he wanted. Or really, he did know he wanted it, but he never really allowed himself to think of being with Emma as anything other than a fantasy. It’s been a long time since he’s been with a woman he actually cared about, and as they really begin to settle into the kiss, their lips moving in harsh but perfect sync, he knows that he wants to be with Emma Swan more than he’s ever wanted to be with anyone.

And that’s exactly what makes it so hard when she says her next words.

“That was – ” he stutters, trying to catch his breath while his forehead presses against hers.

“A one time thing.” She pulls back, taking a step away from him, “Goodnight.”

And then she’s practically sprinting into her building and out of sight all while he wonders about how many ways Emma Swan can steal his breath away.

“What’s up with you today, Jonesy?”

“You know I hate when you call me that, Lil’.”

“Yeah, well, you know I hate when you make fun of my name.” Ariel knocks her shoulder into his. “Seriously, Killian. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he lies, eating another forkful of his salad. “I’m fine.”

“I have worked with you for half a decade, and you only get all dark and broody a couple times a year. It’s not one of your usual times.”

“You’ve been watching me too closely, A.”

“It’s what friends are for.” She puts her hand on his hand then, squeezing and encouraging him to look up at her. He does, and all he can see is kindness in her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I kissed Emma.”“What?” she basically screams, excitement dancing across her features that he’s going to have to crush her spirit. “When? Was it good? I bet it was good. You guys are a very attractive couple, so I imagine the making out is fantastic. Not the I was really imagining it.”

“Ariel,” he sighs, managing to chuckle under his breath, “calm down.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She’s still bouncing in her chair, and he wonders how one person can be so bubbly. “I’m just excited.”

“Don’t be. It was a month ago, and we haven’t talked since.”

Her face and spirit immediately deflates, but there’s no way she can feel worse than he does. “Why?”

“She told me it was a one time thing and then walked away. I’ve tried texting her, but she doesn’t respond. So I guess she’s just cutting off communication.”“Well, I think she’s awesome, but if she’s going to lose a catch like you, she’s probably fighting some kind of internal battle. Does she have a bad history with people?”

“I don’t know actually.”“Jones, that’s something you’ve got to find out about people you’re dating.”“We weren’t dating.”

“You were basically dating.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Maybe, I don’t know…maybe text her today, ask if you can talk. You might not have been dating, but you deserve some answers.”

“Aye,” he agrees, even if he’s sure he won’t actually text her, not wanting another text to go unanswered. And he’s not even sure if he really deserves any answers. Emma doesn’t owe him anything.

But he’s a bloody fool, and he does end up texting Emma again despite every organ in his body telling him not to. If his organs could talk. They can’t. He knows this, but the rapid beating of his heart is obviously telling him something.

Killian: Hey, Swan. I know you probably won’t answer this, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to talk. Hope work is going well.

His day goes on as usual, patient after patient and pile of paperwork after pile of paperwork. He stands so much that his feet ache and his prosthesis is rubbing into his skin to the point of discomfort. All he wants is to go home, but he’s got another two hours before his shift is over.

The hours pass as slowly as they ever have, and no amount of coffee is helping him stay awake. He’s removing his gloves after seeing a patient when Ariel taps on his shoulder with a timid smile on her face.

“Whatever favor you need, just go ahead and ask, okay?”

“I don’t need a favor. It’s…Emma’s here.”

He sighs, looking up at the ceiling and pinching the bridge of his nose. “What does she need? Stitches, an X-ray? Can you work with her? I really don’t want to deal with her right now.”

“That’s the thing, Killian,” Ariel sighs. “She’s not in our sector. She came in with a shot to her shoulder and is up in recovery. She had to have surgery.”

His legs wobble beneath him, but he refuses to fall or feel weak. He can already feel his throat closing in on itself, emotions blocking his airway, and all he can think about is that he needs to see her. He has no right to, but he needs to.

“Is she okay?”

“Ashley is her nurse. Told me she’s fine, but she’s still a bit groggy from the anesthesia. You should go see her.”

“I don’t think she’d want me there.”

“Just go, Killian. Room 736.”

He nods before walking toward the elevator, pressing the button before deciding to take the stairs. He needs time to think, to breathe. He doesn’t know what he and Emma are to each other, if they’re even anything, but he needs to see that she’s okay with his own eyes. She may kick him out the moment he walks in her room, but at least he’ll know she’s okay.

His breathing is heavy by the time he makes it to the seventh floor, and when he gets to room 736, he pauses, taking a deep breath and calming himself down. She’s alone when he walks in the room, and he wonders where her friends are. Even after only knowing them for a night, he knows they’d drop everything to be here with her if she’s hurt. She’s only hooked up to a few machines, and as much as he’s used to her being hooked to an IV, this is different, especially with the heavy strapping over her right shoulder.

“Hi,” she croaks, her voice harsh, when she sees him. It’s too late to turn back now. “Water. Can I have water?”

He nods as he checks her chart, making sure it’s okay, before grabbing the cup and filling it up in the bathroom sink. When he hands it to her, her hand is a little shaky, the anesthesia and painkillers obviously having an effect on her.

“Thank you,” she sighs, her voice stronger even though she looks weak.

“You’re welcome.” He moves to sit in the chair that’s next to her bed, scooting it as close as possible so she doesn’t have to yell. “What the hell happened, love?”

“I got shot.”

“Obviously,” he laughs, shaking his head from side to side. “How did you get shot? How badly are you hurt?”

“I was distracted, not paying enough attention to my mark, and he shot me. And it fucking hurts. I’m not entirely sure what’s been done. I know I had surgery, but that’s about it.”“That’s all I know too. Your chart doesn’t say much. I’ll ask when your doctor comes into check on you.”

“Okay,” she sighs, closing her eyes and falling back against her pillow. He thinks she might have fallen back asleep when she speaks again, “I’m sorry I ran, Killian.”“Swan, don’t worry about it. Now is not the time.”

“You’re here. I’m here. I think it’s the perfect time.”

“You’ve just had surgery. You need to rest.”

“I can talk, Jones. I’m…I’m fucked up. I don’t trust a lot of guys, but I trust you.”

“I…why?”

“Why to which part?”

“Both, I guess.”

Emma laughs a little, a small smile twitching on her face. “When I was sixteen, I ran away from my foster home. I was done with it, and as luck would have it, I met a guy. He was sweet, charming, older, and he taught me all of these things about living on the run. The thing I didn’t realize was that he, Neal, was going to run away from me and frame me for the watches he stole. So I go to jail with a broken heart, broken spirit, and a criminal record that has stuck with me for over a decade now.”

His fist curls in his lap, his skin likely marked with red crescent moons from his nails, but he has to control his emotions here. He has to be calm. Emma’s been through a lot, and not just the surgery. He has too, and that’s precisely how he knows why getting upset over the past won’t do either of them any good right now.

“He sounds like a bloody bastard. You deserve better than that.”

“I know that. But my point is, I am hard to love. Or to like, really. I’m not always broken. I can be a friend, but anything more than that terrifies me. So I run. And I ran from you.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Yes, you do.” She rolls her eyes. He missed that. He missed her. “The only reason you’re even in here now is because I got shot. I’ve avoided you for weeks.”

“I care about you, Emma. That hasn’t changed.”

“It should have.”

“Hey,” he soothes, getting up from his chair and gently sitting down on the edge of her bed, taking her hand and putting it in between his hand and his prosthetic, knowing she won’t be bothered by the foreign plastic feeling, “Emma, if you think I’m not fucked up too, you’re wrong. I get running. I’ve run my entire life.”

“Does the running have to do with why you don’t work in trauma?”

If he can read her like an open book, she can do the same. “Aye.”

“What happened?”

“I was…in the Navy. With my brother actually, and there was an accident on our ship. We crashed, and my hand got jammed in crushed metal. So I lost my brother and my hand all in one day. And I lost my girlfriend two weeks later because she didn’t want to be with someone with one hand.”“Well, she sounds like a bloody bastard too,” Emma jokes, obviously uncomfortable with what he’s said, the tragedy of it all. “I’m sorry, Killian. I can’t imagine going through something like that.”

“Sometimes I don’t believe that it was real. But yeah, that’s why I have one hand and no brother and an aversion to trauma. And to women who aren’t you.”

Silence settles between the two of them while everything they just said sinks in. He’s still got no bloody clue what’s happening, but he never really has with Emma. Like always, he goes with it, seeing what happens and hoping for the best.

He can’t hope for anything else because at this point, he’s halfway in love with the woman despite everything.

Or maybe because of everything.

