#I've been working on (or struggling to find time to work on) this one chapter for something like two months now

[respectfulrebel]

^^ Me the entire time reading this chapter 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I can’t put into words how special this story is to me. I already can’t wait to reread it, if you ever decide to publish it I can’t wait to buy it and have it on my nightstand so I can read it over and over and I then read it to my children if I ever have any or my cats if I don’t ever have children.

It was always a little surreal to see them grown up, these two who had shared so much, tethered by a bond she had always sensed. To her, they were still the children who'd once sought refuge in her kitchen after school, where she would braid Lia's hair and smile at Noah's pleas to grow his hair long like hers, that little girl with torn clothes and that boy who used to escape the struggles of his family by playing guitar.

Like this part already made me want to go back and reread from the beginning. It hasn’t even started yet and I’m already emotional.

Hana grabbed whatever was inside with such care that Noah and Lia's curiosity and confusion just increased. A moment later, she placed something in the palm of her other hand and extended it towards them, revealing a piece of red string.

I knew it 😭😭😭😭 Hundreds of hours of consuming fiction in all forms has conditioned me to be suspicious of seemingly unimportant details and it finally paid off 😭 Your mind is brilliant for planting a seed in literally the first chapter and seeing it through to have such a massive payoff 😭😭😭

"What?" she uttered before shaking her head. "How could that-? I don't own red socks."

"You did," Noah corrected her as he snapped his head up to look her in the eye, "when you were six."

CHILLS! LITERAL CHILLS!

"I thought it needed to be sewn back or something. I got worried you wouldn't have any more socks or that those would fray."

He worried 😭 that she wouldn’t have😭 any more 😭 socks 😭 or that those 😭would fray 😭😭😭 at 7 years of age? 😭😭😭 oh sweet boy 😭😭😭😭😭😭

"There was something..." Grandma went on. "It was't just the string. There was something else, a feeling around the two of you, as if the world itself was telling me your place was with each other. When I look back, I'm convinced it all started the moment Noah first saw you, Lia. The thread may have existed long before, but the day your sock got caught on the pedal of his bike... it might have been a sign—a signal from some higher power that didn't want you straying away from each other. I never wanted to interfere, to disturb the natural flow of things... so I did the only thing I could. I held onto this little piece of rope, believing somehow it would help keep you two together. I was afraid the thread might snap or get lost-that something would come between you and your relationship would strain." She looked intently at them for a while. "I've never seen anything as beautiful and intense as what you two have. I said some people are meant to be but they never find their way to each other," she looked directly at Noah, "but you, my dear child, you never left her side." Not even when the thread threatened to break, when there were circumstances that hinted at a separation such as when Lia moved on her own, or when other people came between them-every one night stand, every girlfriend and boyfriend, Mitch, the night they slept together when alcohol was running through their veins.

I’m crying, literally 😭😭😭 He never left her side 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 my heart

And in that moment, her life changed.

Noah saved her.

Stooooooooooop 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"We've been waiting months for this, Grandma. We need to know. Please."

Literally me though, I needed to know 🫠🫠🫠

"I'm so scared of losing you one day," she whispered, her words barely audible against his ear.

FELT THAT 😭😭😭

"I told you. You've always been mine, Lia."

Still crying. Forever crying for those two 😭😭😭

This was an emotional one for me. The amount of love, work, research and planning you’ve put into this story really shows and I can’t tell you how appreciative I am and how lucky I feel to be able to read this and talk to you about it 🥺🥺

I love you and your brilliant mind so much 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

zutto — chapter eleven | wc: 5.9k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Noah and Lia get answers from Noah's Grandma to all the questions they've had since Koi No Yokan.

Reading time: 25mins aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: established relationship, slight angst, japanese folklore*, chinese folklore*, magical realism, fluff, a few tears, therapy, mentions/allusions to everything that has happened until now, including lia and noah's troubled childhood, lia's abusive relationship with mitch, and the time noah and lia slept together when they were drunk. Answers to all the mysteries that happened in Koi No Yokan.

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

The house welcomed them with the earthy, lingering fragrance of incense. It was a scent neither Lia nor Noah could identify yet, for it was unfamiliar—perhaps it was woven from cedarwood. Perhaps sandalwood. Nevertheless, the scent and warmth of the house wrapped them in a sense of home despite knowing they were far from their own. It was an odd mix of comfort and respectful distance; they knew they were guests in a house where every detail was arranged with thoughtful care by someone else, and yet, it felt like being home in a way. But it wasn’t the place which gave them that feeling, no. 

It was Grandma. 

They slipped off their shoes at the entrance, following tradition, and as Lia wiped her eyes, Noah leaned into a hug to envelop his grandmother, a gentle but steady wrapping of arms that worked as a reminder of everything she had quietly done for him. As a boy, he had been unaware of it all, but now, as a grown man, he was aware and full of gratitude and admiration. 

“Why don’t you let Emi take your things upstairs?” Hana suggested, a familiar sparkle in her eye that meant she felt very joyful at having them home, finally. “I’ll prepare some tea, and we can sit in the tea room.”

At that, they both turned to see Emi, who had appeared with graceful timing at the entrance. She was a woman with short black hair in her late forties who had been assisting Hana for years. Noah and Lia knew her from their previous visits, and once again, as she stood with her hands neatly clasped and she nodded politely in their direction, her expression remained the same as always: serene and carrying a formality that made her seem both close and reserved at once. Though Hana managed the house alone, Emi’s help had become essential as of lately. The house was spacious and slightly too big for a woman alone. There were countless small details to tend to, and Hana, with her body aging with every passing day—that pain in her right leg, the backache—found herself struggling with certain tasks. Emi was there to lend her hands, as she had likely done for others throughout her life.

Emi’s presence had taken on a near-reverent quality since the moment she was hired, and that attitude applied not only to Hana but also to any guests arriving at the house. Her English was very poor, and that had led to some awkward exchanges between her and Noah and Lia in the past. Once, Lia had tried to bridge the gap and she’d asked Emi to sit with them at the tea table. But Emi, polite and respectful as ever, had simply smiled, bowed, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Lia feeling guilty at the thought that, while they were indulging in pastries and warm teas, the woman was cleaning the kitchen. Perhaps it was a cultural legacy of deep-seated respect, rooted in the tradition of servitude where service was considered a quiet honor, but it still didn’t sit too well with neither Lia and Noah. Hana told them, after a few times, there was nothing they could do and they had to accept the way she was, and so they never really said much else, not even when they felt a tinge of guilt.  

Noah thanked Emi gently, shaking his head when she made to lift one of their heavy suitcases. There was no way he was going to let that woman carry those heavy bags upstairs. But as expected, Emi insisted, saying something in Japanese and bending down. Noah exchanged a look with Lia, as if asking for a help she couldn’t provide. Emi attempted again to lift one of the bags, her intent clear even without words and ignoring Noah’s hands. 

“Can you tell her I’ll take care of it?” Noah asked Hana. “They’re too heavy. She’ll hurt her back. I can manage.” 

Hana nodded, understanding, and with a sweet voice but reverence in her tone, indicated to Emi—in Japanese, of course—to leave the task to Noah. Emi listened to Hana with more will than she had listened to Noah, for she nodded in understanding immediately and retreated after offering Noah another nodding and a smile that he tried to weirdly reciprocate. 

Lia trailed behind Noah as he took both suitcases upstairs at once, her carrying their backpacks, and once they reached the top of the stairs, she paused in front of the guest room door where she had always stayed. 

Noah kept walking towards his room until he noticed Lia standing far from him.

“You don’t think we’re sleeping in separate beds, let alone in separate rooms, do you?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head, but her voice softened as she glanced toward the stairs. “I just don’t want to be inconsiderate. Maybe we should talk to Grandma about it first.”

After a brief pause, Noah nodded.

“Yeah. Sure. We’ll talk to her.” He extended a hand to her, and he waited until Lia took it to lead her into his room, sliding the doors open. 

The room was bigger than the guest room, square in shape, with a big futon laying on a wooden tatami, clean soft bedding drapped over it and an array of pillows. There was a small desk next to the door, facing the bed, and two more sliding doors on one side that led to a cozy balcony overlooking the distant mountains. Noah had never really stopped to appreciate how cozy the room was, but now he imagined how much warmer it would feel, having Lia lying in his bed. 

Noah set the suitcases in one side and Lia placed their backpacks on the desk. 

After spending a few minutes sorting through her toiletries and hanging up some clothes in the wardrobe, Lia slipped away to the bathroom for a quick break. Just then, a knock on the door startled Noah, causing him to turn around. He found Emi by the threshold, carrying more pillows in her arms and two colorful blankets. A sigh escaped him; he couldn’t find a way to explain they didn’t need so many, and he didn’t want to discharge her and offend her, so he simply stowed the extras in the wardrobe, thanking her.

Lia came back from the bathroom with her hair gathered in a comfy bun, and both headed downstairs. 

Grandma was in the kitchen, a space that carried the comforting smell of teas being prepared and food being cooked. Hana was placing an iron kettle on a tray and arranging three delicate porcelain cups beside a plate of traditional sweets when both stepped into the room. 

As Hana looked up, her eyes softened, the faint creases at their edges deepening. She paused, noticing the way Noah and Lia lingered at the door as if feeling shy about something. 

Before she focused on that, a surge of disbelief spread through her. It was always a little surreal to see them grown up, these two who had shared so much, tethered by a bond she had always sensed. To her, they were still the children who’d once sought refuge in her kitchen after school, where she would braid Lia’s hair and smile at Noah’s pleas to grow his hair long like hers, that little girl with torn clothes and that boy who used to escape the struggles of his family by playing guitar.

“Is everything to your liking?” Hana asked, her gaze soft but searching.

“Yes,” Lia replied quickly. Noah nodded in agreement, but then Lia glanced at him before adding, a hint of hesitation in her voice, “We were wondering if… if Noah and I could… share a room?”

Hana’s attention drifted downward, catching the subtle movement between their bodies. Noah’s fingers reached for Lia’s, and she quietly laced hers with his. Hana’s eyes lingered on their joined hands for a moment, before her lips curved into an understanding smile.

With a quiet satisfaction that neither Noah nor Lia fully comprehended, Hana lifted the tea tray and moved gracefully around the kitchen island, gesturing for them to follow without saying a word. Despite her petite frame, there was an elegance and authority in her movements.

Noah and Lia exchanged a look, then followed her into the tea room.

Hana’s tea room was minimal yet spacious, containing a square wooden table in the center surrounded by floor cushions. A single cabinet along the wall held a modest assortment of teacups and plates and a bouquet of dry flowers that had been there since she moved into the house, crafted by Lia, of course. On the left, the panneled windows made of washi paper let in the soft, diffused light from the garden at the back of the house. The room had always felt like a sacred space. 

Noah and Lia sat side by side, waiting in a reverent silence as Hana kneeled down in front of them across the table and poured the tea, the steam unfurling in delicate wisps that mingled with the scent of sencha. Lia wrapped her hands around the warm mug only to be warned by Hana. 

“It’s hot, dear. Be careful.”

It was always the same warning, and yet, Lia never seemed to care about it. Hana would always say the same, and Lia would always keep her hands around the mug because instead of burning her hands, the heat brought a sense of grounding to her that spread from her hands to the rest of her body. 

Next to her, Noah, normally patient, was growing a bit restless. He was expecting an answer. Yes. No. It had been a simple question, right? Can we share a room? Can Lia sleep in my bed?  He just needed a simple “yes” or “no” —a “yes” better than the other option because truth was, he didn’t know what he would do if Hana said he wanted them to keep distance while in the house. But Hana had to be so cryptic. She had to draw things out and keep him on this toes. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Hana’s old but wise eyes met his just as she finished pouring herself tea. Her expression was one almost… mischievous. There was softness in it, but she had a knowing smile on her lips that hinted at secrets only she knew. 

Just as Noah opened his mouth to speak, she said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

She started to rise, and instinctively, Noah made a move to help, but she waved him off. 

“No need, my dear. Just give me a moment.”

She dissappeared down the hall, her footsteps a soft patter that didn’t quite fade entirely as she retrieved what she went looking for in a nearby room. She returned moments later. In her wrinkled hands, she held a small, dark wooden box. She settled back onto the cushions. 

“Is that where you’ve been keeping my old baby teeth?” Noah joked, gesturing to the box with a smirk. Beside him, Lia chuckled, but Hana’s silence—her smile still serene—quickly quieted them. 

“Not quite,” was her reply. 

Hana placed the box on the table, facing her. Her own cup of tea steamed right next to it. She slowly opened it, but the attached lid created a barrier that made it impossible for Lia and Noah to see what was inside. Lia shifted, hands on her knees, lifting herself slightly and stretching her neck to catch a glimpse of whatever that was. 

Hana grabbed whatever was inside with such care that Noah and Lia’s curiosity and confusion just increased. A moment later, she placed something in the palm of her other hand and extended it towards them, revealing a piece of red string. 

The string lay delicate and faded in Hana’s palm. It was fraying slightly at the edges where time had worn it thin. Once bright red, it had softened to a muted, dusty crimson. Unbeknownst to the young couple in the room, it had stubbornly survived, first wash after wash, and then travel after travel until it was kept safe in the box that now lay on the table. 

“What’s that?” Lia asked, her eyes jumping to Hana’s, for she couldn’t make sense of the mystery that a tiny worn string could hold. 

She hadn’t noticed Noah going stiff, his eyes frozen over the piece of red laying in Hana’s hand. 

“That’s…” Noah began. He blinked, frowning a little as if he was trying to put the pieces together. He extended an arm and as gently as Hana had done, he took the string in his palm. “That’s a lose string from one of Lia’s socks,” he responded, more to himself than to Lia or Hana. 

Lia’s confusion only deepened at Noah’s words and at his reaction. He kept staring at the string in his palm as if it was made of gold. 

“What?” she uttered before shaking her head. “How could that—? I don’t own red socks.”

“You did,” Noah corrected her as he snapped his head up to look her in the eye, “when you were six.”

Lia wasn’t following. Noah continued.

“It got stuck on the pedal of my bike the first day we met, when I let you ride it. I gave it to Grandma right after I went back home. I thought…” The memories hit him, one after another. He nearly chuckled at his innocence back then. “I thought it needed to be sewn back or something. I got worried you wouldn’t have any more socks or that those would fray.”

Lia’s gaze flickered between the delicate string and the grandmother’s wise, knowing expression. She understood why little Noah, with his big heart and innocent worries, would have been anxious over the lost string. But Grandma? Why had she kept it for so many years? Why had she held on to it so reverently?

Unsure of what to say or feel, Lia found herself at a loss for words. She glanced at Noah, who was just as silent, both of them looking to Grandma.

“Have you heard about the red string of fate?” Hana asked then. 

Noah’s brow furrowed, and he nodded slowly. “I think I might’ve heard something about it… Isn’t that Chinese folklore?”

Grandma gave a gentle nod with an understanding smile. “Yes, it is. But that doesn’t mean it applies only to that region.”

Lia held her tea cup close, her fingers tracing the warmth that seeped into her palms. She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Grandma’s face as she waited.