Emma’s released from the hospital two days later, and he stops by her apartment with baked goods after his shifts. He’s not entirely sure how Emma getting shot gets them back on the track of wherever they were before, but it does. While she recovers, he stays with her as much as possible, Ruby and Mary Margaret popping in as well, and they all binge the Great British Bake Off, leaning into the stereotypes of his roots.

Nothing is quite as heavy as the two of them spilling their guts to each other in the quietness of a hospital room, machines buzzing in the background while sneakers squeak out in the hallways. It’s more lighthearted, like it was before their kiss, and he can’t say that he hates it.

Eventually she recovers fully and goes back to work. He can’t blame her. It’s her job, and she’s damn good at it. But he’s seen every injury she’s gotten from it in the past two years, and the last one was the worst of all. But she keeps him updated when she travels to catch someone, and when she gets back home, he’s one of the first to know. Usually she just shows up at his apartment, much to the chagrin of Will and Jeff but to the delight of him. She’ll plop down next to him on the couch and cuddle into his side, her hair always smelling of the different hotel shampoos when it doesn’t smell of her regular vanilla.

He grows used to her being around and by his side. Sometimes she’ll stay over at his place despite him living in a small apartment with two other guys who don’t always clean up after themselves. Those nights are his favorite, he thinks. She’ll tell him goodnight before wrapping her body around his and falling asleep with her cheek pressing into his chest. He’s got no bloody clue what they are, but he doesn’t care. He likes it, even if he wants more.

But Emma is different in all of the best ways, and he’ll take her allowing him back in at her pace.

He wakes one morning to her hair in his face and her legs stuck in between his calves. Emma Swan is a cuddler, something he never would have expected, but again, he’s not complaining. He likes waking up with her even if he’s got to get up before the crack of dawn to go to work. He slowly slides out of bed, untangling their legs and leaving her softly breathing into his vacated space while he heads into her bathroom and hops in the shower, quickly washing himself before getting out and dressing in the scrubs he left here last week.

“Hey,” Emma mumbles when he walks back into her bedroom. Her hair is mused on one side, and she’s got pillow creases marking her cheeks. “Do you have to go to work?”

“I do. You want to get dinner tonight?”

She hums in affirmation before stretching her hands above her head, her tank top lifting all the way up to show off the hard lines of her stomach. He’s not complaining about their weird friendship, but things like her showing that much skin do make it a tad bit difficult, especially when his scrubs show absolutely everything.

The fact that he wakes in the morning with an erection pressed into her skin probably doesn’t help either.

“Actually, I was thinking we could go on a date.”

His legs feel like Jell-O beneath him when her words sink in. Is she delusional? Is she talking in her sleep? Is he delusional? Is this all a dream?

“You okay there, Jones?”

He shakes himself out of it, looking down at Emma who is timidly smiling up at him. “I’m, uh, what…you want to go on a date?”

She shrugs her shoulders while biting at her bottom lip. “Why not? I mean, hell, Killian. I can’t remember the last time we didn’t stay with the other person. It’s weird don’t you think? That we’re not dating.”

“I was just going along with what I thought you wanted.”

“I want to go on a date. Don’t you?”

He takes several steps forward and bends his knees, gently cupping her face and running his fingers over her left cheek, before slanting his lips overs hers. It’s slow and soft, and when Emma hums into it, he nearly groans at the vibrations and feeling her lips against his after so long.

“I���d love to go on a date with you.”

“So we’re exactly are we going, darling?”

They’re walking the streets of downtown Portland, and Emma’s leading him with her hand on his prosthetic. He’ll never get over how naturally comfortable she is with it or his blunted end. It took awhile, but in their weeks of spending the night together, he eventually became comfortable taking it off and letting her see the rough edges and red scars. His heart legitimately stuttered, something that was not healthy in the slightest, but then at the same time, a lot of things settled for him.

“We, my extra special man friend, are going on a food tour.”

“Bloody hell. Why?”

She shrugs, a smile stretching across her face. “I thought it would be fun to be a tourist for a few hours. I mean, how often do you get to explore a city you’ve been living in for years?”

“Unless the exploring happens within the walls of the hospital, never.”

“Exactly, so since I asked you out, I took the liberty of googling touristy things to do in Portland and paid for us to follow around a group of other tourists while eating. Just so you know, we’re Emma and Killian from Buffalo, New York.”

“Why Buffalo?”

“Because people would ask about Manhattan. No one cares about Buffalo.”

Emma’s right when she says people don’t care about Buffalo. No one in their group asks or seems to care, walking down the street in their weirdly white sneakers that look like they’ve never been worn and in, he swears, actual fanny packs. If he’d known he had to dress the part of a tourist, he totally would have broken out the Hawaiian shirt he has from a party he went to a few years ago…it was not his best moment. But they’re guided around downtown, walking along the port and on cobblestone streets before stopping in small hole in the wall restaurants that he’s walked by but never gone in.

There’s a hell of a lot of lobster (it is a Maine tour after all), but it’s mixed in with other foods. He likes it with the macaroni and cheese even if Emma complains that she wants regular macaroni and cheese. The lobster rolls are honestly pretty good as well, but mostly he likes when they stop in a bakery and can pick anything they want. This is more up Emma’s alley, especially when they find a cinnamon coffee cake. But Emma tells him she doesn’t want that because it could never compare to his.

“It was my mother’s recipe, you know?”

“Yeah?” she questions while looking into a display case of cupcakes.

“Yep. She left it to me when she died because she knew that I liked to bake. I’d always help her when I was a kid.”

Emma turns to look at him then, twisting on her toes and pressing up to quickly slant her lips over his. His eyes flutter closed at that contact, and he can feel her smile into it.

“Swan, the date isn’t even over yet. It is against my delicate sensibilities for your lips to touch mine.”

“Well, you screwed the pooch on that one this morning when you stuck your tongue down my throat.”

“What a horrible saying.”

He buys Emma a box of s’mores cupcakes that they carry with them for the rest of the tour. She leaves them behind in one of the pubs they walk into, but she quickly remembers and runs back to it, meeting him and the group with sweat beading at her temples and her chest heaving up and down. It’s possibly the most light-hearted he’s ever seen her when she gets back at his side and wraps her arm around his elbow, holding on tight.

The entire night is cheesy and a tad bit ridiculous, but it’s by far the best date he’s ever had.

It probably helps that he’s in love with the woman who’s been his companion for it.

So when they get back to her apartment and she asks if he wants to come up for a cupcake, he obviously says yes.

It doesn’t take long for his lips to find hers again. The moment they’re inside he backs Emma into her front door and presses their bodies together so that he can feel every inch of her while their lips move together in a slow, passionate kiss. Emma’s hands find his back pockets, squeezing his ass, and his hand rests in her hair. He bloody loves her hair.

When her tongue finds its way into his mouth, a slick wet slide of cinnamon and beer, he groans and feels the sensations all the way to his toes. When Emma makes a similar sound, he nearly loses it right there. Instead he controls himself and rolls his hips into her, making her mouth fall way from his as he traces the skin of her jaw and her neck with his mouth.

His mind is blurry with lust (and love), but he takes the time to learn what she likes. For two people who share an intimacy that he’s never quite experienced before, they don’t know much about what the other enjoys. But they learn quickly as he nibbles on her ear and she throws her head back against the wood while her hands brush against the front of his jeans.

And as they slowly but surely make their way into her bedroom, they slowly but surely learn more about each other. Emma’s glorious as she moves above him later that night, her breasts bouncing and hair falling down her bare back while she smiles down at him. He lets her control the pace as he’s always done. It’s what they both want, how they both like things to be, and he’s got absolutely nothing to be complaining about.

It’s lovemaking if he’s ever experienced it, and when he flips them over, slipping out of her for just a second, he thinks he might see love in Emma’s eyes. But then he’s sliding back into her while her legs wrap around his ass and her hands find his, and it’s forgotten as he drowns in the pleasure of it all.

He’s nearly drowned before, but in this way, he doesn’t mind.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against her lips while he thrusts into her in slow, long movements.

“You are too,” she smiles, squeezing his hand while her other hand holds onto his blunted wrist. “I…”

She never finishes her sentence because he releases her hand and rubs at where they’re joined, letting her find her pleasure before he finds his. But as he falls apart above her and within her, he does wonder what it is she was going to say.

There’s no fooling around with what they are after that night. They’re together, officially and unequivocally, and he can’t remember the last time he was this happy. He’s got a partner in all that he does. If he has a bad day at work, she’s there to comfort him, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing whatever skin she can find before listening to him spew his troubles, never judging him for how he feels. The same goes for her, though he learns that comforting Emma depends on the situation. Sometimes she likes to be held in silence, only his hand moving up and down her arm while his lips kiss her hair to make her feel better. Sometimes she needs a rough, quick fuck only to open up about what she’s feeling in the afterglow.

But she’s not just around for the bad times. She’s there for the good as well. Their living situation never really changed. They’re always together, so on mornings where he doesn’t have to be at work at six, they’ll wake up and make breakfast while blaring music from Emma’s phone (she claims that she has better taste in music, and while she does, he’s not going to admit that quite yet). Even on the days when he pops toast in the oven and Emma’s not having any of his soft kisses behind her ear or his tendency to like to talk a lot in the morning, he loves those moments. There are likely a million reasons they’re together, but really, he thinks he owes it to his mum’s cinnamon coffee cake.

When she told him she’d be looking out for him always, he didn’t quite think it would be in this way.

They’ve officially been together for four months when they’re lounging in his bed, having stumbled home there after a night out instead of going back to her place, and he can hear Jeff and Will sitting in the living room mumbling over whatever it is they’re watching. Emma’s tracing his chest her with her finger, curling it around her skin, while she breathes out onto his neck.

“I love you,” she whispers into his skin, and his breath hitches, chest noticeably moving beneath her. “I have for a while now. I’m sorry for not saying it.”

He gulps, trying to keep away the tears in his eyes. He’s loved Emma for a long time now, but really, no one has told him they loved him in years and that hits harder than he expected. She said the words. She means the words. And he feels freer than ever once his breathing settles.

His finger finds her chin, bringing her gaze up to him before he dips down and brushes his lips over hers, once, twice, three times. “I love you, Emma. More than anything.”

She smiles then, his words not pushing her over the edge, and everything in his life settles.

Eventually he does move out of his apartment, not seeing the point in staying there when they mostly stay at Emma’s for the privacy. Like everything with them, there are often rocky starts, but things progress as naturally as possible. They fit together. Maybe not perfectly, but he doesn’t think anyone truly is a perfect fit for another. But where his edges are jagged, she knows how to soothe, and where Emma is hardened, he knows how to be soft. So they work, plain and simple, and he chooses not to question any of it.

And after a year together, he buys a ring and Emma finally learns how to make the cinnamon coffee cake.

The third time is obviously the charm.

[lunaraen]

Some Aidesse writing?

When it comes to the Order, veryfew things outside their personal rooms are really theirs, and even then, most things inside their rooms are fair gameat some point.

Prank wars typically know nobounds outside the most valuable or cherished of items.

Aiden’s stuff in general, theexception, tends to be left alone, if only because half of it’s somehow managedto find its way into Jesse’s room and because the others warming up to him hasbeen a slow process that mostly involves each side trying to not pick fights orreopen old wounds. Screwing around with what’s his might be well within theirrights, but it’s a risky move if they don’t want to deal with him or the chancethat either side’ll get testy.

But that’s hardly grounds for himto legitimately claim anything outside the shaky domain that’s his room andwhatever he’s left in Jesse’s (or whatever she’s taken from him, like too manyof his shirts and several of the books he’s nabbed from their own privatelibrary).

Aiden can try to stake those claims,maybe, but it doesn’t mean much.

It’s not really practical to tryand act like there’s a spot on the couch that’s his, not when it’s in the living room with several couches that getused regularly by everyone in the Order, those still living in the temple andthose just visiting.

But it’s totally his spot.

It’s cozy, to the far right sideof the couch in front of the fireplace, positioned next to the armrest andright by the small side table, the one typically covered in crumpled papers orwhatever books he’s brought from his room.

Given the trouble Aiden used tocause for nearly all of them regularly, and then the way he almost got Lukasand Jesse killed, it would be easy to steal the spot or rub in the fact thatit’s not his at all and can’t be stolen, that it was their couch first beforeit was ever his, just like this was their home first. None of them have triedit yet, and the more time passes, the less likely he thinks they are to try.

Not worth the time, maybe, or tooclose to stooping to his previous level of petty, but he’s comfortable anyway.

In all their daily chaos androutine, moving between adventures and disasters and even back and forthbetween cities, he’s carved out a little place for himself that feels more andmore normal by the day, a place outside his room or Jesse’s where he can justrelax and watch the chaos whirl by. It’s normal by this point; nobody questionsit anymore, what he wants or what he’s doing here of all places.

It’s nice.

“Hey.” Jesse’s voice isnice too, less startling than pleasant, and Aiden smiles when he looks up,finding Jesse leaning over the couch and smiling down at him through her bangs.

“Hey– oof.” Less nice is the way Jesse jumps the back of the couch,landing less than gracefully in his lap as one of her arms quickly wraps aroundhis shoulders to steady herself. Aiden’s attempts to adjust amount to littlemore than futile, and brief, squirming, one foot letting him know it’s lostcirculation. “Thanks for the warning. Really appreciated that.”

“It’s not my fault you’re sobony.” The wriggle is brief but exaggerated, feigned discomfort betrayedby her grin as she twists enough to wrap her arms around his middle. He’sskinnier than her still, but nowhere near as outright skeletal as he was whenhe first got here.

Jesse, soft as she might be, alsoweighs a considerable amount more simply for all the muscle from training,which is impressive and also currently somewhat unfortunate for his poor legs.

“And it’s not my faultyou’re built like a brick house, but my lap’s suffering for it anyway.”He’d like to consider himself lucky that he’d already set aside his notebookand quill, but Aiden doubts Jesse would have sat on him if it meant possiblyfolding the pages or screwing up his quill, and then they wouldn’t be here,with his knee digging into her side and back or all of her weight pressing downon an oddly turned ankle.

(He supposes he’s just luckyshe’s cuddling with him in the first place, but this position’s notparticularly comfortable and, way shorter than him or not, all that musclemakes her dense.)

“Alright, alright.”Jesse detaches, with a bit more reluctance and dramatics than are probablyneeded, and shifts off his lap, lifting him onto hers before he can adjust. Hisankle appreciates it anyway, half-numb as it dangles off the couch.“Better?”

“I’ll take it.” Hewraps an arm around her shoulders, comfortably loose as his other hand snatchesback up the journal and quill.

“How kind of you. It’s verychivalrous and noble of you to put up with me.”

He grins, feeling as cheeky andsmug as she looks and sounds.

“I know.”

She nudges his shoulder, doing abad job of hiding her smile before ducking her head and briefly nuzzling hisneck. It gets the reaction he knows she’s looking for, and she laughs at hisstuttering yelp, only barely not a laugh itself in a desperate attempt to wardoff more attention to an unfortunately ticklish area.

It works, mostly because Jesse’sattention is now on the words scrawled onto the paper, gaze jumping from theneater sections to the ones almost entirely sketched out.

It’s fun to watch her gaze shift,her head tucked onto his shoulder, and still his grip on the book tightens whenher brow furrows.

“It doesn’t look like yourusual writing.”

And even now, after everything,after years of regret and reform, part of Aiden wants to pull it close to hischest, to get up and leave, to redirect the conversation in some brusque butfinal way to keep her nose out of his business. That desperate, twisting partthinks of insults, cold comments, and the sorts of mocking he’ll be openinghimself up to by answering honestly.

Even if it weren’t Jesse asking,he hopes he wouldn’t listen to it, a remnant of a poor time and a poorerperson, worse in character if nothing else.

But because it’s Jesse asking,with all the curiosity she can have and none of the malice or even teasing he’dunderstand and expect from someone else, it’s an easy urge to shove down,because he never wants to be that person again and especially not around her.

“It's–” Aiden pauses,licking his lips instead of biting the lower one again and hopes it makes himseem more at ease, “it’s not. It’s a letter– well, maybe two. I’m tryingto draft it. I was wondering if you could, y'know, read it over. I want to knowif I’m saying it right; there’s still a lot I want to touch up, I’m just notsure how yet.”

He knows if he asked the twopeople he’s writing to, they’d tell him to forget it.

Heck, he fully expects Maya tojust storm the temple after getting hers to chew him out for not visiting andfor being dumb about it when they live in the same town.

(She gets grumpy enough as it iswhenever he rightly mentions that their years-long “exile” in SkyCity was mostly, if not entirely, his fault, along with all the emotional andphysical bumps that came with prison and reform; neither of them ever blamedhim then, and they seem more than convinced now that all of them getting homewas solely because of his letter.)

It’s a five minute walk to theirplace, and it feels more potentially daunting than any of the much longer walkshe takes every day to get to whatever build he and the rest of the constructionteam are working on somewhere in Beacontown.