“According to the myth,” Grandma continued, “the string of fate is an invisible red thread tied around the fingers of those destined to meet, especially soulmates or true loves. The ones connected by this thread are bound to find each other, no matter the distance, time, or obstacles. Though the cord may stretch or become tangled, it is said to never break, symbolizing a bond that is unbreakable and meant to be.”

“Folklore,” Lia concluded, a tinge of dubiety in her tone.

“Folklore, indeed,” Grandma agreed with a tilt of her head. “Life is not that simple, or beautiful. Some people are meant to be, but they never find their way to each other. However, sometimes they do. Sometimes they find each other at the strangest of times; sometimes when they are old, carrying the weight of their lives with them, and sometimes… when they are merely kids, with everything still ahead of them.”

“This is a broken string, Grandma,” Noah pointed out, extending his open palm as if trying to prove a point.

“And I said the red thread is invisible,” she replied with a soft smile touching her lips. “When you came home with that string in your hand, I kept it in a drawer for days, just because you were so concerned about Lia’s socks. But weeks later, when I found it again, I remembered the old myth, the one that had traveled from family to family, village to village, weaving its way across countries. By then, you and Lia were already inseparable, and I couldn’t help but wonder…” She trailed off, tilting her head as she looked at the thread as though it might reveal a hidden truth, as if it held the memories of years gone by. “I wondered if there was something to it. So, I kept it, out of curiosity. And as I watched you both grow—the more time you spent with each other, the more obvious it became.”

“What was obvious?” Lia asked, quietly. 

Hana’s smile deepened.

“That you were soulmates.”

Noah and Lia didn’t say a thing as they absorbed her words in quiet wonder and daze.

“When you moved in with Noah on your eighteenth birthday, I remember Noah calling to let me know that you’d settled in. There was something different in his voice—a blend of joy, contentment, and peace I’d never heard from him before. And then, the day you graduated, the look on his face when you came down the stairs in that beautiful dress, with those shoes you didn’t want to wear… Do you remember that, Lia?”

“I remember,” she replied as the memories flooded back. 

She recalled dancing with a classmate whose name had long since slipped her mind. She recalled Jolly telling her he was suspicious that Noah liked a girl. She remembered sneaking vodka shots with her friends in the restroom, and later that night, Noah giving her a piggyback ride to her room. And yes, she remembered the way he looked at her before any of that—a look she had assumed was the fond gaze of a best friend to whom you mean the world. Nothing more.

She turned her head to look at Noah. He was focused on Grandma, though there was a faint blush coloring his cheeks.  

“There was something…” Grandma went on. “It was’t just the string. There was something else, a feeling around the two of you, as if the world itself was telling me your place was with each other. When I look back, I’m convinced it all started the moment Noah first saw you, Lia. The thread may have existed long before, but the day your sock got caught on the pedal of his bike… it might have been a sign—a signal from some higher power that didn’t want you straying away from each other. I never wanted to interfere, to disturb the natural flow of things… so I did the only thing I could. I held onto this little piece of rope, believing somehow it would help keep you two together. I was afraid the thread might snap or get lost—that something would come between you and your relationship would strain.” She looked intently at them for a while. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful and intense as what you two have. I said some people are meant to be but they never find their way to each other,” she looked directly at Noah, “but you, my dear child, you never left her side.” Not even when the thread threatened to break, when there were circumstances that hinted at a separation such as when Lia moved on her own, or when other people came between them—every one night stand, every girlfriend and boyfriend, Mitch, the night they slept together when alcohol was running through their veins. 

Be that as it may, Noah had always remained close to her. She had, too, in her own way and despite trying to push him away.  

“So,” Noah ventured, “you’re saying that we’ve always been meant to be together?”

“Yes. Lia has always been meant for you, and you for her. That’s what I believe, even if it sounds unreasonable, fantastical—you have every right to feel that way,” her voice flattered as her gaze drifted to a spot on the floor, unfocused. Lost in thought, her expression softened, and tears welled in her eyes. “But you’re here now. You’ve come back to me, together,” she continued, a smile breaking through the weight of years past, “after everything you’ve been through, all the struggles my children have faced so far away from me… I can only imagine how difficult it’s been, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything for you. But now, you’re finally here, as you were always meant to be.”

Seeing Grandma’s silent tears trail down her cheeks was almost too much for them to bear. Even with the joy in this moment, the pain she’d carried across the years was evident, stretching from L.A. to this quiet town in Japan. She had watched, powerless, from afar as Noah and Lia overcame struggle after struggle—every little and not so little thing that threated to keep them apart. She’d been alone, helpless against the silent ache that crossed oceans—the butterfly effect.  

Lia resisted the impulse to react to Hana’s tears, instead setting her cup of tea down quietly on the table. Without a word, she reached over and took the string from Noah’s hands, holding it with a calm resolve.

The moment the fabric touched her skin, she was pulled back to that morning, twenty-one years ago. 

She remembered waking up alone in a crumbling house, piecing together a small breakfast from what she could find in the kitchen. She’d dressed in clothes that had piled up at the foot of her bed, unsure of how to wash them or make the machine downstairs work. Hoping to give them a different smell, she’d played in the garden among the flowers until her clothes smelled of lavender and thyme. Inside, she’d lost herself in her sketching and coloring, hours slipping by in a quiet solitude she barely noticed anymore. When hunger crept in, she’d scavenged an apple from the fridge, slicing away the bruised parts and eating what was left. Eventually, she’d perched by the window, watching the world pass outside, dogs barking in the distance, occasional cars rumbling by. Finally, she climbed the stairs back to her room to put on some red socks and boots. She’d opened the house door, stepped outside, and settled herself on the concrete. A while later, Noah had appeared.

And in that moment, her life changed. 

Noah saved her. 

With the back of her hand, Lia wiped a stray tear as she blinked. She rubbed the string between her fingers, its fibers stiff but delicate, like a fragile relic of the past that carried the memory of those early days—painful and sweet at the same time. 

Both Hana and Noah waited for her to speak. It took a moment, but finally, she opened her mouth, her voice quivering as she looked at Hana, eyes glassy. 

“Can I keep it?”

Noah half-expected Hana to hesitate. After guarding this small piece of their past—of their beginning— for so many years, he thought she might be reluctant to let go, fearing that releasing it might somehow weaken the bond between them. But Hana’s response was instant. Her smile brightened as she nodded.

“You can keep it, darling.”

Maybe, Noah thought, seeing them together after all these years had finally soothed Hana’s fears, rather than fueling them. He was still taking it all in, not so much the fact that she’d kept this string for over two decades, but the meaning behind it. 

But it made sense.

Every little thing made sense. 

And if he was honest, it was exactly how he wanted it. 

He’d wanted Lia since that Saturday morning when she was six and he was seven, in one way or another. 

He watched her fingers play with the red string, as if she were trying to understand if it was just a scrap of her old sock or a sign of something greater. It might have been nothing more than a forgotten string. Or perhaps it was indeed the physical proof of a bond that had been with them since childhood.

His tea sat untouched, forgotten as he focused solely on Lia, watching the worry etched into her expression. He couldn’t look away. He whispered her name, hoping to see if she was all right or if all of this was becoming too much. Her big brown eyes met his, unguarded and glassy with emotion. She didn’t smile, didn’t speak, just looked at him, and then, her concern shifted toward him. Just as he was about to tell her he was fine, she turned to Hana.

“What happened to Noah?” Lia’s voice was steady but edged with urgency. “The coughing. The fever. All those flowers.”

Hana’s gaze softened, though her expression remained unreadable. 

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” she replied, sensing Lia’s growing distress.

But Lia shook her head. “No. Now. We need to know.”

Hana hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“Lia, my darling,” she began gently, “you just got here. Maybe one story is enough for today.”

“We’re fine,” Noah interjected, his tone resolute. He rested a hand on Lia’s knee, squeezing it lightly. “We’ve been waiting months for this, Grandma. We need to know. Please.”

For a moment, Hana’s shoulders slumped as though she were carrying the weight of something long-buried. She took a slow breath, then nodded, her gaze drifting somewhere beyond the walls of the room, as if she were looking back into a distant memory.

“When you were little, Noah,” she began, “I used to tell you folklore stories… so many you probably couldn’t keep track of them all.” She offered a bittersweet smile, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “Do you remember any those?”

“Some. You even got me a compillation book one Christmas.”

Hana nodded. “Yes, I did. And you’d beg me to read them, even when you should’ve been fast asleep.” She paused, eyes unfocused as if seeing the past replay in her mind. “There was one story—the tale of a boy and a girl. This girl loved the boy, loved him so much that it seemed to consume her. But the boy…” Her voice trailed off. “He didn’t feel the same way. It was a one-sided love, and because of that… she fell ill.”

Lia’s brow furrowed. “Ill?”

“Yes. In our culture, we call it Hanahaki disease. It begins with a feeling, a weight in the chest, but then it grows. Flowers begin to bloom inside you, filling your lungs with every unreturned feeling. And the more the love festers, the worse it gets.”

Noah frowned, his mind racing. The name felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall ever hearing the full story. 

“That’s not exactly what happened to me,” Noah intervened, lowering his voice. “I got sick every time Lia was physically away. But got better when she was around. And then one day, all of a sudden, the entire thing disappeared. On top of that, it was never a non-reciprocal feeling, so it cannot be the reason why I was coughing up flowers.”

“Not everything happens as its written in the books, my dear. As for the cough stopping one day and never coming back, maybe Lia can tell you more about that.”

Noah turned to Lia, surprised to see something in her expression he hadn’t expected—a trace of guilt, a hint of something she’d held back. She had listened intently, but now it was as if Hana’s words had pulled a thread that led to a long-kept secret. Her gaze met his, a small crease forming between her brows, her face shadowed by a reluctant admission.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Hana said, her voice gentle but decisive.

Both Noah and Lia looked up, startled.

“But we just sat down,” Lia protested. “The tea…”

“Don’t worry about the tea,” Hana replied, already rising with her cup in hand. She smiled warmly at them both before turning, and with a gentle slide of the door, left them in the quiet intimacy of the tearoom.

Noah turned back to Lia with a deeper frown, a look of weariness in his eyes that said he was done with so much overwhelming. There were still questions in the air and he wanted answer for all of them. Now.

“What was that about?” he asked, his voice edged with frustration. 

Lia took a steadying breath, sipped her tea, and set the cup down beside the string as she searched for the right words. 

“I think she’s right,” she started. “I know I brushed off all those times you mentioned Grandma’s theories—that being close to you somehow made you feel better. But after hearing about this string, that story, how long she’s held onto it… maybe there really are things beyond what we can explain and understand. Maybe this strange flower-coughing disease is one of them.” 

“I’m with you on that,” Noah replied, his gaze holding hers. “But it wasn’t one-sided when I fell head over heels for you, Lia.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But it took me months to realize it myself and then, accept it.”

Noah’s eyes—and mind—were clouded with confusion. Sensing his need for clarity, Lia took a deep breath and tried to lay it all out, piece by piece. 

She’d been in love with him for longer she could admit. Deep inside, her heart had always belonged to him, but over and over, she had refused to believe it, to accept such a thing. She couldn’t jeopardize this near-perfect friendship they shared—that meant everything to her. And they had made a promise. So, she buried those feelings, ignored her heart, told herself over and over that whatever she felt was just a passing infatuation and that it would go away in time. She lied to herself because she hadn’t been willing to admit to herself, let alone to Noah, that she was in love with him. 

In the end, it was her denial that made him sick. It wasn’t that his love for her wasn’t reciprocated; it was that she couldn’t bring herself to believe in her own love for him as more than just a friend. Yet, despite her efforts to bury it, her love always found a way to surface—whenever she made him laugh, whenever she comforted him, whenever she showed up at his door just to be with him. Somehow, Noah’s heart had always known that hers belonged to him, and that was why, whenever she pulled away or tried to distance herself, his sickness would worsen. 

Only after countless hours spent in therapy did Lia finally begin to admit the truth that her own heart, her own body, had been trying to show her all along. She remembered that session vividly: 

“No.”

“Lia—” Dr. Reynolds insisted. 

“That’s not how it is,” she assured nearly through gritted teeth. Her voice was tight with resistance.

“It is, and you know it. You’ve known it for a long time, but you refuse to accept it. For me to help you, you must acknowledge it. You have to say it out loud and accept it. I know you’re scared, but you have to admit what you feel.”

Lia felt the words crawling up her throat, her heart racing, her palms damp as she gripped the arms of the chair. Her breathing grew shallow, and she looked at the doctor with wide, glassy eyes, the truth trembling on her lips. 

“Lia,” Dr. Reynolds pressed, “you are in love with your best friend, Noah. Say it.”

Her heartbeat was rapid and erratic, each beat hammering against her ribcage. She was terrified—terrified of what admitting it would mean, what it would change. But perhaps the only way to stop the ache was to finally speak the words aloud.

“I’m…” Her voice wavered, barely above a whisper. She took a shaky breath, her nails digging into the armrests of the chair as she steadied herself. “I’m in love with Noah.”

Back in the tearoom, Lia took a deep breath, her gaze landing on the steaming cup of tea. Noah's hand was no longer on her knee, and she missed the warmth it’d provided.  

“The day after meeting her,” Lia continued, “Jesse called me. He said you were worried something had happened to me.”

“That was the day the coughing stopped,” Noah acknowledged. “The day before had been Hell. I’d been so fucking sick, and then… from night to morning, I woke up and felt fine.”

“It was because I admitted to myself what I’d been refusing for so long—that I loved you. You were sick all those times because of me.” 

Noah hesitated, his lips parting slightly as he processed the rising panic in Lia’s voice. He shifted to face her, still seated in a lotus position on the cushions 

“That’s—” After a moment’s deliberation, he shook his head and squared his shoulders, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on them. They could continue down this path, but it would only lead them to the painful memories of the past, and that was no longer what mattered. “It doesn’t matter now. That’s all in the past, Lia,” he concluded, his voice steady yet tender. They had endured so much together. Neither had been at their best; they had made mistakes and harbored regrets. How could they have paid heed to some whimsical folklore tale—much less the reality of it manifesting in their lives? Considering everything, there was no sense in revisiting those moments or blaming each other for every obstacle they had placed in one another’s way. “We got the answers we wanted, and what matters is that we’re here, and we’re real, right now.”

Lia blinked back tears, but a few slipped free despite her efforts. She brushed them away. When another tear fell, Noah reached over and caught it with his thumb. Before she could think, she climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms around him, clutching him tightly. He quickly wrapped her in his arms and held her close, resting his cheek against her hair, and she felt his steady breath as he nuzzled into her neck. The weight of her in his lap felt so nice and natural, and the way his arms encircled her made her feel safe, almost fragile but in a good way, because she knew she was out of danger with him. Would always be. 

“I’m so scared of losing you one day,” she whispered, her words barely audible against his ear.

Noah pulled back just enough to look at her. Glancing at the small, coiled red string on the table beside them, he reached for it and held out his hand to Lia. 

“Give me your pinky finger,” he ordered. 

She looked at him questioningly but placed her hand in his. He laid his own pinky alongside hers and began to wind the red string around them. 

“Help me with this?” he asked, giving her a soft smile.