He hasn’t been to their part oftown yet, luckily enough, for work or for his own curiosity since he went weeksago to check out their new house.

Aiden picks at the upper cornerof the page, already curling and creased.

Letters are easier than actualtalking. In theory.

They might think he’s dumb forit, but he knows they’d appreciate the thought behind the letters.

Well, if he splits the letterinto two. He wants to write them each their own letter, but he knows they’lljust read each other’s anyway. They live together, and while they’ll respecteach other’s privacy and let each read the letter meant for them, Gill sucks atkeeping things from Maya whether she’s trying hard or not to get him to spill.

She’s terrifying when she wantsto be, and Gill’s sappy either way.

And, as Aiden’s learned, ifeither of them are worried or annoyed with Aiden, they’ll be sure to let eachother know it through letter-sharing and ranting, because they’re the type offriends to worry like that when they don’t really need to and really shouldn’tbe concerned in the first place.

Still, they’re worth the effort.If they share theirs, that’s their right.

Jesse’s hand squeezes his arm,gently, and he doesn’t know if it’s meant to be reassuring or just supposed todrag him out of his thoughts.

It manages to succeed at bothanyway.

“I’d love to check it.”As interested as she sounds, she doesn’t make much of an effort to hide yetanother glance between the writing and him, mouth pulling into a frown.“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I figure between me andLukas, you’ve seen plenty of bad drafts and more than enough trash writing. I know you’ve read worse from mebefore.”

Aiden’s letter to her, afterthey’d dealt with the Admin, read as desperate and awkward even when he wroteit, if significantly more mellow than anyone would have probably expectedbefore Sky City. Now it reads as even lousier than he remembered, too formal inall the wrong places and too informal simply because of their history.

With any luck, writing to twopeople who’ve been his best friends for almost as long as he can remembershould be easier, because and in spite of all their history and everythingAiden’s ever done.

“It’s never as bad as eitherof you think. That seems like a writer thing.” Aiden bites back a commentabout how it might be more about them, about their history where, even as Lukasstayed quiet, he was just as subjected to the Ocelot attitude of tearing peoplebesides themselves down for just about anything as Aiden was. If he staysquiet, they can avoid that conversation and Jesse can have more time to lookfor issues. Jesse tilts her head, eyes skimming the page for only a few momentsmore before she points at one line. “It doesn’t hurt to have a newperspective, though. I don’t think that’s supposed to be about theirhorse.”

Aaaaaaaaand maybe Jesse will justspot an obvious typo he should’ve caught in the first place, the scrawledsentence looking more rushed and oddly asking about their horse in a paragraphotherwise focused on their new garden and built home upgrades.

It’s the sort of thing that makesoutsider proof-reading valuable.

“Oh, bite me.” He huffsunder his breath as he scratches out the word, writing the slightly neatercorrected version above it. It’s why he has drafts, beyond his inability to besatisfied with a letter the first time. “I knew I missed something.”

“Only if you’reasking.” Her grin’s cheeky as can be, all teeth to let him know exactlywhat she’s responding to and accompanied by an over the top eyebrow waggle.

He loves her so much; it doesn’tmake her less of a dork. It’s just part of what he loves about her.

It doesn’t keep Aiden frompushing her shoulder, rolling his eyes as his tone goes dry, not monotone butas overtly sarcastic as he can make it.

“It’ll be hard for you toactually read if you’re busy gnawing on me. I taste terrible.”

“You’re not as bad as youthink.” He should expect the kiss on the cheek; he doesn’t. “In a lot of cases.”

Aiden could be sarcastic again,more biting or dry about how that’s not much of a surprise and how he’s good at being wrong, but the only thingdry is the inside of his mouth and he can’t help the lopsided smile.

“Good. That means there’shope.”

“There’s always hope.”

…that’s the sort of mindset hewants, and he hopes Jesse’s feedback will help let that bleed into the letter,spill over into whatever the finished products look like.

They all deserve a little morelight like that.

[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 66)

*me rn:

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warning: language

“Where have you been, Darling?” I asked when I noticed Wendy walk back into camp.

“I went to see Tigerlily and Tinkerbell.”

“How was that?”

“Good. They’re interesting women. Tinkerbell is a little rough around the edges and prefers to keep to herself but she’s nice. She’s only been here a couple days and she’s already working on plans for a treehouse.”

“Really? I’ll have to go see her later. See if she’d like some help.” I still felt indebted to her for saving my life. There wasn’t a whole lot to do on the island anyways. Spending my day building something didn’t sound too bad.

I looked around the camp and sighed. Peter had disappeared after I sent him away at training. I checked all the usual places but he had simply vanished. I was starting to get worried. He didn’t look too well when I left him. What if the idiot had collapsed somewhere?

“Looking for someone?” Wendy snapped me back to attention.

“Have you seen Peter? He’s been missing for a while.”

She shrugged. “Don’t know where he could be.”

“Neither do I.” I tried to focus on the book in my lap but all the words kept scanning past my vision without retaining anything.

“Why’d you come back?” Wendy said quietly.

“Hm?”

“Why’d you come back to Neverland after you were so set to leave it behind?”

“I was gonna die where I was. We needed a quick escape and I thought of Neverland first. It seemed the safest option.”

“It wasn’t convenience that brought you back here. Not entirely.” she grabbed my hand to reassure me, “Why’d you really come back?”

~~~

The second star to the right…

I craned my neck further up to see through the bars of the window in my cell. The pain made my vision blur and it was hard to focus. Tiny white specks of light against the dark sky. Please let this work.

“I...I believe…” I whispered to the stars, “I believe…”

The pain became too much and I dropped my dead weight into my shackles. Please let it work. Let the shadow come. Please. Please...help me...

I heard the sound of footsteps enter into my cell. The Dark One was back. An ugly and pathetic sob passed my lips. He was saying something but I couldn’t hear it over my own cries. The shackles around my wrists unclamped and I dropped to the ground.

What’s happening? What’s he doing?

I squinted my eyes open and saw that it wasn’t the Dark One at all. It was a woman. “Wha…”

“Shh,” she silenced me as she pulled me up and slung my dead weight onto her shoulders. “We’re getting out of here.”

She pulled a magic bean out of her pocket and threw it on the ground.

Peter! My mind screamed as we fell through the portal. Not Neverland. Not safety. Peter. My Peter. My home.

My love.

~~~

“I came back because…because I missed everyone.” Not a complete lie, “Devin, Nick, Ben, Felix, Tigerlily, and even Peter. I wanted to come home. It just took a couple weeks of torture for me to realize that.”

Wendy stayed by my side the rest of the day quietly reading over my shoulder. I couldn’t focus on the story but for the sake of Wendy I continued to flip the pages for her to read.

That night I was in Peter’s tent half asleep when I felt someone lay down next to me. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know it was Peter. I let out a small breath of relief when I felt his arms encircle me and draw me close to him.

In the morning Peter didn’t talk about where he had disappeared to and I didn’t ask. What he did though was steal me away from the camp and the boys with the promise we were doing something fun. We climbed higher and higher through the jungle until I noticed exactly where he was taking us.

“You ready to do this?” Peter asked.

“I’m not so sure anymore,” I creeped closer to the edge of the cliff. It was the same cliff that overlooked Skull Rock. How appropriate that my flying lesson would take place at the spot Peter had threatened to toss me from and where I had shoved him over once upon a time.

“Is my Lost Girl still scared of heights.”

“The height isn’t the problem. The falling to my death upon a bunch of sharp rocks against a cliffside is.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right here to catch you.” he assured me giving my shoulders a tight squeeze. In his other hand he held up the vial of pixie dust.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I took a deep breath as Peter uncorked the vial.

“Flying is simple, it’s just a matter of faith, trust and little bit of pixie dust.”

“Isn’t faith and trust the same thing?”

“Have faith that you can fly and trust that the pixie dust will work.” he corrected me.

“But what if I do fall?” I edged closer to the edge of the cliff my heart hammering in my chest.

“Oh but, pet,” he sprinkled the pixie dust over my head, “What if you fly?”

“Peter…” I know that I had wanted to do it but every instinct in my head was screaming to get away from the ledge.

“You can do this. Remember, faith...trust...and a little push.” he said the last word so softly I barely heard it before I felt his hand push on my back and I fell over the edge.

A loud scream escaped my throat as I started free-falling towards the water.

“PETER! YOU DICKBAG!” I screamed as the waves came closer and closer.

“Trust, Y/N, trust the dust. Think of something pleasant.” I hadn’t noticed until then that Peter was falling right alongside me with a huge grin plastered against his face.

“PETER!”

“You can do this.” he looked way too calm for someone who was hurtling toward their doom. “Ride the wind,”

Ride the wind. Ride the wind! I closed my eyes and focused on the air around me. I imagined the pixie dust settled in my hair. I thought of Peter and I riding on horseback across a glade. When I opened my eyes I wasn’t falling anymore but shooting straight out across the ocean mere feet above the water.

“Oh my god…” the terrified beating of my heart started to slow as I took in the fact I was actually flying. “I’m doing it! Peter, I’m doing it!”

“I know you could,” he was right next to me relaxed as could be. He reached out a hand when I started to wobble to even out my flying as we turned around back to the island.

Now that my life wasn’t in mortal peril my anger had returned. I gripped the hand he was holding tighter and reached over smacking him repeatedly. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You pushed me off a cliff!” I shouted at him as I continued to try and hit him. By now he had let go of me and put some distance between us.

“Consider it payback for when you did it to me,” he smirked.

“That was decades ago! You’re still mad about that?”

“No, but did it feel good to see your face.” he started laughing maniacally.

“That’s it!” I shot at him. He dodged easily having had hundreds of years of practice. “Get over here so I can hit you!”

“Only if you can catch me!” he took off and I sped after him. We zoomed all across Neverland as I tried to catch up to him. I knew it was useless. He was a natural born flyer and I was still shaky by myself. There was no way I was going to be able to catch the little imp but hell if I wasn’t going to try.

I watched as he started to speed around a mountain. I knew this mountain. There were caves all throughout it that could bring me to the otherside faster than going around. Maybe I could capture him! I ducked down into the nearest opening. It was then that I realized I had picked the wrong entrance. It was a dead end. I tried to turn to avoid the walls but was going too fast and collided with the hard stone instead.

All around me was a deep abyss. I was still in some control and used it to crash myself onto some solid land.

“Y/N!” Peter ran into the caves. “Oh bloody hell woman.”

“Yeah, not a very graceful landing.” I dusted myself off, “And I think I twisted my ankle.”

“Not that, do you even realize where you landed.”

“In a...oh…” I took in exactly where I was. Echo Caves. I didn’t come here often but I could tell the severity of my dumb luck. Instead of going for the large patch of land that lead out of the caves I was now stranded on the column of stone with no way out. “Got any more pixie dust?”

“No. I used up the last bit on you. I’d have to go scavenge for some more.” he ran his hands through his wind-tangled hair.

“So I’m going to be stuck here for hours while you go climb some trees?”

“Not necessarily.” he eyed the gorge between us, “You know these caves. You know there’s another way to get out.”

“No.” I plopped myself down, “No. I’ll just stay here.”

“Y/N--”

“Nope! Just leave me be.”

“I can’t just let you stay over there either.”

“Then you go better threaten some of the boys into spilling their secrets because I’ve got nothing.”

“Really? Nothing at all to voice?”

“No. Not to you at least.” It wasn’t a secret but it was strange to admit, “You know all my secrets. There are no more dark shadowy parts of me that need be revealed. Not to you.”

The space between us seemed to grow larger through our silence. I turned around so he couldn’t see my reddening face, “Just go find some pixie dust.”

“You may not have any more secrets,” Peter said, “But I do.”

“Please,” I look back over my shoulder, “I know everything about you. What else could there possibly be that you’re willing to share?”

“More than I care to admit.” he stepped to the edge of the abyss.

What deep dark secrets could he have? I already knew about his childhood, his relation to the Black Fairy, how he was cursed, what he had to do to save his life, what more could there possibly be?

“Okay, if you wanna try then by all means. Be my guest.” I could not wait to hear this.

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “I um…” he took in a deep breath, “Sure you have nothing to say?”

“Not that I can think of. Is what you have to say really that personal?”

“A person’s deepest secrets are hard to admit. I would think you of all people knew that.”

This was hard on him. He’s told me a lot, confided so much in me, what was so bad or so personal he had trouble telling me? “Peter, Peter look at me.” I pleaded. He brought his eyes back up to me. “Whatever it is will not change anything between us. You know that right?”

“You’re wrong.” he shook his head, “It’ll change everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that for so long you have been my friend. Someone I can confide in, someone I trust more than anyone else. I’ve gone out of my way for you, let myself become attracted to you, let myself become attached to you in a way I know I should have never let happen. I know I should have walked away from you but I didn’t and looking back at all the carnage that being around you has wrought I don’t regret any of it. I can’t cause despite every bloodsoaked, annoying, infuriating moment that has transpired since I met you it gave me you, it gave me my best friend.”

The ground underneath us shook and the stone of the cave jutted out some toward my pillar. I couldn’t make a sound. What he had just said was more than I ever expected from him. I have seen him open up but that was more than just a hard to admit truth, it was weakness. Fragile, shaking weakness he was sharing...and it scared me.

He kept staring at the ground unwilling or unable to meet my gaze again. I stood to my feet, careful to mind my tender ankle.

“You want to know what I experience when I’m with you? I get...nervous.” he whispered and the slow thuds that made up my heartbeats began to quicken, “I feel more important yet less significant when you’re around. Like I could take on an entire army or fall to a single person.”

More of the walkway appeared.

“Why are you telling me this?” I stepped towards the growing bridge carefully.

“Because I need you to know. I’ve never done this before. I will admit that this stuff has me baffled but if I’m certain of one thing it’s that I don’t feel this way for anyone but you.”

The stone walkway grew once more but only a little. One of us would have to voice a huge secret to get across now.

“You’re my Lost Girl and mine alone. Yes, I am possessive. Yes, I can be too protective and needlessly jealous. And of course I’m going to be lustful. But why does that have to be the only things I am capable of feeling?”

“Because you’re you.”

He stepped out onto the walkway till he was at its very edge. The large space was too much to even think about jumping across. “You want to know my deepest, darkest secret? The one I tried to keep from even myself? I need you. I need you like I need air to breathe. If I lost you then I don’t know what I would do. That is my biggest secret. I need you, Y/N, and I am never going to let you go.” The rest of the stone surged forward completing the bridge. I couldn’t help it and ran across the walkway and straight into his waiting arms despite my injured ankle.

He hugged me back tightly. “It’s alright now. Everything is okay.” Peter whispered bringing a hand up to cradle my face. He brought me closer until his lips connected with mine. He kissed me slowly, attentively, and so tenderly it left me on another world.

“You know you didn’t have to do any of that. I would have been fine here for a couple hours while you found some pixie dust.”

“I know. But now, there are no more secrets between us.” he smiled at me, “Now let’s see what we can do about that ankle, huh?”

He waved a hand and the pain subsided. “Better?”

“Much.” I grabbed hold of him again, “Now you had better take us somewhere a little more cozy.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause sometimes I get tired of doing it on the ground.” I smiled back at him. His eyes widened a fraction in realization before he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into him. The tenderness from before had flitted away replaced with the rough hungry kiss I was used to. A whirl of wind surrounded us and the next moment we were standing in the middle of his underground hideaway.

Despite the initial hunger Peter exerted he made love slowly this time. It was tender and calming as well as arousing to the point I believed it was love making instead of just sex like before. I liked it.

After we made sure each other were completely satisfied we laid back in bed staring up at the ceiling. Peter kept one arm securely locked around my torso holding me close while the other played with my hair. My head was resting on his chest right over his hearts so I could hear the slow paced thumps. “So what do we do now?” I spoke up, “We’ve made the disastrous mistake of admitting we have feelings.”

“Actually I admitted to have feelings, you have said nothing.”

“My turn huh?” After all he had said to me you would think I would find this easier. All of my stupid complicated feelings fighting to be said first. “Well if I need somewhere to start then I might as well start with how you make me feel. I’m happy. That’s all I can think of. When I am around you I go through the usual cycle of irritation you always manage to cause.”

“Look who’s talking!”

“Shut up, I’m trying to be sincere.” I smacked his chest, “To every sarcastic comment and mean spirited name I am always happy to see you. My heart misses a beat when I hear your voice, I catch myself smiling when I think of you. You make me happy. I...I care about you.”

“Yeah?” he smoothed my hair out in a gentle caress.

“Yeah. I can remember little to none about my life and who I was before Neverland. But I do know that at one time when I was young I had a father. A father that loved me and I loved him more than anything in this fucked up world. Then he died. He left me all alone and it was like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest and dropped it down some dark cold hole. I never thought I’d find someone who could make me care ever again. But I did. I found you. I found you and you wormed your way under my skin and into my blood.”