She did. When they finished the knot, their pinkies were tied together with the thin red thread. He tugged gently to make sure it held, then grinned. 

“Now we’re really tied together. See? Problem solved.”

Lia’s laugh came out, light and clear, the tension in her shoulders easing as she looked down at their fingers entwined by the string. The sound was so full of life, of relief, that Noah couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through his chest. He lifted his hand to her face, cupping her chin with two fingers, and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, savoring the way her smile lingered against his own.

When he finally pulled back, he whispered, 

“I told you. You’ve always been mine, Lia.”

— prev. chapter | chapter twelve 🌶️

Author's note: 100 points for those who guessed it was the red string 🤭 You can reread about that moment in Chapter 1 of Ikigai (literally the beginning of the story). It's no more than a couple of paragraphs, if I don't recall wrong, right at the end, but it was a very important detail for the future. Thank you once again for reading and being with me in this journey :)

*I've done some changes to the original folklore stories mentioned in this chapter to adapt it to Noah and Lia's romance story. I hope everything was more or less clear regarding all those weird things happening in Koi No Yokan. I never had this story planned in detail before I started writing, so it got tricky at some points, but I think I managed to make everything fit reasonably within its flow.

🔖 Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

@chey-h | @ferduttini

[taradactyls]

Progress Update: Trying to Tread Water

TLDR: Hopefully an update tomorrow night.

I was so certain I was going to get SOMETHING out tonight, but the toddlers decided tonight was the first time in weeks that they would not go to sleep. It's 10pm. We just got one to sleep. The other remains awake.

IMMEDIATELY after writing that the awake boy climbed over the bed head and tried to do a somersault on top of his sleeping brother. Sleepy boy somehow slept through it, and fingers crossed the awake boy will allow himself to fall asleep this time. He's SO tired every time we go back in to resettle him but he just isn't having it tonight.

Which is about how the last few hours have gone. I haven't even been able to do one full proof read without having to stop a child trying to climb the blinds, pull their mattress off the bed, or escape their room.

So, basically, keep an eye out for something (not as much as I had hoped) tomorrow night.

[januaryembrs]

THE KID SWINGS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]

Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.

Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)

Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.

authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.

previous chpt | next chapter

‘If you take a swing, the kid swings back,

she say I’m not your punching bag,’

The one where Emily comes back.

She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart. 

She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all. 

The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar. 

Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night. 

Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her. 

Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down. 

“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit. 

“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”

“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy. 

“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”

“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil. 

“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”

“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,” 

He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow. 

“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.

“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.

-

“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye. 

“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,” 

She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.” 

He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”

He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff. 

“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-” 

He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat. 

“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him. 

“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.” 

Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close. 

“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”

She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges. 

He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,” 

She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire. 

“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,” 

“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” 

“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”

“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?” 

He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,” 

“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers. 

“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway. 

She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself. 

“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,” 

And he believed her with everything in him. 

–

Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself. 

It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right? 

Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on. 

She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)

She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass. 

There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it. 

No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge. 

Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either. 

And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first. 

Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.

And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour. 

The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt. 

Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.

The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue. 

“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days. 

They had found Doyle. 

She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips. 

“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in. 

Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor. 

“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck. 

The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice. 

Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours. 

Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours. 

“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open. 

JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,” 

“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle. 

But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even. 

–

She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded. 

She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment. 

He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup. 

Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away. 

“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”

She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself. 

But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach. 

It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure. 

He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye. 

“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.

She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.  

He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed. 

This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had. 

“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,” 

She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution. 

Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt. 

“Don’t do this, kid,” 

“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand. 

“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him. 

Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor. 

“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell. 

She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”

His smile wiped clean off his face at that.

-

“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight. 

“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.

Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run. 

Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way. 

He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her. 

She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth. 

“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.

“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,” 

Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief. 

And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her. 

“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror. 

No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying. 

Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all. 

“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark. 

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock. 

“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly. 

“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth. 

He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her. 

He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong. 

Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself. 

Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well. 

She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze. 

But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her. 

She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself. 

Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her. 

“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder. 

That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy. 

She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time. 

And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod. 

“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”

But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest. 

Bugsy was laughing. 

Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged. 

Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in. 

But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called. 

“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”

“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle. 

“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”

“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her. 

But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step. 

“Stop, let’s just talk,”

“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.

“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”

Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat. 

Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp. 

“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.

“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”

With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.

–

She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust. 

She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell. 

She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.

“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice. 

“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”

Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.

“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?” 

“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”

 “No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”

“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,” 

 “She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them. 

Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either. 

“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.

“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,” 

2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.

Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that. 

She wouldn’t tell her anything. 

It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.

She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown. 

She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive. 

In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for. 

Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors. 

Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him. 

Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash. 

“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them. 

Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her. 

But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity. 

Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.

Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”

She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back. 

Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word. 

He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place. 

He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness. 

Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either. 

He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods. 

“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”

She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine. 

They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on. 

“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,” 

She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips. 

She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close. 

She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever. 

He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too. 

Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her. 

-

The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush. 

“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”

Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off. 

When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’. 

“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way. 

“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face. 

“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought. 

“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day. 

“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful. 

“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”

He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years. 

That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of. 

“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy. 

“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,” 

“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.

“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,” 

“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”

“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone. 

They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard. 

“Is it legal?”

“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”

“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.

“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer. 

“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”

“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do. 

“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene. 

“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government. 

Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another. 

–

“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily. 

“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed. 

“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo. 

“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.

“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment. 

“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face. 

“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag. 

“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in. 

“Why not?” 

“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas. 

“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay. 

She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.

“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”

“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face. 

“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members. 

“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze. 

“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”

David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds. 

“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”

“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”

“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes. 

“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,” 

“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her. 

“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”

“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did. 

“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands. 

At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly. 

–

“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else. 

It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund. 

They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out. 

“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness. 

He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that. 

He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him. 

The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket. 

Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress. 

Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight. 

They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off. 

She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends. 

The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills. 

“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did. 

He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection. 

The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket. 

He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,” 

The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief. 

“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips. 

“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done. 

At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike. 

She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively. 

“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room. 

He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed. 

Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw. 

“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,” 

And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there. 

She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,” 

And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba. 

He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him. 

He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.

Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else. 

It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time. 

But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win. 

A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub. 

She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway. 

It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt. 

From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple. 

Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.

She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture. 

The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door. 

Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,” 

Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age. 

He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him. 

They moved in tandem, just like they always had. 

A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance. 

“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,” 

He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,” 

Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team. 

She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product. 

Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter. 

She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up. 

Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile. 

“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in. 

She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more. 

“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,” 

And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then. 

The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision. 

She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards.  Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door. 

It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him. 

“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house. 

She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening. 

Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”

One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”

And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run. 

Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better. 

“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling. 

“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”

What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks. 

“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”

The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart. 

“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold. 

“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”

“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat. 

“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over. 

“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact. 

“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure. 

Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.” 

Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice. 

He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight. 

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning. 

“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.

Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later. 

“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,” 

“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”

Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door. 

–

“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress. 

“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night. 

She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t. 

“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”

The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen. 

It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face. 

“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,” 

3. The one with the bank explosion

The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless. 

“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her. 

“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”

“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,” 

“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay. 

“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her. 

“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,” 

He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest. 

“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts. 

“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest. 

“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”

“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head. 

“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?” 

He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next. 

“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”

She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes. 

If Emily hadn’t been there. 

Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer. 

“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred. 

She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”

He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,” 

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together. 

“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”

She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot. 

He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice. 

“Oh my god,”

“Penelope?” 

Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform. 

“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”

Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”

Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it. 

“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”

“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women. 

“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”

“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,” 

“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.

Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip. 

“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry. 

He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules. 

He hated girl rules. He never understood them. 

“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows. 

“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone. 

“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes. 

Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart. 

“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”

“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?” 

Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words. 

“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot. 

Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her. 

It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up. 

“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?” 

David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning. 

He sighed, hard. 

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face. 

“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today. 

“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?” 

“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second. 

“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance. 

“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”

“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”

He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye. 

They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”

“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,” 

–

They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene. 

She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest. 

“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach. 

So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby. 

“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building. 

“The media's calling them the face cards,” Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,” 

“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.

“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement. 

Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready. 

“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units. 

“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away. 

“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse. 

“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily. 

JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well. 

“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”

“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together. 

“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”

Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?” 

“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers. 

Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows. 

The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life. 

“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”

“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”

“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”

“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer. 

This was going to be a long day. 

–

“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest. 

It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage. 

Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre. 

“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”

“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all. 

“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?” 

She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information. 

“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite. 

Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen. 

JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.  

“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty. 

“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-” 

“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”

“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”

“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her. 

“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”

Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves. 

The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were. 

Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken. 

Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together. 

“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”

“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”

This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit. 

Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never. 

“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”

“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance. 

She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her. 

She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves. 

But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up. 

She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies. 

He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest. 

Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.

Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not. 

“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”

Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too. 

“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”  

Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,” 

Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together. 

“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”

“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore. 

Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?” 

Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her. 

“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”

Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug. 

“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another. 

Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

–

Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again. 

Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death. 

They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.

Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed. 

“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street. 

Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation. 

“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws. 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources. 

“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”

“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”

“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”

Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.” 

Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”

Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless. 

She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did. 

Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it. 

-

“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side. 

He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.

“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers. 

“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter. 

“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?” 

Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was. 

The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere. 

This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing. 

If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now. 

Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears. 

He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.

So what was she doing?” 

Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers. 

“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”

But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them. 

But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!” 

Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover. 

Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.

The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would. 

Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him. 

Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards. 

And Bugsy went down with it. 

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[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages. 

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him. 

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him. 

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage. 

You don’t want him. 

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you. 

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days. 

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you. 

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them. 

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared. 

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive. 

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time? 

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss. 

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again. 

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away. 

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him. 

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about. 

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up. 

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around. 

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out.  You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed. 

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t. 

Of course, you weren’t. 

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel. 

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you. 

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more. 

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what? 

You ruined it because you got scared? 

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him? 

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight. 

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you? 

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous. 

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable. 

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue. 

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue. 

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that. 

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai. 

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer. 

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama? 

What happened, Dazai-sama? 

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use. 

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you. 

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now. 

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction. 

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. 

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house. 

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands. 

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs. 

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go. 

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently. 

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently. 

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

[penultimate-step]

Lately, I've been thinking about the effect of real-world time on perception of media. Or, wait, let me start from the beginning.

When I was 11, I read the book Ender's Game for some school assignment or another. I don't remember ever considering Ender a relatable character, but certainly my understanding of the events was shaped by being of an age to see the protagonist not so much as a young child but as someone of my peer group, someone who could have been slotted amongst my classmates without anybody batting an eye.

Over a decade later, I read the sequel, Speaker for the Dead; it takes place many years later, when Ender is in his thirties, and my feelings about the in-universe time skip were undeniably shaped by the real life time gap between my reading of the novels. Reading the first book back then and then the second book now created a feeling where it's almost like, I'm browsing the facebook page of someone I had known in middle school but lost contact with, checking up on how they're doing today. The real-time factor caused me to perceive it less like a timeskip, and more like a reunion - the feelings were closer to "oh wow, that's my boy! I haven't seen him in years! Wonder what he's up to?" Which in turn gave me a better position to appreciate the parts of the narrative about him struggling to find a place in his adulthood than I would have been had I perceived it more strictly as a quick skip from 11 to 20 to 36.

While musing about this, I considered a VN I played a few years back, which took place over three in-game days - except at the end of one in-game day, the game would lock you out from progressing for 24 hours real time. So that as the in-game investigator protagonist was ruminating on the information that had been discovered that day, the player would be forced to do the same. In this example, by forcing the player to experience the same timeframe as the in-game characters, the sense of it being an in-depth and extensive investigation increases, even though without the forced pauses the game would be short enough to blow through in a handful of hours real-time.

Which brings to mind how time effects things in long-running serial works. It's well known that an audience which watches an episode or reads a chapter week by week has a very different experience than one binging through whole seasons or volumes at a time, but I wonder if the real time relative to the in-universe time makes that effect stand out more? Fight scenes, for instance, have been known to take up several chapters in certain manga or webnovels. What does it do to the reader's perception, if from their point a view a fight takes a whole month, while for the characters they read about it's only been a couple hours? Readers might feel that the situation is more stressful, since the pressure of the fight has been ongoing for a long time for them, while in-universe it was a rough afternoon but no more than that. Contrastingly, when a series skips ahead or otherwise has long periods of time for characters that feel short for readers, it can feel like no time has passed and everything is still the same, unless the author really stresses the differences in world-state that occurred offscreen. Because the reader hasn't changed at all.

No conclusion here exactly, I just think it's interesting how often an audience's response to a work, the emotions felt, are more closely tied to their real-life timescale, something almost completely out of the author's control, as opposed to in-universe time, which can be intentionally shifted or played with for the sake of the narrative.

[raysrays]

Fatal Attraction Chapter One (NSFW)

18+ MDNI‼️

CW for the entire story: Breeding, Size Difference,Size Kink, Jealousy, Scent Marking, Age Difference, Vaginal Sex, Possessive Behavior, Angst, Twisted, Creampie, Angry Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Hair-pulling, Biting, Master/Pet, Light Dom/sub, Violence, Knotting.

Content disclaimer: This story is inspired by the amazing artist @PammyJammy117 on Twitter/X. I in absolutely no way own or claim the idea of the “Cryptid Rengoku” character. Please give credit to the original artist who inspired the story.

Y/N Perspective.

It's early, too early. I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. For weeks now, I've followed the same routine: waking up, wandering the forest surrounding my village, and searching. Every day, I look for a sign that something, or someone, is out there. Yet somehow, I always come up empty-handed. It's not just me, though. My entire group is burnt out on this whole thing.

Searching for monsters has never been a passion of mine, but when you're down to your last cent and someone offers you free food and board in exchange for your help, how can you say no?

I still remember when Miss Tamayo approached me. It was snowing hard up in the mountains, and she saw how badly I was struggling in the cold. She was kind, took me in, and talked to me at length about the mystical monsters and beings her group had been studying and searching for. I'll admit, it was interesting, but I didn't believe any of it was real.

We've all heard the tales—the stories of the creatures we now call the Hashira, the terrifying monsters that once protected their respective villages and residents. While they made for nice campfire stories, there was simply no way these beings existed. Even if they did, why would they stay hidden? Wouldn't they seek revenge on the villagers who used them and then cast them out? None of it made any sense to me.

Despite voicing my concerns and disbelief to Miss Tamayo, she still wanted to help me, as long as I was willing to help her. And that's why I'm here now.

I'm in the middle of this forest. The sky is grey and cloudy, with rain surely on the way. It's foggy, and visibility is poor. Since I'm new and have only been working with these monster hunters for a few weeks, they've given me a basic route—one that minimizes the risk of encountering a real threat. Tamayo wanted me to look for a special flower that supposedly grows around here, but I haven't had any luck yet.

If I can't even find a flower, I don't feel like I'll make a promising monster hunter. At least, that's what Yushiro, one of Tamayo's most relentless supporters, thinks. Though we are civil to each other's faces, he openly voices his concerns about having me around. He says it's a waste of time to bring along someone who doesn't even "believe in the cause."