I buried my face in his chest, “But even here on this island of magic and dreams and impossibility there are still nightmares. Because while I try to be fearless I am terrified for you. I’m scared everyday because everyday I see you, the one person that tore down my defenses, and I know that I can lose you. There is a timer on your life and I can’t help but worry that we may not find the boy in time and save you. I’m scared that we’re going to fail and I’m going to lose you and I’ll have to go through all that pain all over again.”

“Oh precious,” he rubbed my back tenderly. He tilted my head up so I was looking straight into those emerald green eyes I came to find refuge in. “Don’t you know by now? Peter Pan never fails.”

I closed the distance between us kissing him slowly. “Not all the time at least. I say I would have caught you during our flight if I hadn’t taken that wrong turn.”

“Sure you would have.” He chuckled softly pulling one of the pelts further around us. “I’m glad I have you. Life was not nearly as interesting before you dropped into it.”

“I’m glad you saved me all those years ago back in the Enchanted Forest. I would have died if you hadn’t taken me back to Neverland.”

“You wouldn’t have died.” he scoffed, “You’re far too stubborn for that.”

I settled back into my spot against him. Entwining my fingers with his. Neither of us spoke but then again there was no need.

(First) (Previous) (Next)

[rayonfrozenwings]

That Shoe Fic [NESSIAN AU]

Fandom:A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas Relationship:Nesta Archeron/Cassian Character:Nesta Archeron, Cassian (ACoTaR) Chapters: 1/? Words: 5498

Summary

Nesta has an important meeting across town, that is no-one business but her own. Dressed to the nines, she is wearing heels that could kill a man the stiletto is so on point. She bumps into Cassian and he ruins her day!

That Shoe Fic

Nesta Deep red glided across her lips, adding the finishing touch. The reflection staring back at her, glam but professional. Simple makeup that enhanced her strong cheekbones, and mascara and eyeliner to make her eyes pop. The rules she learned as a child from watching her mother always sitting in the back of her mind. Perfect for her meeting. She ran her hands through her long sleek hair one last time and exited the bathroom. Her two bedroom apartment was small but satisfactory, she had done pretty well for herself since starting this new job and had even started splashing out on a few things. A piece or art on the wall, a new end table and a full length mirror in a large white frame for the back of the door to her apartment. The two bedroom flat was becoming more than just the place where she ate and slept. Her flatmate was just down the hall and helped keep the rent down - or reasonable at least. She was making this city, this place, a permanent home. Nesta grabbed her keys off the end table and donned her wine coloured coat. There was only one thing left to make her outfit complete. Her latest acquisition. A Pair of Black patent Jimmy Choo shoes that were pure heaven. A perfect balance of comfortable and beautiful and everything she had ever wanted. A goal she never thought to achieve considering the last 5 years. It was two blocks to her meeting, not too far, she could put her flats in her bag for heading back to the office later. Back up plans were a must for a woman who loved to keep her shoes in perfect condition. So she slipped her feet into the heels and admired her look from head to toe in the full length mirror. Killer pointed stilettos, a black pencil skirt poking out underneath her oversized coat. War paint on, framed by her long dark hair and red lips. Perfect. She admired herself for another moment, a smile growing at the corner of her mouth and then her cell phone began to ring. “Hello?” she answered, the voice on the other end of the line frantic and relaying details. Her meeting had been moved forward 20 minutes, apparently traffic was actually moving today. “Thanks, I’ll be there as soon as I can, I should still arrive before he gets there, if not - keep him happy - please!” Nesta hung up the phone and grabbed her bag, time had all of a sudden sped up on her. She left the apartment and locked the deadbolts, all four of them, just to be safe, and descended the stairs to the street below. The day was a gloomy grey, clouds overhead looking down in between the skyscrapers. The streets were full of people walking to work.

Living in a city had its advantages, one being everything seemed so close, but today the traffic was moving and she couldn’t walk in between the stationary cars like she usually did. Instead she moved along the avenue and leaves fell from the trees painting her path in reds and oranges like flames licking the curb, the start of Autumn. Nesta increased her pace and moved with the crowd, getting stuck behind the slowest of walkers. Dawdling as they drank from their takeaway coffee cups, infuriating her and adding to her already anxious energy. She hated being late. One block down and she decided to change her route, there were a few alleyways and side streets she could shoot down to escape the sloths, so she did it. Ran across the street quickly dodging the cars and started to increase her pace as she flew down the alley. The concrete was uneven and her ankles rolled to the side as she skipped ahead, keeping an eye on her feet so as not to fall, or ruin her shoes. A Large red door opened into the alley and a hulking man rushed out throwing a rubbish bag into the skip nearby. Nesta gasped and stepped out of the way quickly losing her balance. Luckily for her, strong arms managed to reach out and grab her own, saving her from landing on the hard ground. Nesta’s heel had found one of the cracks between the cobbles and twisted - she felt it give way. Her face blanched, her mortification grew at being held in mid air by a stranger and that her heel, her Jimmy Choo! Was now broken. “What have you done!” the words sounding as if they had been ripped from her. The man pulled her up and held her arms, looking at her with a worrying look trying to see why she was so mad. “You!” Nesta felt the fury, she stood up and pointed her long manicured finger towards his chest. “What did you do!” The man still looked perplexed at her tone and said, “I helped you?” “Helped me! You have ruined everything!” “Sorry?” “You. Have. ruined. Everything!” The venom in her raised voice was apparent. “No, you have it wrong, I came out this door here,” he pointed back behind himself, “and then I prevented you from falling over, I am a hero.” Nesta’s eyes burned into him her arms now at her side, how was she supposed to make her meeting? How was she supposed to go to the meeting in her flats! “My shoe is bro-ken! It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t come out of that door so fast I wouldn’t have fallen!” The man looked down at her shoes and grimaced, “They look expensive” he said. Nesta looked him over; a muscled man, wearing a fitted black tee with tattoos poking out, black jeans with combat boots, long hair tied up in a scruffy style and a 5’oclock shadow on his face. Oh dear lord this man would have no idea what she just broke, no idea about the sort of person she was. Nesta opened her bag and pulled out her flats, slipping off her heels and putting her alternatives on. The Man kept looking at her. “What are you looking at?” she said. “I’m sorry, let me make it up to you?” he seemed truly concerned with her well-being, but Nesta wasn’t convinced. “I doubt you can make it up to me” she said, disdain coating every word. “Let me look at that shoe?” he offered his hand. “I hardly think so!” “Please, maybe I can get it fixed?” “Oh it will never be the same,” regret lined her voice. “Please?” he said so calmly. She looked at him again, what did she have to lose? The shoe was ruined, if he could get it fixed at least she could wear them around her apartment, it would never be worthy of wearing out again but she could still enjoy the idea of it. Nesta sighed and handed him the shoe, “It’s expensive, please be careful,” “I’m Cassian by the way,” he took the shoe from her and turned it over in his hand, assessing it completely, looking at the label and the style as well as the break. “Nesta” she replied. The heat of her words had dissipated, she felt defeated, how was she going to win over that client now. “Nesta, that's a nice name,” the smile on his face was sweet and not at all what she expected from his appearance. “Thank you,” “Let me get this fixed and i'll give you a call when it's ready, can I have your number?” “I’m starting to wonder if this is a ruse of yours,” she started sifting through her bag looking for her business card. Cassian had a sly grin on his face. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Just ask Lucy for me, or leave a message, I’m usually busy but she can arrange a time for you to drop off the shoe.” She handed over the card. “Lucy?” he said as he looked at the card. “My P.A., she’s good, don’t worry i’ll get your message. Anyway, I have somewhere to be. Good Luck finding someone to repair that, and if you can’t then you can just drop the shoe back.” She had to get to her meeting, no time for chit chat, she was already running late. Nesta, stepped out of his way and started sprinting down the street, well sprinting as fast as she could in her pencil skirt. Leaving behind one shoe with the man called Cassian and the other in her bag, she rushed off to one meeting she would definitely be late for now.