I suppose I can't argue with him too much. I've walked this same route every day for a few weeks now and still haven't come across the flower Tamayo sent me to find. Maybe it really is a waste of time—

My thoughts are interrupted by a rustling sound in the distance. My body immediately tenses up. I glance around, but the thick fog makes it hard to see. All this talk and thinking about monsters and mythical creatures is starting to get to me.

What was that? Did I lose the path? No, that's just me overthinking it, thanks to Tamayo and Yushiro filling my head with stories. I'm just being paranoid.

The rustling resumes, this time from the opposite direction. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Tamayo? Yushiro? Is that you?" I call out into the fog.

I wait for their reply, but none comes. Adding to the unease, the air feels hotter now, and a strange clicking noise echoes through the area, growing closer and closer.

What should I do? Should I run?

As the clicking grew louder, I made up my mind and began to sprint through the fog, knocking branches and anything else in my path aside. At some point, I lost my footing. The trail must have ended, and I twisted my ankle on a tree root protruding from the ground.

My ears were filled with the sound of my own breathing, and it felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest. This can't be happening. I was sent on an easy route to fetch a flower, not to be chased by some crazy monster.

I tried to stand, but the pain in my ankle was too much. I strained to stay silent and listened for the clicking sounds; they were faint but still there. I had to get out of here.

Grabbing onto the trunk of the tree I had tripped over, I pulled myself up. It hurt, but the adrenaline rush made it barely bearable.

The fog was finally starting to lift, and I could see the path I usually followed. I must have accidentally stepped off it while running. As long as I could get back, Tamayo would be able to help me with my ankle.

As I started to move slowly, a red light in the distance suddenly caught my attention. Squinting, I tried to make out what it could be and then realized it was two red lights, gradually moving closer to me.

Eyes.

Panic surged through me as I scrambled to move, trying to go as fast as my injured ankle would allow, grabbing onto anything I could for support.

This can't be happening. I refuse to believe any of this is real. How could all those stupid campfire stories be true? And why, out of all the monster hunters in Tamayo's group, did I have to be the unlucky one?

I wanted to scream and yell for help, but I was so deep in this forest nobody from the safe house would hear me.

It hurts. It hurts so much. It feels like my body is going to give out any minute, but my mind is racing, forcing me to keep moving.

The clicking is now accompanied by a deep growling, making it sound all the more intense. Whatever this thing was, it sounded terrifying. And those deep red eyes didn’t really help with my imagination.

Then it happened. I had to take a knee. The strain on my ankle kept getting worse the more I moved. I'm done for. Whatever this thing is, it's going to kill me.

At least Yushiro can look at my corpse and say, "I told you so."

As the clicking and growling got even closer, there was a small thump to the ground as whatever was about to kill me approached. I shut my eyes and prepared for whatever my fate was.

I felt it stop a few feet behind me. This monster is just staring at me. I’m too afraid to face it. I don’t want the last thing I see to be those glowing red eyes.

"What are you doing? Why did you run away?"

My heart nearly stopped. That voice—it was deep, loud, and had an eerie, echoing effect. Was this monster talking to me?

I took a deep breath. What should I say? Should I beg for my life?

"I asked you a question, human. Why are you running away?"

I could hear a hint of annoyance in its tone. The last thing I wanted was to anger a mythical being. I slowly turned my body. The sight that met me made speaking even more difficult.

It was tall. He was tall—about eight and a half feet.

He had blonde fur and a long mane of hair with red accents scattered throughout, tall pointed ears, and those glowing red eyes.

My lips parted. I wanted to answer, to beg for my life and apologize for intruding. But his appearance was so intimidating, so... enchanting.

I froze as he moved closer.

"Can you not speak, human? Are you afraid of me?" He chuckled. His laugh was as intense as his voice.

"I can speak," I managed to choke out.

His eyes seemed to light up, and he smiled.

Dear God. Those teeth. Long and sharp. If he wasn’t terrifying before, he definitely was now. I felt my heart beating rapidly. I knew I was done for, but this was all too much.

"What is your name, human? I've seen you walk this path for days now. I deserve to know who intrudes on my territory daily." Instead of anger, his tone was oddly amused.

"My name is Y/N L/N." I tried to keep the nervousness out of my voice but didn’t do a great job.

"Well then, Y/N L/N. You wandered away from your usual trail as soon as I got close to you. Why did you run away? Aren't you supposed to be looking for me?" He laughed, a mocking sound.

"You are a 'monster hunter,' aren't you?"

I didn't know what to say. He was right. I was supposed to be looking for him. That was the whole point of Tamayo taking me on, but I hadn’t expected it all to be so real.

"I didn’t believe in monsters. I was sent to look for a specific flower," I mumbled.

"Didn't believe?" He moved closer, towering over me. "Tell me then, Y/N L/N, do you believe now?" He smiled, those sharp teeth gleaming.

I felt my body run cold. He was terrifying, not just in appearance but in his entire demeanor.

“Yes, I do.”

For a moment, silence filled the air, broken only by the sound of the wind and his slight clicking.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“I am Kyojuro Rengoku, the protector of this land and its residents.” The echo in his voice cemented my assumptions.

There was no mistaking it—I had run into one of the Hashira.

I’d heard the stories, the legends of Rengoku, the fierce protector of this area. He was kind until he wasn’t. Then, humans saw him as a threat and banished him to the forest.

He kneeled down in front of me, still on the ground.

“You don’t seem too surprised. Have you heard of me?” His ear twitched, and I noticed the massive tail behind him curl around his body.

I took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ve heard the stories. You’re the Hashira associated with fire.”

He perked up at my response.

“So, my legends live on! How amusing!” He laughed.

His voice was so loud, it was almost funny.

Why is he acting like this? I thought he would have killed me by now.

“You’re hurt,” he said, gesturing to my ankle.

“Yeah... I sprained it,” I replied, shifting awkwardly.

“Yes, I know. From running away from me.” His tail flicked slightly, and a smirk formed on his face.

I didn’t know what to say or do. I was completely at a loss. Here I was, casually having a conversation with one of the scariest and deadliest creatures to walk the earth.

“What are you going to do with me? If you’re going to kill me, can’t you just get it over with?”

He looked at me, a mix of confusion and amusement in his eyes.

“Why are you so desperate to die so soon? Do you not enjoy my company?” His voice echoed with a chuckle.

Is he being serious right now?

“No— I’m just... confused. Why are you still talking to me? I’m a monster hunter, not a very good one, but still a monster hunter. Shouldn’t you just kill me and get it over with?” I was desperate for an answer, needing to know if I should prepare to die or not.

He stared at me for a moment, as if deep in thought, his ears twitching slightly.

“No, I don’t think I’ll kill you,” he said plainly. “However, only on the condition that you continue to return here. Tell no one of your kind about me and continue to come see me.”

I sat there, dumbfounded. This terrifying creature was willing to spare my life as long as I returned for his company?

“Why would you want to see me again?” I asked.

He smiled, baring his long, sharp teeth, his ears perking up.

“Because, Y/N L/N, you are the first person to talk to me in a long time. To be quite honest, something inside me is telling me that you and I are really going to like each other.”

His tone shifted, becoming more sinister. What did this creature have planned for me?

And why was I excited to find out?

Next>>

[elliezato]

❀˙⋆Summer With You⋆˙❀

Pairing: Ellie x Reader

-Modern au!

Summary: You and your friends decide to rent out a cabin on the beach over the summer. This was your last summer before leaving for college, so you wanted to make it memorable. This summer was going to be perfect. You spent your days in the water, taking In the moments in the sun with your friends.

It didn't take long for you to realize your feelings for your best friend Ellie.

The way her wet hair drips down her shoulders as she gets out of the water. The way her fingers strum the guitar as you gather around the fire. The way the stars light her eyes during late night swims. The way her smile grows when she’s with her girlfriend… It's all too much.

Will these feelings ruin your friendship and the whole summer? What will happen when it's time to leave Ellie behind for college?

Word Count: 4.4k

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a/n: Im back!! I've been in the summer mood recently and I just need to be laying out by the lake rn. I recently read "SYNS" by carmellie and was inspired to make this! I've really been wanting to write a slow burn, angst fic so I hope this turns out good.

I will probably split this story into a few parts depending on how long I want this to be.

This will be my first real fic because honestly I've only written smut in the past and I'm not sure if I like writing stuff like that. I might add a little bit of it every now and then in my stories but it's not something I want to continue to write.

Anyway, I'm super exited for this story! Please give me ideas for future chapters! I love to hear feedback on how to improve or what you guys like.

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Packing your bag was the only thing you weren't looking forward to doing on this trip. You always over packed and struggled to fit everything in your bags. Clothes and shoes were thrown all over your room as you pick out what you should pack. This trip is going to be 2 months long so you need enough clothes to last through the summer but not too much that your car will be over flowing.

"Eww, do not bring that" Dina says in disgust as you hold up an old one piece bathing suit from freshmen year.

You knew she was right, but you didn't have many options when It came to bathing suits. You packed it anyway, along with some other suits from the previous summer. The sun shined through your window, lighting up the room. It was almost noon and you needed to leave soon. The drive to the cabin would take the majority of the day so there wasn't much time to waste.

Dina helped you load your car with your bags. There wasn't a lot of room in the trunk but you two made it work. You slam the truck shut, making sure it wouldn't pop open from all the clothes. Your parents hug you goodbye in your drive way as you and Dina get ready to leave.

You get into your car and put the top of your convertible down. The breeze felt nice in your hair as you drove off. Music plays as you sing your heart out. This was going to be a good trip, you could feel it. Dina pulls out her digital camera and snaps a pic of you driving as your hair blows in the wind. Your sun glasses reflect the trees lining the road.

It's been a long time since you've been on a nice trip. Let alone with all your friends. Nerves start to build as you get closer to the cabin. Ellie and Jesse were supposed to meet you there. Recently it's been awkward with Ellie. Usually you two could talk for hours and spend every second together but things have been different.

⋆˚✿˖°

You noticed this sudden shift in your friendship during one of your sleepovers a few months ago. Ellie was sitting on the floor of your bedroom while you were getting ready for bed. She starts going on a rant about this girl she's been thinking about asking out. You don't know what happened but in that moment you felt this strange rage fill in your heart.

Ellie has always been open about girls she finds attractive but she's never made any moves. The thought of your best friend dating another girl upset you for some reason. You've never felt this before and decided to just let it go.

"She so pretty y/n! Like I really think I'm going to make my move" Ellie scrolls on her phone as she talks to you.

You look into the mirror while washing the rest of the soap off your face. "Go for it Els, you could probably pull anyone"

"Yeah, I know" Ellie says sarcastically, now putting down her phone.

She walks over to you and meets your gaze in the reflection on the bathroom mirror. Your eyes revert down to the counter. For some reason you felt your body tremble as she got closer. You couldn't understand why you were acting like this. You've known Ellie your whole life and never saw her as anything other than your best friend.

She picks up her toothbrush and you leave the bathroom. You lay in bed waiting for Ellie to finish in the bathroom. She noticed the sudden change in your demeanor. After a few minutes your friend turns off the lights and lays nexts to you in bed.

"You ok?" Ellie turns to look at you. Her hand rubs up and down your arm.

"Yeah, Im just tired" You lied. You were wide awake but the thoughts of Ellie swarmed your mind.

Things have been like this ever since then. Every time you guys hung out, you two always end up in awkward situations. You hated the fact that things felt like this. You almost convinced yourself that maybe your friendship isn't as strong and it use to be. Maybe you two are drifing apart. You prayed that this wasn't the case but it was the only logical way to explain the distance between you two.

⋆˚✿˖°

"Can we pull over? I have to pee and Im starving" Dina throws her head back into the seat.

"Yeah, I need to get gas anyway" You pull into a gas station and Dina runs in as you follow shortly behind her.

The area was very unfamiliar. There wasn't many people around. You walk inside the convince store and pick out a few snacks and your friend finishes up in the bathroom. You look over to pick out what you want and see a package of watermelon sour patch kids. These were Ellie's favorite. You guys use to walk to the gas station when you were younger and eat these on the curb in the summer heat.

You pick up two bags, one for yourself and one to give Ellie when you see her later tonight. Dina grabs her snacks and you pay. You quickly fill up your tank and get back onto the road. You put the top of your conferable back up now that it's getting darker and the air is cooling down.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Dina slept as you listed to music softly. Superache by Conan filled the car as your mind thought about Ellie. She was all you could think about for the rest of the drive. You were excited to see her, hoping she felt the same.

A few hours later you pull into the driveway of the cabin. You looked at the familiar car already in front of you.

"It looks like they're already here" You nudge Dina, trying to wake her.

You text the group chat, letting your friends know you arrived. As you get out of the car to help unload all your bags you hear your name being called out from a small distance. You look up and see Ellie and Jesse walking towards you to greet you and help with the bags.

"Y/N!! You guys took long enough." Ellie pulls you into a tight hug and then turns to Dina to welcome her.

Your eyes were glued to Ellie. She was dressed in a pair of jorts that ended a few inches above her knees. Her shirt displayed the album cover of her favorite band she took you to see last semester. She wore her old converse that probably need to be replaced sometime soon.

You guys walk into the cabin with all the bags. It was beautiful. Trees surround the land and fireflies lit up every now and then around the house. You could see a glimpse of the ocean from the front. You walk into the cabin and place your bags onto the floor.

"You guys have to see the view!" Ellie grabs your wrist to bring you to the backyard.

Dina and Jesse followed as Ellie opened the backdoor for everyone. As she opened the door you were met with the view of the beach in the distance. Lanterns lit the path leading down to a fire pit. Lights were strung across the yard, lighting up every inch. You closed your eyes and listened to the waves crashing in the distance and the bugs humming from the trees.

"Holy shit. This is insane!" Your eyes light up thinking about all the memories that are about to be made here.

"Lets go down to the beach!" Jesse says as he's already sprinting down to the sand.

"I'll be there in a minute, Im going to change into a bathing suit." You begin to walk back inside until you feel a tug on your arm.

"Come onnnn!" Ellie drags you down to the beach with everyone else.

There wasn't anyone on the beach. It was more of a reserved area for residents only. You kick off your shoes as you stumble down to the water. You watch as your friends run into the waves laughing and taking in the moment. Ellie looks over at you from the water smiling, motioning you to come in. You roll your eyes and walk into the water. It was oddly warm. You cringe at the fact you're still dressed in your clothes from the drive here.

You suddenly gasp as you feel yourself getting pushed into the water. "Hey!" You sit as waves crash over you.

Ellie looks down at you and laughs but it doesn't last long before Jesse pushes her in. "What the fuck!"

You're now laughing at the sight of her drenched in the water. She grabs your hand and helps you up as you two are now dripping wet. You look up and notice how bright the stars are here. Back home you can barely see the stars. The city isn't the best place for star gazing. You can feel your body start to shiver.

The wet cloths that cling to your body get colder by each second. Ellie notices and pulls you close. "Lets go back up and change"

You take your bag of clothes and bring it it your room. Your eyes widen when you realize the room you were sharing with Ellie only has one bed. You don't understand why you're in shock. You've shared a bed with Ellie many times in your life but for some reason you felt weird about it.

"Nice right?" She says as she walks past you into the room.

The room was nice. It was open and had big windows looking out to the ocean. You place your bags down next to the bed and pull out a pair of pjs. You feel her eyes on you as you walk to the bathroom to shower and change for the night.

You take your time getting unready. Turing on the shower as you slip out of your wet clothes. The water is hot and feels nice against your shivering skin. Fingers run through your scalp as you wash out the salty water, tasting it on your lips as it washes over your face.

You dry off your body and put on fresh clothes. You throw your wet hair up into a towel as you wash your face. As you exit the bathroom you notice Ellie is no longer in the room. You walk downstairs to the kitchen to see all your friends sitting at the island laughing.

"Were ordered pizza, I hope that's fine" Dina says smiling, then returning to her conversation

"Im literally starving, I could fuck up some pizza right now" You say as you sit and join them at the island.

"I think Cat is going to join us for a week. She's supposed to be here next Saturday" Ellie looks at you waiting for a reaction.

You immediately feel a frown forming on your face. You hated Cat. You hated how she practically stole Ellie from you, and now she's coming on your trip!? Ever since Ellie made her move on Cat they've been inseparable. She never referred to Cat as her girlfriend but you knew it was coming. The way Ellie looks at her. It hurts. You figured it was just because she doesn't spend all her time with you anymore. Maybe you're just jealous that Ellie's time is being taken up by someone else.

You were looking forward to spending time with Ellie on this trip and now she's inventing Cat? You felt your heart drop at the thought of Ellie spending the next week with her.

"That's exciting" You say as you force a smile but it's clear your upset.

Suddenly there's a knock at the door. "That's probably the pizza" Jesse gets up and walks to the front door.

You make your way over to the living room with a box of pizza in your hands. You place the box down on the coffee table next to the other boxes. Ellie hands you a glass of water as she takes a seat next to you on the couch.

"What movie are we watching?" You feel Ellie's body shift next to you as she grabs the remote to scroll through the options.

"Want to rewatch Bottoms? I don't think Dina or Jesse have seen it yet."

"YES!" She searches up the movie and hits rent without any hesitation.

⋆˚✿˖°

The night was nice. You rested your head on Ellies shoulder as you watch the movie. The boxes of pizza are practically empty except for the left over crust from Ellie that she refuses to eat. The movie was almost over and you could feel your eyes getting tired. You've already seen this move a million times so you decided to go ahead and go to bed.

"Where are you going" Ellie looks up at you as you remove yourself from her arms.

"Im going to head up to bed. Im tired from driving all day. I'll see you guys in the morning" You smile and say goodnight to Jesse and Dina.

"Okay, goodnight! I'll be up there right when the movie ends." She gives you a soft smile in return.

The bed was comfortable. It was easy to get settled in as you wait for Ellie's presence. Your eyes close as you wait for her. You could feel yourself drifting off until you hear the sound of the door opening. Your body turns towards the door and you open your eyes to see Ellie walking into the room.

"Sorry, did I wake you up" She quietly closes the door.

"No, I was still up." You watch as she pulls out her toothbrush from her bag and walks to the bathroom.

She eventually joins you in bed. Her body was close. You could feel her settling into the mattress. The widow was slightly open, allowing the sound of the waves crashing to fill the room. The fan kept the room at a cool temperature as you pull the covers higher up your body.

"Do you like Cat" Ellie breaks the silence and turns to face you in the bed waiting for a response.

Her face was close. You could feel her gentle breath on your cheeks as she waited for you to answer. You knew you couldn't tell her the truth. She's your best friend. There's no reason for you dislike Cat, but you did, but you couldn't tell her that.

"Yeah. Why?" Your response was cold and blunt.

"You just always change the subject when I bring her up or you just seem to always get upset." She frowns. "I just really want you to like her because I think I'm going to make things official with her."

You almost was to cry when you hear those words come out of her mouth. Your heart aches. You knew this was coming but you prayed it wouldn't happen. You wished things would fall through between them. You hated that you felt this way. You wanted Ellie to be happy. You really did but you've been letting your emotions get in the way.

"Do whatever you want Ellie" You turn to face the opposite way. You didn't mean for your response to come out as harsh as it did, but it was too late.

"This is exactly what I was talking about. I don't understand why you're being like this" Her voice is harsh. "Ever since I told you about Cat you've been so distant. I don't know why you're being like this but clearly you need space."

You feel her get up from the bed. "Where are you going?" You sit up and look at her.

"Giving you space. You obviously are upset with me and I don't know why." She gets up and leaves the room.

You lay back down on your back as the tears that formed in your eyes begin to fall down your cheeks. Her words stung but she was right. You feel bad for being so short with Ellie, she doesn't deserve it. Your whole life you and Ellie have been so close. You told each other everything. The reason your friendship is changing was because of you.

After tossing and turning in the empty bed for a while you look over at your bag and see the candy you bought for Ellie but forgot to give her. You decide to get up and find her, still feeling bad about earlier. The room was dark and hard to navigate but you found the door. You walk downstairs to see Ellie laying on the couch. She's wrapped up in a small blanket, sleeping softly. You sit on the edge of the couch and look at her with a feeling of guilt settling in your stomach.

"y/n?" She slowly opens her eyes and looks at you.

"Im sorry Els." You look at her with damp eyes. "Im sorry I've been so distant and I'm sorry for being rude." You wipe your tears trying to gain composer.

Ellie sits up and wraps her arms around you, bringing you close to her body. She wipes your tears as she holds you. "Stop crying. Im not mad at you, Im just confused."

"I know and Im sorry" You rest your head on her chest.

You eventually lay down on the couch with her. There isn't too much room but you make it work. Your bodies press against each other as you close your eyes. Her arms are wrapped around your waist, still trying to calm you down. You quickly fall asleep, feeling that your friendship is returning to what it once was.

⋆˚✿˖°

You wake up alone on the couch, hearing chatter from the kitchen. Sitting up and looking over you see your friends making breakfast. The air smells of salt and pancakes.

"Look who's finally up" Jesse says teasingly as he flips a pancake.

"You hungry?" Ellie asks as she holds up a plate of food she had already prepared for you.

You get up from the couch and sit at the table. The kitchen had huge windows that had the perfect view on the backyard and the beach. The cabin was so pretty during the day. The sunlight lit up the whole house. You look up as you see Ellie placing a plate in front of you. She sits down and joins you for breakfast.

"Do you have any plans in mind for today" She looks up at you as she takes a bite of pineapple.

"I really want to explore this area and go to the beach." You smile at her as you spread the butter on your pancakes.

You put on your bathing suit and then some shorts over as a coverup. The weather was hot but not humid. There was nice breeze outside. There were a bunch of beach bikes on the side of the cabin for guest so you and your friends decided to explore on them.

Wind blew through your hair as you rode down the dirt paths from the cabin to the nearest sidewalk. Music played through Ellie's speakers as you rode. You eventually came across a small beach town with restaurants and shops. There were people walking through with friends and family enjoying the start of summer break.

You tied your bikes to a post and decided to walk around. "This place is so cute!" You take out you phone to take some pictures.

Dina points out a small local coffee shop and starts walking towards it. You guys enter the shop and order coffees to start your morning. Ellie wasn't a huge coffee person so she got a refresher.

"Els you need to try this!" You hand her your drink waiting for her to take a sip.

"No thanks. I really don't like coffee" She pushes your drink away.

"Seriously Ellie, its so good, you have to try it" You push your cup back into her hands.

She hands you her drink so you can try it as she takes a sip of your coffee. "This is disgusting!" She cringes as the taste of coffee lingers in her mouth.

She takes her drink back and washes out the bitter taste of coffee from her mouth. The coffee wasn't even strong, it was mostly washed out with a sugary creamer. You laugh watching Ellie's reaction to the coffee and took it back from her hands.

The town was small so it didn't take long to explore it. You guys planned on trying every restaurant here over the summer. The breeze from the ocean felt nice. The air smelt of salt and coffee.

You and your friends got back onto your bikes and rode down to the beach. The weather was starting to get warmer as noon approached. You set you bike up again the beach entrance and step onto the sand. You take off your shoes and toss them into your bag and walk down to the water. Ellie follows shortly behind and sits down on the towel that Dina places on the warm sand.

You join Ellie on the towel as Dina and Jesse head towards the water. "Im sorry about last night, I was just tired. I don't even remember why I was upset." You say looking at Ellie as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Y/n, it's really ok, I'm not mad. I just want us to go back to how we use to be" She admits as she meets your gaze.

"Me too" You smile and rest your head on her shoulder as you watch your friends splashing each other in the waves.

⋆˚✿˖°

The first week was perfect. You spent your days at the beach and cooking out in the backyard of the cabin. Jesse and Ellie set up hammocks in the back, so you guys could star gaze and talk until the sun starts to rise. Things were going better than you imagined. Your relationship with Ellie was better than ever. You two did everyone together.

"Cats going to be here in a few minutes!" Ellie impatiently checks her phone waiting for Cat's arrival text.

You sit at the island finishing your breakfast. The windows were open, allowing the fresh air to calm you down. You've been dreading this since Ellie first brought up the fact that Cat was even visiting. The thought of Ellie spending all her time with Cat made you sick. You didn't want to lash out again so you kept your feelings to yourself.

A ding from Ellie's phone interrupted your conversation followed by a loud knock at the door. "She's here!" Ellie jumped from her seat and walked over to the front door.

Cat stood at the entrance with her bag. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top with an opened button down on top. You took in the image of Ellie's face lighting up as she looked Cat up and down. You watched as she pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie leaded her into the kitchen with everyone else.

"Hi guys! Thanks for letting me stay for a few days" She smiles and then looks at you.

You return the smile but its obvious you're annoyed. Cat takes the hint and turns back too Ellie. They walk upstairs so she could put up her bags.

Dina looks over at you with a frown. "You ok y/n?"

"Yeah... why?" You look at her with a confused and saddened expression.

Dina caught on to your feelings for Ellie a long time ago. You've never admitted to them because honestly you never thought of Ellie in that way. At least not until recently. It's all been so confusing.

"She's only going to be here for five days, it'll go by fast" Dina tries to reassure you but it just makes things worse.

"I know, I think we'll have fun. And Ellie's happy" You try to convince your friends you're ok, and maybe you're trying to convince yourself too.

Ellie returns downstairs with Cats hand in hers. The sight makes you want to cry but you suck in your feelings and try to avoid them. You knew these next few days would be hard. Not only did you have to watch your best friend fall in love with someone else but you had to get rid of any feelings you have for her.

You didn't even know you liked her but it makes sense now. It's all coming together. Why did you feel this way? You've known Ellie all your life. Why are you just now realizing these feelings? The way she makes you feel when her fingers are running through your hair. The way she holds you close at night. The way she immediately drops everything when you need her.

Your thoughts shatter in your mind when you see Cats lips against Ellie's. You can't help but sit and stare. Ellie never told you they were official yet. Why didn't she tell you?

Your emotions took over and you left. You didn't know where you were going but your keys were in your hand and you were already half way to you car.

"Y/n!? Where are you going?" Ellie follows you as you walk out the door. Cat standing behind. She stands at the door frame as she watches you pull out of the drive way.

The air was much needed. You drove down the roads of the beach. tears building up in your eyes. You had hopes that this drive would distract you but the only thing on your mind was Ellie. Why did you let your feelings get the best of you again. She clearly doesn't like you. She has Cat.

You find yourself sitting in a cafe looking out at the beach. The thoughts Ellie holding you floods your mind. You hate yourself for feeling like this. What would she think if she knew about how you felt? Would this ruin everything between you two? Would your friendship be over for good?

You immediately snap out of your thoughts as you look down and notice a text from Ellie.

⋆˚✿˖°

a/n: Thank you for reading!! Im already working on the next chapter. I hope my writing gets stronger as I write more because I feel like this could be more detailed:( Please, please, pleaseeee give me feedback! I love hearing others opinions! Im excited to continue this story because honestly I have no idea where the plot is going to go yet. The next chapters should be longer as they come out. Im not expecting this to be too long but let me know what you guys want for the future chapters!<3

[ssa-dado]

5 - Antithesis

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, slowest burn in history

Summary: The BAU tackles a complex case involving international victims and cryptic messages. Hotch’s growing insecurity intensifies as an agent returns from an undercover operation, revealing his close past with you. At the hotel, you and Hotch have a heated argument, exposing hidden vulnerabilities and unspoken boundaries between you two. Hotch struggles with his feelings of being just a replacement and questions his connection with you. Rossi confronts Hotch, encouraging him to be the partner you truly need.

Warnings: Usual CM case stuff, grooming (it feels to me, at least. To someone wouldn’t but idc), angst

Word Count: 6.1k

Dado's Corner: the dreaded chapter, I've been working on it for a week and still I'm not completely satisfied yet. I had to use another OC character, I'm sorry if you're bothered with that, but even if I hate him with all my heart he will be helpful in the future to narrate Y/N's backstory. If this broke your heart, synthesis might even more

previous part ; masterlist

Hotch’s gaze dropped, the weight of your accusations settling on him. “I thought that’s what was best,” he murmured, the admission almost painful. “I thought… I thought it was enough.”

●

It was yet another early morning at the BAU, and as usual, you walked into the office to find Hotch already at his desk, a cup of black coffee in hand, looking as composed and sharp as ever. No matter how early you tried to get in, Hotch always seemed to be one step ahead and especially today, you couldn’t help but comment on it.

“You know, Hotch, that’s 76 coffees you owe me now,” you said, dropping your bag on your chair and crossing your arms, pretending to be stern. “Maybe it’s time to rethink your strategy. You could try showing up late, just once. Shake things up.”

Hotch glanced up, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I could, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, I have to keep beating you just to remind you of your constant failure.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the side of his desk. “Wow, Hotch, who knew you were this petty? I bet you’d stay up all night just to make sure you’d beat me here.”

He chuckled softly, not denying it. “Well, someone has to keep you grounded. Can’t have you thinking you’re invincible, partner.”

In the past couple of months, the term “Partner” had become a running joke between you two. Whether by design or coincidence, Gideon and Rossi kept pairing you together on cases, and even when they didn’t, you’d find yourselves seeking each other’s opinions anyway – you were desk mates after all, it was impossible not to rely on each other’s expertise. Yet the nickname stuck, a testimony that had made working together more natural than either of you could have ever predicted.

Your familiarity with Hotch’s desk arrangement had grown, too. You knew his precise system of organizing case files, the way he stacked them according to urgency, but today, something was different. As you glanced at his desk, your brows furrowed in confusion: the stack of case files was unusually tall, casting an odd shadow that didn’t quite match its usual shape. It looked as if something bulky was hiding underneath.

“Hotch, what’s with the fortress of case files?” you asked, pointing at the strange shadow. “Are you hiding something under there?”

Hotch hesitated for a moment, as if he didn’t expect to be caught in the act. With a slight, amused shrug, he grabbed the files and lifted them off the hidden unknown object – or the unob - revealing a thick book on architecture history.

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “A World History of Architecture?! Didn’t take you for the type, I’m surprised.”