She rubbed her head, drank her glass of water and took her pills, hoping to neutralize the pain before it got too bad. Her week had gone from bad to worse, Monday was the shoe incident, the stupid meeting she missed and Tuesday her presentation had failed to hit the mark. Today Lucy spilled her coffee all over her papers and now they were spread out over her floor, layouts and colours all mashing together. Her organised office had turned into an art studio, full of colours and chaos and paper. Nesta sighed, how was she going to break this string of bad luck. She looked through her presentation on her laptop for the sixth time, she had to make it better than perfect since she would only get one more chance. She had missed the meeting completely on Monday, the Client did not want to wait and so Nesta walked into the room with Lucy in tears, and an empty office. Not only had she broken her shoe, but she was so flustered that she made a wrong turn at the end of that alley and went two blocks in the wrong direction before realising her mistake. Everything had been so good! Why was this week going so bad. “Lucy, did you get that replacement coffee?” her head needed caffeine to neutralise the headache since nothing else seemed to be working. “Sorry Nesta, I’ll get it now.” Lucy called back, “No its fine, look, i’m going out to get a coffee, i’ll be back soon, just call me if you need me.” she said shaking her cellphone at her, to drive the point home. Nesta walked out, today she was wearing a pair of knee high brown boots she had purchased the other week, their heel was higher than her usual boots because she loved it when a pair of shoes matched the aesthetic she was going for. Today it was a black bodycon dress to the knee with her red coat over the top as always. The boots just topped it off. Her love of shoes meant she was always being sucked into stores, like a vortex pulling her in, but right now as she walked to get coffee, she wished she had bought something more practical. Looking at the sidewalk, she walked around the corner to her local coffee place, certified fair trade, locally roasted. The smell of their beans roasting on site out the back filtered through the store and into the street beyond. She loved their coffee. Handing the man behind the counter her travel mug. He looked at the mug and then looked at her with a perplexed face. Nesta knew why straight away, “My assistant Lucy normally gets my coffee, can I please have a latte?”, “Ahh I thought I recognised it, sure thing, we’ll bring it over if you want to take a seat.” Nesta sat down and rubbed her temples. This stupid headache was taking all her patience and concentration. She loved their coffee but had rarely had time to get it for herself, and if Lucy hadn’t turned her office upside down trying to make things right then Nesta wouldn’t have come today either. She turned her body more in towards the table, turning her back to the barista and flicked through a magazine. Mor the socialite had been spotted outside Rita’s and another club infamous for its clientele, a few other names looked familiar and the person in the images was so familiar but she couldn't place her. The gossips were talking, when would they shut up! Nesta shut the magazine, she hated gossip at the best of times. In was a bad idea reading it while she was irritated, and that constant throbbing at her temple made it ten times worse. “Here you go, one latte.” a smooth voice behind her said, “Thanks,” Nesta turned and saw Cassian, the man from the alley, grinning back at her, coffee in hand. She couldn’t quite comprehend what she was seeing, today he was wearing a black singlet and had dark smudges on his face and arms, the muscles on his arms bulged and his tattoos stood out against his tan skin. “Uh Hi,” Nesta was at a loss for words, what was he doing here? He handed her the travel mug. “Long Day?” He stood with his arms crossed casually blocking her exit. He just stood there. Smiling at her. “Its been trying. In fact the whole week has. Do you work here?” she honestly wasn’t sure how to escape without being rude. “Something like that, I’m hoping to have the shoes by the end of the week.” “The shoe” Nesta corrected. “That’s what I said,” that infuriating crooked smile plastered on his face the whole time. “Right, well just call Lucy she’ll pick it up, or whatever works,” Nesta was still flustered, her head fuzzy and she couldn’t move. She twisted her legs to give him the hint. “Do you have somewhere to be?” he said, laughter in his voice. “I have work I need to get done,” she replied in as blandly as she could manage shuffling forward on her seat as far as possible without getting too close to this imposing man. “Pity, I’d love to have a coffee with you,” he seemed sincere but Nesta knew they just wouldn’t be the right fit, he might be handsome and exactly the sort of man she loved to read about in her romance novels, but she could never make it work with someone like that. Cassian stepped back and flourished an arm towards the door, the apron he wore around his waist was covered in coffee stains and marks, further cementing the idea that it would never work between them. “Thanks for the coffee, I better get back to it.” and she sidled past him and walked out of the shop and back to the mess of her waiting office.

Friday was here and everything was looking up, The presentation went well yesterday and her office was back in order and Lucy was managing to do her job right today. Everything was right in Nesta’s world - It had only taken the rest of the week for it to happen. A call came through and Lucy picked it up in record time. Nesta continued reading the contract, making sure all the t’s were crossed and i’s dotted. “Nesta, are you free for a meeting tonight?” Lucy asked. “It’s friday night Lucy!” she must have been too optimistic with her thoughts and now she was going to pay. “It seems important, but I can say no?” “Fine, just make it somewhere with food, they can pay! Otherwise they can meet me next week sometime,” Nesta began grumbling under her breath about clients expecting her to jump through hoops, maybe they can do some jumping for once. She began looking at the contract again, forgetting Lucy and her call. When she was finished reading she printed it out, signed it and put it in an envelope to be mailed, hopefully Lucy could do that without help. “Lucy who was that client that rang?” Nesta asked an hour later, trying to organise her schedule. “They said they had your card and needed an urgent meeting, I never got their name, but I told them about the food, and they said it was fine.” “Right, how am I meant to prepare if I don’t know who I’m meeting?” her voice was strained, she was going to get a new headache, she was sure of it. “Oh. I don’t know.” Lucy’s voice went high pitched as she tried to hold in her emotions, such a kind girl but she was struggling to keep up with Nesta’s demands and they both knew it. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine, I’m good at my job. I’ll be fine, but next time can you please get some more details, do you even know where I’m meeting this person?” Nesta’s fingers moved in and out across her forehead, trying to release the tension there. Her exasperation was getting harder to hide and she could see Lucy’s eyes get glossy with new tears threatening to fall. “The italian place, the one two blocks over at 8pm.” she said her voice tight. “Well,” Nesta muttered, “at least the food is good.�� Lucy perked up, suddenly looking like she would burst compared to the hunched shoulders of a moment ago, “Oh, that’s because he asked what your favourite was, isn’t that kind?” Lucy said a smile lighting up her face like a puppy when when its done something right. “Great. 8pm you said, guess I’ll have to go home first,” she sighed. “Since it's Friday and I’m now working late, lets pack up and call it a day?” Lucy skipped over to her desk made a quick phone call and then handed Nesta her coat, they locked up the office and the two walked down the stairs and out onto the street, saying their goodbyes. Nesta turned and walked home to freshen up before her meeting.

The little Italian place really was her favourite, the smell, the pasta, the cheese, the garlic - All foods she loved. Plus it had a great atmosphere. The smells swept down the street past her as she walked towards the restaurant. She realised she was early and her anxiety began to mount. So she did what she always did and walked a little ways past the restaurant and paused outside a window to stall for time. The shoe shop in front of her was one of her favourites. Only darkness stared back, no lights were on to highlight the treasures within. Her own reflection looking back. Her warm coat matched a red sheer skirt poking out underneath it, gently fluttering in the breeze. The golden buckles on her black suede ankle boots reflecting the street lights. She turned and looked down the street, watching the people as they walked along… anyone could be her client. She looked down at her phone, she had a few more minutes then she could walk in and ask the Maitre de if anyone was waiting for her. Luckily it was a fairly mild evening. She heard someone walking towards her and stepped closer to the window to move out of the way, instinct kicking in but she lost her footing on the uneven pavement. A hand shot out to steady her holding her forearm and keeping her steady, “We have got to stop meeting like this, I might think you were falling for me?” his voice clearly amused. “Pardon?” she was so flustered from falling it took her a moment to recognise the stranger, “Cassian.” she said. “That’s me,” as she readjusted herself he let go of her arm and grinned at her. “I’d love to chat out here, but I have a date.” he wiggled his eyebrows at Nesta and she smiled politely back. Tonight he was wearing a leather jacket and black Jeans, not exactly dressed up for a date, but as she looked down it certainly made the most of his assets. He did have an amazing body, she looked back up at his face and noticed him still looking at her. She blushed. “That's nice, I have a meeting myself, so I guess I better be off, thanks again.” Nesta walked towards the restaurant with Cassian following one step behind. “Don't tell me your date is at Bello Italiano?” she said. “Ok I wont.” and he began to laugh. Nesta just looked at him in horror, “What is so funny?” “Nothing, see you inside I guess” he shrugged and walked past her and into the restaurant carrying a duffle bag.

It all became perfectly clear when Nesta went inside who her “meeting” was with. Cassian sat down at a table in the corner and waved at her, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Oh she was going to kill Lucy. After taking off her coat for it to be checked, Nesta followed the Maitre de over and sat down, gave a polite smile to Cassian and waited. “So, how has your week been?” he asked. “Long and hard,” she released the breath she had been holding. “That’s what she said,” he said under his breath. Nesta stared at him in disbelief. “Look, I was under the impression that I would be meeting with a client, if you are the client can we please keep this professional. Or are you under a different impression? perhaps you can enlighten me as to why I’m here?” Nesta’s patience was wearing thin. She hated when things changed, when she wasn’t prepared for new situations. “I have a gift for you, it’s in my bag, but we should have dinner first, remember I’m paying” He looked at her up and down, his gaze catching on her red lips and the deep V of her dress. She was on full display now and she started to feel self conscious in her chiffon layers. The deep red to perfectly match her lips now felt like too much attention. Her hair was pulled back into a long ponytail, showing off the elegant lines of her neck. It was so hard to figure out what to wear for this mystery client and now it seemed she was on a date! “Fine, I can do that.” she plastered on a winning smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The smile she used to win over clients.