Hotch looked down at the book, his expression a mix of embarrassment and pride. “I picked it up after the Frank Lloyd Wright case,” he admitted, almost shyly. “That night we spent going over his designs at the library, I don’t know why but something about it stuck. I guess I wanted to know more. So I’ve been reading this during my ‘waiting for you to show up’ time.”

You smirked, leaning in to examine the book. “SSA Aaron Hotchner, secretly an architecture buff. Who would’ve thought? Next thing I know, you’ll leave the Bureau and go to architecture school, you would still owe me 76 coffees though.”

He scoffed playfully, closing the book and setting it aside. “I don’t think I’m quite ready to go that far. But it’s been... nice. You know - learning something just because I want to, not because I have to.”

You gave him a teasing nudge. “Hey, don’t underestimate yourself, partner - maybe one day you’ll be the next Frank Lloyd Wright of the FBI. Designing prisons, interrogation rooms, you name it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to profiling, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Just as you were about to tell him your kitchen needed some renovation – so he could start with something easy – an unexpected way-too-familiar voice interrupted from behind.

“Y/N!”

You turned around, and there was SSA Peter Rogers - one of your closest friends you ever had since you were fifteen - standing in the bullpen with his easy smile and that overly confident stance of his, just as you remembered him.

“Pete!” you exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you rushed to hug him, the familiar warmth on your body you missed so much made you hold on to him a little longer. “What are you doing back so soon? I thought you were still overseas.”

Peter shrugged with a modest grin. “Operation wrapped up early. Figured I’d come back and see what kind of trouble you’ve been causing around here.”. That smile of his had the ability not to change one bit since the first time you saw each other, causing you to travel six years back in time.

▪︎

It was the first day of your mother’s Italian Literature class at the university. You were just fifteen, juggling between high school and university courses, your hunger for knowledge insatiable as a shield from what was daily happening between the walls of your own house. You always sat in the front row, scribbling notes furiously, letting your brain disconnect from reality in order to lose yourself in the lyrical beauty of Leopardi’s poetry.

Peter had been sitting a few rows back, finishing his degree in linguistics. He’d noticed you immediately, you were quite easy to spot as you were visibly way too young to sit in that room – and if it wasn’t enough, you made sure to ask at least a question to the professor, at least once in the lesson, always being deeply engaged with the material. Hence why after that particular class, he approached you with curiosity.

“Hey, you’re not the typical student, are you?” Peter asked, leaning against the desk beside you. “You’re taking university classes while still in high school? That’s quite impressive.”

You looked up, a little taken aback by his easy confidence but not put off. “Yeah, I’m kind of…double-booked,” you replied with a shy smile. “I just really love literature. My mom’s a professor here, so she lets me sit in when I can.”

Peter nodded, intrigued. “I’m Peter, by the way. Linguistics major. So you must be some kind of prodigy, huh?”

You laughed. “No, not a prodigy. Just…curious. I love philosophy, languages, psychology, all of it.”

The two of you clicked instantly, and since that encounter both of you would always exchange notes, in order to make sure none of you ever lost a word said in the class. Peter became a sort of unofficial mentor, “Have you ever thought about profiling? It’s all about understanding people, their languages, their motives. With your skills, you’d be amazing at it.” He asked one day after class.

That was the very day you learnt what a profiler was.

▪︎

Peter greeted Hotch with the same familiarity. “Hotch! Good to see you again, man. I missed having my desk buddy around.”

Hotch stood up, shaking Peter’s hand with a polite but reserved smile. “Welcome back, Peter. I heard about the undercover operation. You handled it exceptionally well, no one expected for you to come back so soon.”

Peter shrugged, his usual modesty in place. “Thanks, Hotch. It was a tough one, but we got the job done.” He immediately turned his gaze towards you “Y/N, who knew you would have stolen my desk too”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, glancing at the two of you briefly. That “too” echoed in his mind, the sudden realization just hit that there was more history between you and Peter than he’d previously understood, founding himself feeling like an outsider.

Peter, ever observant, caught the flicker of something in Hotch’s expression. “So you know Y/N? She’s one hell of a smart cookie,” he said, looking between you and Hotch with a teasing smile.

You rolled your eyes playfully, brushing off the compliment. “Oh, please Pete let’s not start with this just yet”

Peter laughed, leaning closer to Hotch as if about to reveal a secret. “Did she ever tell you she can sing? Like, really sing. She’s incredible. I’ve heard her at a few college events back in the day.”

Hotch looked at you, surprised, taking in this new piece of your past. “No, she never mentioned that.

You felt your cheeks heat up, flustered by Peter’s unexpected praise – especially because you were both standing in your workplace. “That’s because it’s not important,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “Besides, Peter’s just exaggerating. I’ve only been in the field twice with Hotch anyway, so there’s not that much to tell, most of my work has been here at the office.”

▪︎

A year ago, you attended a conference at the FBI Academy, and Peter was there as a speaker, discussing linguistic analysis in criminal profiling. It was the first time you’d seen each other in years, and the connection was immediate, even stronger than your days together at the university.

‘’Y/N is that really you?! You’ve grown so much you’re making me feel kind of old” Little did you knew that you would spend the entire evening catching up, sharing stories of your separate journeys still having in common your mutual love for the complexities of language and behavior.

“You’re exactly where you’re meant to be,” Peter told you as the two of you sat at a table, away from the noise of the main event. “I knew it from the moment I met you. You’ve got the mind for this work.”

You’d been touched by his confidence in you, feeling like the teenage girl he’d mentored all over again. “Thanks, Pete. But you’ve always been the one pushing me forward, I don’t know if I’d have chosen this path without your nudging.”

Peter’s smile was genuine, warm. “You would’ve found your way, Y/N. You always do.”

▪︎

The more Hotch listened to the two of you catching up, the more he felt that gap, as if Peter was pulling you back into a shared history that he hadn’t been part of.

Peter grinned, nudging you playfully. “Always aiming for perfection, huh?

You tried to brush it off, cheeks warming under their combined scrutiny. “Oh, please. That was a long time ago.”

Peter shrugged, turning back to Hotch. “But she hasn’t changed. I can see it in your eyes, you know?! Same drive, same brilliance. So, how’s she been doing? What cases has she solved?”

Hotch took a moment, his expression unreadable as he considered Peter’s question. “She’s been doing great,” Hotch said finally, his voice measured. “We’ve worked on a few tough cases together, a few high-profile cases. She’s brilliant, as you know, we’ve had our hands full. But it’s good to have you back - we can always use the extra help”

Peter nodded, his enthusiasm palpable. “Looking forward to jumping back in”

Before anyone could say more, Rossi approached, cutting through the atmosphere with his usual flair. “Well, looks like we’ve got our team for the day. Gideon’s out, so Peter, you’re coming with us. We’ve got a complicated case ahead, and I’d rather have all hands-on deck, we might be in desperate be of two linguists on this one”

Peter’s eyes flicked to you, then to Hotch, his smile never wavering. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The team’s arrival at the police station was met with a wave of unease that hung heavy in the air. The case they were stepping into was far from simple. Multiple international tourists had been brutally murdered, each crime scene marked by cryptic messages in different languages. This was a killer who thrived on complexity, and with every new clue, the puzzle seemed to grow more intricate.

Rossi led the team inside with his usual calm authority, his eyes scanning the room with the practiced ease of someone who had seen too many crime scenes in his career. Peter and Hotch moved in tandem, flanking him on either side as they entered the station. The moment they stepped inside, the chaos enveloped them like a wave crashing on the shore.

The police station was a flurry of frantic movement and tension. Officers darted between desks, paperwork scattered in their wake, and phones rang incessantly, demanding attention that no one seemed able to fully give. The space, clearly not designed to handle the intensity of a high-profile investigation, felt claustrophobic and stifling, the walls closing in under the pressure of a case spiraling beyond control.

The air was thick, not just with the stress that permeated the station but with the unmistakable grit of dust being churned by the old, neglected air conditioning unit overhead, blowing more dirt than relief, only adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Everyone was on edge, their nerves stretched thin by the weight of a situation they were ill-equipped to handle. Rossi could almost taste the desperation in the room, a palpable sense of urgency that clung to every officer as they hustled to keep up with demands they were never trained to meet.

Rossi exchanged a knowing look with Hotch, both of them wordlessly acknowledging the uphill battle they were about to face - not just against the unsub but against the limitations of a team clearly overwhelmed.

The lead detective, a grizzled man with a permanent scowl, approached Rossi, barely acknowledging the rest of the team. “Agent Rossi, we appreciate the Bureau’s help, but I hope you realize this is a time-sensitive situation. We’ve got international press breathing down our necks, and the mayor’s about ready to pull his hair out.”

Rossi nodded calmly, his authoritative presence immediately establishing control. “We’re here to provide a profile and assist in any way we can. What can you tell us about the latest victim?”

The detective began briefing but his eyes kept darting towards you, flickering with something between doubt and annoyance. Finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m sorry, but are you sure you brought the right team? She looks like she should be at a college lecture, not a crime scene.”

The comment hit like a slap, and you felt the familiar burn of frustration flare up. You’d been here before, countless times, actually. You were used to your youthful appearance and academic background drawing skepticism, but that still didn’t make it any easier to swallow, especially in that particular case. Before you could respond, Peter jumped in, his voice carrying a mix of defense and pride.

“Detective, she’s not just some college student. Y/N’s one of the best linguists you’ll ever meet, and she’s cracked more complex cases than most agents twice her age. I’d trust her instincts over anyone else’s, any day.”

There was a quiet confidence in Peter’s words that seemed to force the detective to take a second look, though his skepticism remained stubbornly in place. Hotch, noticing the tension, stepped forward, his expression firm. “Agent Y/L/N’s skills are exactly what we need for this case. If anyone can figure out what the unsub is communicating, it’s her.”

The detective hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Fine, but we don’t have time for trial and error. Every minute we waste is another chance for him to strike again.”

“We’re all already aware of this, Detective. I’m sure you know that making my work any more difficult than it already is isn’t going to benefit any of us.” You finally had the courage to bite back.

As you settled into the briefing room, you felt Peter’s hand gently squeeze your shoulder, a silent but reassuring gesture as he said, “Don’t let it get to you.” You glanced at him, grateful for his unwavering support, and gave a small, determined smile in return. You were here to do a job, and you weren’t going to let some old-school cop’s doubts throw you off your game.

Once inside, the team gathered around the evidence board, covered in photos, maps, and printed copies of the unsub’s cryptic messages. Hotch and Rossi started dissecting the behavioral aspects, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the linguistic patterns.

Peter set up next to you, and the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, just like old times. “This one’s in German,” Peter pointed out, highlighting one of the messages. “It’s a proverb that loosely translates to ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ but it’s the context that’s strange. He’s placing blame close to home.”

You nodded, your mind already racing through the implications. “And this one in French, ‘Nul n’est prophète en son pays’ - ‘No one is a prophet in their own land.’ He’s building a narrative where he’s the misunderstood hero, vilifying his victims in the process.”

Hotch watched from the corner of his eye, noting the seamless back-and-forth between you and Peter. It was clear that you two shared a deep understanding of each other’s thought processes, effortlessly piecing together the unsub’s motives and the cultural implications behind each message.

Rossi leaned over to Hotch, his voice low. “They’ve got something, don’t they?”

Hotch nodded, keeping his expression neutral even as a flicker of something uncomfortably familiar passed through him. “Yeah. They do.”

As you and Peter continued to dissect the messages, the detective returned with another dose of skepticism. “So, what’s the point of all this? We know he’s targeting tourists, but what’s the endgame?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his judgment holding yourself to punch him in the face, but Peter jumped in, his confidence never wavering. “The messages aren’t just random: they’re statements about identity, belonging, and betrayal. He’s targeting people who represent something he feels threatened by, probably linked to his own experiences.”

The detective was confused by the complexity of the message Peter was trying to communicate but at least he seemed less doubtful. Hotch and Rossi exchanged another look, Peter’s ability to not only support but elevate you was undeniable, and it left a lingering question in Hotch’s mind that he couldn’t quite shake, an unresolved history between you and Peter that was palpable to everyone in the room, even if no one dared to say it aloud. As the team continued to piece together the unsub’s twisted narrative, it became increasingly clear that the linguistic clues were the key to unlocking his motive.

“Here’s the first message,” Peter said, pointing at a wall covered in scrawled Italian text. “‘Chi semina vento, raccoglie tempesta.’ He’s quoting an old Italian proverb. It translates to ‘He who sows the wind shall reap the storm.’ Classic justification tactic. He’s blaming his victims for their own deaths.”

You nodded, running your fingers along the paper. “He’s using cultural proverbs to deflect responsibility. It’s not just about justifying his actions; he’s making a statement that he’s in the right, that the victims somehow deserved this.”

Peter smirked, recalling your sharpness from years ago. “You know, you’ve always had this annoying habit of being right. Remember that time back in your mom’s class? You corrected Professor Ricci about Dante’s theological influences.”

You laughed, half-embarrassed. “Oh, God, don’t remind me. I just couldn’t let it go.”

Peter turned to the others, Rossi didn't throw away his shot. "Remind us, Peter. I'm not going to let an opportunity like this slip from my fingers"

Peter jokingly cleared his throat. “Y/N stopped the guest professor right in the middle of the lecture and said,”

He made sure to pitch his tone up in order to mimic yours “While Dante’s work is often linked to the influence of Saint Augustine, we also need to remember that his beliefs were also shaped by the dominant philosophy of his time: Platonism, especially the Neoplatonists and Plotinus.’ The whole room was stunned, and Professor Ricci just stood there.”

Hotch couldn’t help but smile, picturing a younger version of you challenging a university professor with such confidence. Yet there was something more bubbling up in his blood, this was another glimpse into a part of your life he hadn’t seen, hadn’t known. It made him feel strangely out of the loop, like an outsider looking in.

Peter continued, still caught up in the memory. “You finished him when you also provided proof to support your thesis”

“Of course, how else was I supposed to-“

He immediately cut you off. “Early Christian thinkers adapted Greek philosophical ideas, particularly Plato’s concept of eternal forms from which the material world originated. This was quite convenient for the Christian theologians of that time, indeed this philosophical influence is evident in the biblical phrase - and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.' You had everyone in the room, including the professor, rethinking what they knew about Dante.”

You shrugged modestly, glancing at Hotch, who seemed both amused and thoughtful. “I wasn’t trying to show off. It just… bothered me that no one pointed it out – and because of that my mom forbid me to attend her class for two weeks straight. Pete, I’m still thankful for your notes.”

Hotch chuckled softly, meeting your eyes. “Some things never change.”

The team continued working for hours straight, but the frustration began to mount. Despite your and Peter’s best efforts, the linguistic puzzles refused to crack completely. The police officers were growing visibly impatient, and you could feel their skeptical glances as they hovered around the room.

One officer, who had been particularly dismissive, sneered as he walked by. “So, this is the genius team the FBI sent us? Still no answers?”

The comment hit harder than it should have, and for a moment, you felt the sting of self-doubt. Peter, noticing your silence, shot the officer a glare. “We’re not here to waste time, Detective. We’re here to solve this.”

Peter leaned closer to you, his hands grabbing your shoulders, speaking softly so only you could hear. “Don’t listen to them. We’ll get it, like we always do.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his words rather than the creeping sense of inadequacy. Hotch watched the exchange, noting the way Peter seemed to know exactly how to lift you up when you needed it most. He wanted to say something reassuring himself, but the moment passed, leaving him feeling strangely sidelined.

The hours dragged on, and eventually, the team left the station to get some rest. At the hotel, Rossi and Hotch were assigned to share a room, while you and Peter were given the one next door. As you walked down the hallway, Rossi turned to Hotch with a pointed look.

“You know, Aaron,” Rossi said with a grin, “if I catch you working tonight, we’re gonna have words. You need sleep just as much as the rest of us. I’m serious when I say I’m a light sleeper, so I swear, if you keep me up with that damned desk light, you’re a dead man.”

Hotch gave a tight-lipped smile, appreciating Rossi’s concern – even if he expressed it in his own unique way - although he knew he’d never be able to turn his mind off. “Don’t worry, Dave. I’ll try my best.”

On the other hand, in your room, you and Peter settled in, and immediately surrounded yourselves by case files and coffee cups. You tried to solely focus on the work, but as the night wore on, the conversation drifted, after all it had been over six months since you’d seen each other, and there was a lot to catch up on. Peter leaned back, studying you with an easy smile.

“You’ve changed, Y/N,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “You’re still that perfectionist who can’t let a puzzle go unsolved, but… there’s something different.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “I don’t know about that. I’m just… trying to keep up, I guess.”

Peter reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear in a gesture that was both familiar and affectionate. “You’ve always been better than just keeping up. Don’t forget that.”

You found yourself caught between the comfort of Peter’s presence and the tug of unresolved emotions that you hadn’t quite figured out.

“Let’s go to sleep, shall we? I think we’ve done enough work for today” He winked at you as he placed his hand on the small of your back guiding you towards the bed.

“Oh don’t worry, you should sleep though. I think I might go down the lobby to clear my head for a bit.” You lied to him, but you couldn’t ignore your gut feeling telling you that there was something else you hadn’t considered yet.

Similarly, just across the corridor, the case weighed heavily on Hotch’s mind, and despite Rossi’s threat, he knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d figured out what was missing. Hours passed with Hotch lying in the dark, the puzzle pieces of the case refusing to align, finally, at nearly two in the morning, he couldn’t take it any longer. Careful not to wake Rossi, he grabbed his files and slipped quietly out of the room, making his way to the lobby to continue working.

To his surprise, he found you there too, hunched over a table with notes sprawled out, lost in concentration. You looked up when you heard him approach, unable to hide your surprise.

“Partner,” you said with a grin, noting his rare appearance in his white t-shirt, checkered blue pants pajamas, with the slippers provided by the hotel at his feet. “I’ve got to admit, this is new. Did Rossi finally threaten you into losing the suit?”

Hotch smirked, taking the seat across from you. “He did, actually. But desperate times, right? I didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

You chuckled, enjoying the casualness of the moment despite the late hour. Hotch spread out his files, his brow furrowing as he glanced over them. “I think there’s something we’ve been missing, there’s a pattern in the language choices. It’s not random. He’s escalating with each message.”

You leaned closer, your fingers tracing the messages. “You’re right. It’s chronological. He’s building something: a timeline, like each phrase is a step toward his endgame. It’s not just blame; it’s justification.”

Hotch nodded, grateful for the way your mind seemed to work so fluidly alongside his, especially in the late hours of the night. But as you continued to dissect the sequence, Hotch’s thoughts drifted back to earlier, watching you and Peter work so seamlessly together. The old familiarity, the easy way you bounced ideas off each other, it had been hard to ignore. And now, in the quiet of the night every sensation was amplified, especially the ones he’s been trying to brush off for the entire day, they stung a little more than he wanted to admit.

The ease of the moment was shattered when Hotch suddenly broke the flow of your thoughts with a wry comment. “You know, I’m surprised you’re even here working. I figured you’d be busy... catching up with Peter. He’s been flirting with you nonstop since he came back.”

You froze, your jaw tightening as his words sank in. The casual, almost careless tone hit a nerve, and you could feel a flicker of anger flare up inside you. “What’s that supposed to mean, Hotch?”

Hotch leaned back, crossing his arms, trying to mask the hint of frustration that was seeping through. “Nothing. Just an observation. It’s not like you haven’t been a little distracted since he got back.”

You stared at him, incredulous. The casual arrogance in his words struck a nerve, and before you could stop yourself, the frustration that had been building all day came spilling out. “You really think you know everything about me, don’t you? Just because we work together, you think you’ve got me all figured out.”

Hotch’s expression tightened, caught off guard by the sudden burst of anger. “That’s not—”

“No, let me finish,” you said sharply, your voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “You don’t know me, Hotch. You have no idea what I’ve been through or what I’m dealing with. You’ve worked beside me for months, calling me partner, acting like you’ve got me all figured out, but you don’t. You don’t know the first thing about who I am or what’s going on beneath the surface.”

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the sting of your words left him speechless. You were relentless, every word cutting through his composure. “You think just because we’ve been working together constantly, you’re entitled to know me? To judge me? But you know what, Hotch? You’re wrong. You don’t know a damn thing.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched, the carefully maintained façade he wore slipping for just a moment. “I’m not judging you,” he said, his voice low but strained. “I’m just trying to figure this out, okay?”

“Figure what out?” you shot back, your frustration boiling over. “The fact that you’ve been constantly analyzing everyone around you while keeping yourself locked away? You think that you’re the only one capable of reading people like an open book? You act like you’re open and honest, but you’re not. You insist on wanting to be called ‘Hotch’ on the job by everyone, and you think I wouldn’t catch onto that? You do that because ‘Aaron’ is too personal and ‘Hotchner’ is too formal. You straddle the line because you’re scared to be either. You’re terrified of being too close to anyone, yet you don’t want to seem too distant. It’s like you don’t even know who you are.”

Hotch stared at you, your words hitting deeper than you knew. You had seen right through him, through the carefully constructed barriers he put up to keep everyone at a manageable distance. He didn’t know how to respond because, for once, someone had called him out on the one thing he feared the most: his own inability to truly connect.

“I keep things professional because it’s easier,” Hotch admitted, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of vulnerability. “Because it’s safe.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Safe? You call this safe? You’re so busy keeping people out that you don’t even realize how much you’re missing. We’ve been partners at work, sure, but that’s all it’s ever been, right? Professional, compartmentalized, no mess, no feelings. That’s how you want it.”

Hotch’s gaze dropped, the weight of your accusations settling on him. “I thought that’s what was best,” he murmured, the admission almost painful. “I thought… I thought it was enough.”

You sighed, your anger waning but the hurt still fresh. “You don’t have to figure out anything, you said that yourself – I thought - It’s not enough for you Hotch, and not even for me.”

There was a long, heavy silence between you, both of you staring at the scattered papers on the table, as if the answers you sought could be found in the scrawled handwriting and cryptic messages. But this wasn’t something that could be solved with profiling or deduction. It was messier, more personal, and neither of you were sure how to navigate it.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “For making you feel like you’re just another piece of the job.”

You nodded, the tension easing but not entirely gone. “I appreciate your apologies but if you really want to change things up all you have to do is to agree to be vulnerable with me, that’s all.”

You turned your attention back to the case, pushing through the lingering discomfort to focus on what you could control. You worked in silence, each of you lost in thought, both aware that this argument had pulled something to the surface that couldn’t be ignored.

By the time you finally cracked the pattern in the unsub’s messages, the sun was beginning to rise.

As Hotch made his way back to the room at nearly 4 a.m., he was trying to be as quiet as possible, mindful not to wake Rossi. But as he slipped inside, he was met with the sight of Rossi already awake, leaning against the edge of his bed, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of amusement and disapproval.

“Couldn’t resist, could you?” Rossi’s voice was low but carried a playful edge, tinged with the knowing tone of someone who had seen this behavior from Hotch too many times before.

Hotch tried to hide his fatigue, rubbing a hand over his face as he set the files down on the desk. “It was important. I found something we missed. Had to double-check.”

Rossi’s smirk didn’t waver. “You found something, huh? Or did you just need an excuse to get out of this room and clear your head?”

Hotch stiffened, but he knew there was no point in denying it. “We figured out the sequence, the messages weren’t just random. They were chronological, like a timeline leading to his next target. We were close, but we couldn’t afford to miss it.”

Rossi nodded, his expression softening just a little. He knew Hotch was right; they were on a tight timeline with no room for errors. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing his friend. “You could have figured that out in the morning, Aaron. You can’t solve every problem by burning the candle at both ends.”

Hotch sat down on his bed, glancing at the clock, Rossi’s words lingered, cutting through the tension Hotch had been carrying all day. “I know. But you said it yourself—we can’t miss anything.

Rossi studied Hotch for a moment, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “You’ve been different since Peter came back,” Rossi said, watching Hotch’s reaction closely. “It’s like you’re working twice as hard, pushing yourself even more than usual. What’s going on?”

Hotch’s expression tightened, his usual stoic demeanor wavering under Rossi’s probing gaze. He knew exactly Rossi could read from his face what had just happened between the two of you. “I just… wanted to make sure we didn’t miss anything,” he repeated, his tone defensive.

Rossi wasn’t buying it. He moved closer, sitting on the edge of his own bed, facing Hotch directly. “You’re not fooling me, Aaron. I’ve seen this before. You’re not just worried about the case. This is about Y/N, isn’t it?”

Hotch looked away, pretending to be preoccupied with the files on his lap. But Rossi’s words hit too close to home, and he couldn’t ignore the knot of emotions that had been building inside him since Peter’s return. “It’s not what you think,” Hotch said quietly, though even to him, it sounded unconvincing.

Rossi leaned back, giving Hotch a knowing look. “Look, it’s natural. You and Y/N have been working closely, you’ve got this rhythm. Peter comes back, and suddenly you’re reminded that you’re not the only one who clicks with her. But it’s not a competition, Aaron. You’re more to this team, and I’m sure you are to her as well, than a stand-in.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. He had spent the last few months building a partnership with you, appreciating your insights and the way you challenged him. But Peter’s return had stirred up insecurities he hadn’t even realized he had.

“It’s not that,” Hotch said finally, though the weight in his voice suggested otherwise. “I just want to make sure we get this right. Peter’s good at what he does. It’s just… different.”

Rossi gave him a pointed look. “Different isn’t bad, Hotch. And you’re still you. You don’t have to prove anything: to her, to Peter, or to anyone else.”

Hotch nodded, though Rossi’s words did little to ease the knot in his chest. “Thanks, Dave. I know.”

Rossi watched him for another moment before standing up, his tone lightening as he made his way back to his bed. “Just remember, she was never looking for a replacement for him while he was gone. She’s looking for a partner. And you’ve already proven you can be that.”

Hotch lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Rossi’s words echoed in his mind, he knew he needed to get some sleep, but his thoughts were restless. It wasn’t just about the case anymore, it was about finding his place, about understanding what you truly meant to him beyond the walls of the BAU. As he finally drifted off, he promised himself that whatever happened next, he wouldn’t let his insecurities cloud his judgment. He’d be the partner you needed, and maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to fit into your life outside of work, too. If you ever let him after today.

[bosbas]

Chapter 11: if my wishes came true, it would've been you

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 4.7k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, mutual pining

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

July 21, 1814 - In a rather interesting turn of events, Miss Y/N Beaumont was once more seen promenading on the arm of Anthony Bridgerton. It appeared that the two were quite happily chatting away, an increasingly common sight that comes after almost a month of barely any social appearances for our lady of the season. Was this just another friendly promenade, or could a romance be brewing between the two? Given the closeness of the two families, a union between them would be unsurprising. However, this author was most surprised that it was Anthony who decided to pursue Miss Beaumont rather than her long-time companion, Benedict.

"So you two are properly courting?" asked Hyacinth, shoving the latest Whisteldown column in both of your faces. You were sitting beside Anthony in the Bridgerton sitting room, your book set haphazardly on your lap after Hyacinth had barged in demanding answers.

"Something like that, yes," answered Anthony, grabbing the sheet of paper from her and skimming it over for where it mentioned you.

"What do you mean 'something like that'? You're either courting or you aren't, Anthony," came Hyacinth's exasperated response. You laughed softly at her impatience, understanding her frustration. You, at times, felt the same way. It was an unusual partnership, to be sure, but you were enjoying yourself thus far. You found you could attend social events again, not feeling any pressure to engage in conversation with slimy or uninteresting men.

"It means that I am attending balls again, Hyacinth. It also means that I can continue writing down detailed summaries of these balls and giving them to you the morning after," you said, hoping to distract her from asking any further questions about your courtship with Anthony.

And it seemed to have worked. Her face lit up, knowing you were the only person who currently attended balls that was kind enough, and attentive enough, to keep her informed about the goings on of the ton. She squealed and rushed to hug you, exclaiming "Thank you thank you thank you!!!" into your neck. You hugged her back, amused by her antics.

Suddenly, Hyacinth turned to Anthony, eyes narrowed. "You had better be a good suitor to Y/N. Will you be attending balls with her? And if so, will you be dancing with her? And will you be calling on her? Will you bring her flowers?" she interrogated. Hyacinth considered you to be one of the sweetest from the older bunch of Beaumont-Bridgertons. At least, you never made fun of her and you took her seriously enough that she could have grown-up conversations with you. So Hyacinth wanted to make sure that you were going to be properly courted by her brother. Truthfully, she had hoped you would end up with Benedict. She thought the two of you were in love, based on how he talked about you and how you looked at him, but she supposed she was too young to understand the more complicated aspects of romantic feelings, and perhaps she had misjudged whatever was going on between you and Ben. Nevertheless, she wanted at least one of her brothers to court you the way you deserved, especially after reading about the mostly unpleasant encounters you had with potential suitors thanks to your accounts of your evenings as a debutante.

Anthony patted Hyacinth on her head, laughing at her protectiveness. "Yes, I will be doing whatever Y/N would like me to do. Now run along, I've been attacked in my own home long enough." With a satisfied huff, Hyacinth ran out of the sitting room just as fast as she had come in, snatching Lady Whistledown's column out of Anthony's hand and taking it with her.

You smiled after her, shaking your head fondly. Anthony had let you take the lead on the speed and nature of your courtship, and you were more than grateful for the ability to choose the pace at which the two of you progressed. True to his word, he had not pressed you for an answer to his unusual proposal, and instead let you come to him once you were ready.

And sure enough, a week ago, you had made your way over to the Bridgerton household and asked to speak with Anthony privately. In the quiet of his study, you had accepted his proposal, finally laying to rest your dreams of spending the rest of your life with your best friend. It was a bittersweet moment for you. In a way, you felt relieved that you didn't have to pine after Benedict uselessly anymore, having a solid plan in place now and getting as close to what you wanted out of a marriage as possible, barring the possibility of romantic love. But a louder and more insistent part of you was feeling this loss to the bone. Loss of what you didn't know, since you and Ben had never been romantically involved, nor had you ever expected to marry him. Though you supposed a small part of you always held out some hope that Benedict might feel the same way about you as you did about him. That he also thought about you every night, laying in bed alone and wishing you could be in his arms. That the sketches of you and forehead kisses and endless pages of correspondence and hours spent talking together could mean more than just friendship. But in the end, you knew you had been foolish to think that two decades of friendship could be undone by a half-joking comment asking if he wanted to marry you.