Dinner came and they stuffed their faces, Nesta eating Garlic bread and a pan fried fish dish that melted in her mouth, garlic butter dripping off her fork with each mouthful. The perks of this not being a date meant she could eat all the garlic she wanted. Cassian demolished his own garlic bread and then opted for a pepperoni pizza. Folding each slice at the corners so it was easier to eat the large homemade slices. They made the best pizza here, he had made a good choice. “So did you make it?” Cassian asked between mouthfuls. “Make it to what?” Nesta replied after finishing her own. “Whatever made you run down the street, we didn’t really get to talk at the coffee shop.” “Oh, not really, but it’s ok, we rescheduled.” Nesta continued making polite conversation but never asked about his work, she didn’t want to say the wrong thing, make the wrong assumption. They talked about the weather, the latest blockbusters movies and the joys of being in the city. When they had finished Cassian leaned over and pulled out a large box from his bag, his calloused hands ran over the parcel wrapped in red and put it on the table to the side of their empty plates. After a raised eyebrow from Nesta he said, “I thought you must like red because of your coat.” “I do.” Nesta replied, at a loss for words with him, “But you didn’t need to get me anything.” she narrowed her eyes, looked at the box and at him, things were not quite making sense, until he gestured for her to open it. “What is it?” “Open it.” “Is it my shoe? “Open it.” “Did you manage to fix it?” “Open it for christ sake.” Nesta pushed her plate out of the way and began to open the box. Pulling the paper aside she saw the shoe box underneath. “You could have just given it to Lucy you know, she’s always getting-” Nesta pulled the lid off to look at her broken shoe and see the damage. But when she opened the box black tissue paper stared back at her. She pulled it aside and saw two new black patent, pointed stiletto Jimmy Choo’s in their perfect glory. “Now,” he said, pulling her out of her stunned silence, “I do have the other shoe too, I managed to get it repaired but it just didn't look as good as it should have, so I thought the least I could do is replace them. Did you know these are Jimmy Choo’s?” he said with fake surprise. Nesta looked at Cassian, really looked. He was scruffy and worked in a coffee shop and wore combat boots and Jeans. How on earth could he afford these. “I can’t accept them” she said, her hands gently stroking the leather of a shoe that had somehow made it into her hand. “Sure you can, after all it was... all my fault.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms up and putting them behind his head, the restaurant was mostly empty only a few couples remaining, strange for a Friday night. “Look it was an accident, the fixed shoe is fine, I don’t need these.” of course she wanted them but she knew he couldn't afford them, it took her long enough to afford them in the first place. “You don’t need them, but you want them. I don’t need coffee, but I want coffee, I don’t need a rude woman in my life but I sure as hell would like this one right in front of me in it.” Cassian’s sincere words hung in the air between them. Nesta said nothing, just looked at the shoes she knew she could never accept. No words coming to her, a panic over what to do next. “Why won’t you take them?” he asked, his hands came back to the table fingers moving over each other nervously as he held his hands together, he seemed worried now, like he might have offended her, what if she was offending him by rejecting them? “I know how much they cost.” she quietly said, almost ashamed at how she had treated him the other day. Lifting her eyes from the shoes to Cassian. He looked at her so intensely, like he could see into her soul as it was laid before him. Then his eyes shuttered like he had seen to much. “Look, how about we have a nightcap? I know a place not to far from here, if you change your mind I won't hold it against you.” he waited a moment to gauge her interest before continuing, “so, I'm sure you’ll change your mind about the shoes. Really-they don't matter to me, but you were so upset that I had to make it better for you. They seemed important, like they were more than just shoes.” Cassian was certainly saying all the right things, he had already won her over with his charm at the start of the date. Their easy conversation had flowed even though they were so different and now he had provided her with a gift she could have never expected. Of course they were more than just shoes, they were a reflection of her accomplishments, of how far she had come. She nestled them back into the box, tucking the tissue paper around them and replacing the lid. “I’ve never been one for dessert anyway, how about we have that nightcap?” Nesta said quietly, she smiled a true smile and began to gather her things. When the Maitre de brought over her coat Cassian helped her put it on and picked up the parcel. Leading the way out of the restaurant, waving to the waiter and said “put it on the account, see you next week.”

An amber glow reflected off the glass windows, the pavement littered with reds and golds from the leaves, the city a perfect picture in the chill autumn air. Nesta hugged herself inside her coat as she walked, until Cassian noticed and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. She smelled the leather from his jacket, it was as intoxicating as the smell of new shoes. How did this man know all the right things to say and do? She watched across the street, the couple in the glass windows keeping pace, a tall man in black leather and a girl in red. Surprisingly they looked good together. “So where is this place?” Nesta asked “Oh you’ve been there before.” Cassian replied. “How do you know where I’ve been?” she couldn’t help but have her questions at the ready, her sharp mind was one of the things that got her to where she was. “They make coffee, you broke your shoe out the back? Your assistant comes every day? You came on Wednesday?” He just kept throwing out moments like he knew her entire schedule. “That's not where I broke my shoe.” she said “Yes it is, I was there.” he answered back. “No! I was on….” Nesta tried to remember the exact street but couldn’t and she had gotten lost heading to that meeting. Maybe she was confused about the location of that red door. “Was it really?” she asked looking up at him. Trusting that he knew the answer. Cassian let out a throaty chuckle, and shook his head. “Oh Nesta, you are still so new to this city, one way streets, alleyways, handsome men making you forget where you are…” he looked back at Nesta and gave her shoulder a squeeze, just in case she didn't realise he was teasing her. “Ok, so we are going to... the coffee shop, why? Surely they’re closed.” “Never closed for me,” Cassian continued to speak in half sentences and Nesta was getting tired, it was approaching 11pm when they rounded the corner to the coffee shop. The lights were off and it was closed, Nesta looked to Cassian, daggers being thrown his way. He should know better, was he just playing games? Cassian understood what she was saying with her eyes. “Oh, its OK, I have the key.” Cassian walked to the door and turned the key in its lock, the door opened to stairs leading up. This was a different door to the cafe she entered the other day, more like an entry to an apartment above it. Nesta looked up the stairs then back to Cassian again, her voice raised from the quiet tones they had used walking here, “Ok, what’s the truth, where are we heading? Sorry, but I only just met you and while you have bought me shoes that cost several weeks pay - I didn’t ask you to... and I am not going to sleep with you!” the anger on her face was clear “I am not someone to be bought!” Cassian looked at her, a confused expression on his face for the longest time, like she had insulted him and his dog. Then in a very mild but exasperated tone in the middle of the sidewalk he said, “Nesta, I own the goddamn shop, I own the whole thing, I roast the beans when fucking Jared doesn’t turn up! I help out in the cafe when Missy decides she’s hanging out with her boyfriend instead of coming to work. Yes I should fire them, but they are good at their jobs when they are actually here-but that’s beside the point! I take out the trash when it needs doing, because this... this is -my- business and it's going to succeed.” He looked up the stairs and pointed inside the door before turning back to Nesta, “Up there, that's my office, my apartment, my refuge, it also contains my liquor cabinet.” He smiled at that like it was some inside joke, “So would you like to come up for a drink? Nothing more, just... a drink?” Nesta took it all in, everything he said felt like the truth. She had seriously misjudged him and she was freezing out here on the sidewalk. While she was sure she could make it home safely if she chose, she really just wanted a large glass of wine and to warm up. “Do you have wine? Red specifically?” She looked at him like her whole night relied on his answer being the correct one. “Yes?” he looked at her, head tilting slightly. “Then you best pour me a glass,” she said as she walked past him and up the stairs to his apartment above. Knowing full well that Cassian turned to watch her go, watching her long legs, mesmerised by the flowy dresses movements and her stomping her ankle boots up each step… she was almost at the top before Cassian pulled himself out of his trance and rushed up after her.

Thanks for reading - more to come. 

Also I was going to tag a bunch of people, but with tumblr’s tagging system being buggy at the moment, ill tag some people in the comments rather than the usual tag list. :D If I forget anyone I’m sorry.