Anthony, for his part, had been delighted, giving you an encouraging smile and a firm squeeze on your shoulder once he heard your final answer. He hadn't expected anything from you, of course, but he was happy that he could provide a solution that would benefit both of you. However, his proposal and your subsequent acceptance created a new challenge. Though you did intend to marry him, this wasn't what was usually considered a 'real' courtship, and you were hesitant to widely announce this fact to the gossip-hungry members of the ton.

"Anthony," you began, taking a seat opposite him. "I think we should discuss how we'll present this to the ton. I don't relish the idea of scandal, and I imagine neither do you."

"Mmm the pesky Lady Whistledown continues her reign of terror," hummed Anthony amusedly, shifting in his seat. "In all honesty, I believe any rumors would more negatively affect you, given the nature of our respective positions in society. I also know this is probably a more delicate situation for you than it is for me, so I'd be happy to go along with whatever you would like," said Anthony, sending you a sympathetic smile at the unspoken mention of Benedict.

Clearing your throat and ignoring the tightness in your chest, you pushed through your hurt. "Well, I think the most obvious question is of who we should tell. About the terms of our partnership, that is," you said, putting your hand on your chin and dreading the headache this whole ordeal would be. "I fear my mother might slit your throat and mine were she to find out that I am purposefully giving up on the possibility of a love match, especially after she told me repeatedly there's no rush," you said, looking up at Anthony with an apology in your eyes.

But he shook his head in response, "That's no bother, it is to be expected. I'm slightly scared my mother would react the same." You let out a snort at the thought of Anthony, at thirty years old, still scared of his mother. He rolled his eyes at you, knowing exactly why you were laughing at him, and continued speaking. "Regardless, I don't think we should tell anyone. We can be vague about our intentions and the specifics of our courtship until I propose publicly."

You nodded, trying to plan out that far ahead and feeling your heart speed up when you thought of Anthony on one knee proposing in front of other people. A real proposal this time. "Perhaps a month will be enough time? For it to be believable that we fell in love. That seems like a reasonable timeline, right?" you asked him, trying to imagine how long it might take you to fall in love with someone. Thinking back on your friendship with Benedict, you could recognize that you had been in love with him for years now, even if you didn't know it at the time. But you didn't have twenty years to fall in love with someone else, so a month with Anthony would have to do.

"Considering we've known each other two decades, I'm sure the ton would believe we were in love if we married tomorrow. It's our families we have to convince," Anthony reminded you. Because we all know you and Benedict are in love, he thought.

You nodded, thinking through all of your family members and their possible reactions to finding out you were marrying Anthony Bridgerton, of all people. If anything, they would probably expect Benedict to be the one to propose, no matter how absurd and impossible the idea was to you now. But this only made it more crucial that your courtship with Anthony was believable.

"I don't think we'll be able to convince Alex after the night we had in your study," you said finally. "Besides, it might be beneficial to have someone else on our side helping convince our families."

Although he seemed unsure, Anthony eventually conceded, letting out a grunt. "I'm inclined to agree. I could tell him later tonight at White's," he suggested. "We were planning on going with Colin and the twins but I'm sure I'll get a moment alone with him. It will probably be best to tell him earlier rather than later if I don't want a black eye," he joked, winking at you.

"Thank you," you answered gratefully. You weren't quite sure how Alexander would react to the news, knowing that you had just had your heart broken by Benedict and were now jumping into a partnership with his older brother, so you were happy Anthony offered to tell him instead of facing him yourself.

"So, how should we start courting?" you asked. "Well, not actually courting, but you know what I mean," you quickly corrected yourself.

Anthony smiled softly at you, understanding your need to specify that this wasn't a real courtship. Unlike you, he wasn't deeply in love with his best friend, so it was much easier for him to start pursuing someone, however real or fake it might be. But he knew that, at some level, you felt like you were betraying Benedict. Or at least betraying the feelings you had for him. At that moment, Anthony truly wished that Benedict would stop being a complete idiot. If not for Ben's own sake then to stop the absolute torment he saw in your eyes every time you thought of a future without your best friend.

"Ah, yes, our incredibly cunning ruse," Anthony responded, trying to keep his tone light. "I think we could probably start with a promenade a few days from now if you are amenable. It might be good to start with something a bit more casual," he said carefully.

"That's a good idea," you agreed. "Perhaps two days from now? It will give Alex enough time to digest the idea and I can mention to my mother that you asked if I wanted to get back into the social scene after such a long hiatus. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic enough to ignore the minor details."

Anthony nodded, already planning his speech to your older brother. "I can also start making off-handed comments around my family to really sell it," he suggested.

"Oh, that's perfect! I think we might just pull it off," you said, smiling at Anthony and feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

But Anthony could not relax yet. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, knowing you needed to address the issue of Benedict but also understanding that it was a relatively painful topic at the moment. After shifting in his seat slightly and receiving a quizzical look from you, he finally spoke up. "How would you like to tell Benedict?" he asked delicately.

You winced at the mention of his name. You had no idea, to be honest. How were you going to tell your best friend that you were marrying his brother? Saying it in person and having to see Benedict's reaction in person would be incredibly painful, but saying it in a letter would be worse, you reasoned. Especially since you had avoided any mention of potential suitors in your correspondence thus far, and were planning on continuing to do so. The letters exchanged between you were too precious, too intimate, to be ruined by the mention of one of your suitors. You stared at Anthony, resigned. "It would probably be better coming from me, wouldn't it?"

Anthony gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'm not trying to get out of doing it, I know this will be one of the most difficult parts. But I believe it'll be better if he hears this from you. He would be crushed if he found out you were getting married from anyone other than you."

You sat back in your seat, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what was to come. If Ben reacted negatively to your relationship with Anthony, you might never see him again. You were desperate to make the blow as soft as possible and preserve as much of your friendship with Ben as you could. "I suppose you're right. I want to tell him in person, though," you said, nervously playing with your fingers. You felt thick tears in your eyes at the realization that if Benedict were here right now, he would be the one rubbing your hand with his thumb as he usually did when you were anxious.

Sensing your inner conflict, Anthony jumped to provide you with a solution. "If you want our courtship to last for a month, that aligns almost perfectly with our country house party in Kent. It would make sense for Benedict to come to Aubrey Hall for the party anyway, and you could have some time alone with him to tell him."

You nodded, quickly blinking the tears from your eyes. It was a perfect plan, indeed. Everything fit together perfectly, you realized with a sinking feeling. You were still half-hoping that there would be a reason you couldn't go through with this, or a massive oversight as to why the plan wouldn't work. But it seemed to be foolproof. Even the painful bits were accounted for and Anthony had made them to be as painless as possible.

And so began the biggest deceit of your life. All things considered, it was good fun. You and Anthony had decided to see each other four times per week, attending a minimum of two balls together and promenading once. Although it had only been a week, you found yourself enjoying the change of pace. You could now attend balls without having to interact with any desperate bachelors vying for your hefty dowry. What's more, Anthony had been bringing you a bouquet after every ball, which served to placate your mother above all else.

Even promenading with Anthony was enjoyable, seeing as the two of you understood each other quite well. It was nothing compared to how deeply Benedict understood you, or how engaging discussions were with him, but Anthony was miles ahead of anyone besides Ben. After only a week of courting, you found yourself better able to think about Benedict without dissolving into a puddle of tears, desperately wondering whether or not he was thinking of you while in the countryside. Your letters to him became less painful and more frequent, as you were able to push through your debilitating love for him and just enjoy speaking about art and literature.

As time went on, you were growing more and more confident that you had made the right decision, especially now that Lady Whistledown had written about your courtship, as Hyacinth had so kindly informed you. Whistledown's words were gospel to the people of polite society, so her mention of the two of you helped cement the validity of your budding relationship. Hopefully both your families would follow the rest of the ton and accept that Anthony, and not Benedict, was the one you were spending the majority of your time with now.

Although you had hoped Alex would help you in this endeavor, he had been unyieldingly silent on the matter. The day after Anthony explained your plan to him at White's, he came into your room and informed you that he knew what you and Anthony were doing. You had expected him to show at least some form of emotion, but he had simply said that he would not stand in your way and walked right out without any further discussion. Even now, a week later, he refused to talk about it with you, immediately changing the subject or just outright leaving the room when the matter of you and Anthony came up in conversation. You were disappointed, feeling like you were living a lie in and out of your home, but you supposed it was for the best. You could sacrifice talking to someone who knew the whole story for the assurance that none of your family would find out the truth. Especially not your mother.

---

As you looked out of your window to the beautiful grounds of Aubrey Hall, your mind couldn't help but drift to Benedict's latest letter. His reply had been short, which was to be expected given that you had asked him to return from the countryside to meet your future husband. Writing the letter had been almost physically painful, but you knew it was necessary. You could only hope that the tears on the paper were not too noticeable once they reached Ben.

After nearly a month of faking a courtship with Anthony, you were much more well-adjusted when it came to talking and thinking about Benedict. But a month was nowhere near long enough to quell the now all-encompassing love you had spent years growing. You didn't think you could ever stop loving Benedict, not entirely anyway. He was your Benedict, and he would be forever. You had grown up so intertwined in one another that he was as much a part of you as you were yourself. The love you felt for him was not a feeling, exactly, but more of a part of your identity. And it was all good and fun until you had to give that up to be with someone else. Though Anthony, bless him, was making it as easy for you as he could. He expected nothing more than what you were willing to give, and you couldn't thank him enough. It had been surprisingly easy to fall into a partnership with him, not feeling the undue stress of having to promptly get over Benedict that you had felt with all of your other suitors.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Theo and Bastian knocked on your door, barging in when you opened the door just a fraction. They ignored your exasperated sigh, opting instead to sit on your bed. Seeing Bastian's shoe-clad feet on your white bedding incited an anger in you that only your brothers knew how to elicit. But your murderous intentions were cut short by Theo's question.

"So, will Benedict be joining us?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you gazed from one twin to the other, trying to gauge the intention of their question. Seeing your anxious eyes, Theo rushed to explain. "We only wanted to check because... you know... yeah," he finished lamely.

"Because what?" you demanded, slightly put off by what they were implying. Thus far, your family had abstained from mentioning Benedict when speaking about your courtship with Anthony. Although they had been visibly shocked by the idea at first, they had now grown used to seeing you with Anthony instead of Benedict and it had become somewhat of the norm. Except perhaps for Cass, who was still young and a hopeful romantic. You knew she secretly still wished that Ben would return from the countryside in some kind of grand romantic gesture that would sweep you off your feet. Unfortunately, you simply couldn't afford to think that way for your sanity. Instead, you ignored her sad looks whenever Anthony sent you a particularly large bouquet of roses. So it came as a little bit of a shock that Theo and Bastian were being so forthright about the subject, showing little to no tact in handling what was a very painful situation for you.

You saw your brothers exchange a panicked look, clearly not expecting your bristling tone. "Because we haven't seen him in a while!" blurted out Bastian.

"Yes, exactly," said Theo, nodding aggressively. "It's just been some time since we last saw Benedict and we're wondering whether you knew if he'll be coming. So we can see him and all. Is he doing alright?"

You sniffed, crossing your arms stiffly and uttering a curt reply, "I see. Well, yes. He will be coming. He should be arriving in a few hours. And yes, he's alright. He's been faring quite well but I think he's coming back to town properly now."

Catching the wide-eyed look they exchanged, you rolled your eyes in annoyance. "And yes! He knows I've been courting someone, which I know was your next question. Though he doesn't know it's Anthony so don't you dare tell him. I will tell him myself once he arrives," you warned them.

"Wouldn't dream of it," assured Theo.

"Sorry about that. Let us know if you need anything," added Bastian.

You hummed. "Thank you very much. Now please get your dirty shoes off my bed or I'm afraid I will have to kill you. And we wouldn't want to make Mother sad over the death of two of her sons, would we?

They stood up off suddenly your bed and straightened up, clearly not having expected this to be such a hostile conversation. But they were glad you had at least cracked a joke, even if the comment threatened their untimely death. They laughed nervously and bid their goodbyes, exiting your room quickly.

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you closed the door after them, placing your forehead against the cool wood. You had most likely overreacted, but you would have to apologize another time. The sinking feeling of anxiety in your stomach took precedence over your brothers right now, as much as it was inconvenient for them.

The earlier flutters in your stomach had turned into giant somersaults, and you felt like you were going to be positively sick. You would have to tell Benedict that you were engaged to Anthony soon since you knew it would be unimaginably cruel to let Ben learn about your courtship to his brother as he was proposing to you.

The easiest thing would be to tell him during one of your nature walks. Whenever you were at Aubrey Hall, you and Benedict went on nature walks around the grounds, where you would often point out familiar flower and plant species, and he would remind you to take in the beautiful landscape. These walks could often last for hours, just the two of you wrapped up in each other's presence. And although it was usually Ben who suggested them, you had planned to ask him on a nature walk tomorrow morning to break the news that Anthony was the man you intended to marry. It would give him ample time and space to process the information, and some precious privacy to sort out any unresolved feelings on both sides.

Yet, the meticulously thought-out plan you had come up with did absolutely nothing to soothe your fears for the actual moment that you would tell him. In all honesty, you had no idea how Benedict would react. You weren't even sure how you wanted him to react. You supposed the best-case scenario would be if he calmly listened and said he understood your choice, and perhaps even thought it a good idea since you would be able to remain close to him. But you couldn't help a very tiny part of you that had previously been locked in the depths of your brain from hoping that Benedict wouldn't react calmly. That he would be impossibly angry. Angry with you, and with Anthony, and with himself. So angry that maybe he would realize that he did love you, after all, however unrealistic that might be.

With a determined exhale, you pushed yourself off the door and started getting ready to go downstairs to Anthony's study. The twins' unexpected inquiry had thrown you off balance, but you couldn't afford to let it linger in your thoughts. Anthony had asked you to stop by once you arrived at Aubrey Hall to iron out the details of his proposal. In less than a week, he would officially be your fiancé, and you had to start figuring out how it would actually happen.

---

As Benedict rode through the picturesque countryside toward Aubrey Hall, the weight of the impending conversation with you settled in his chest. The familiar scenes outside the carriage window, once a source of solace, now seemed to blur as his mind whirred with conflicting emotions. The letter you had sent him requesting his presence at Aubrey Hall so he could meet your future husband lay heavily in his pocket. Ben could barely breathe from the weight of the knowledge that you were so close to being out of his grasp forever.

Reading that letter for the first time had evoked a sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't shake even now, almost a week later. Benedict was beyond nervous to meet whoever you might be marrying, unsure if he would be able to successfully hide his overpowering love for you. However, he couldn't seem to forget the faint tear stains slightly smudging your handwriting of the letter in his pocket. A selfish part of him wished that you might be sad to be marrying this mystery man. That you had settled for someone less worthy and Ben could continue to be confident (if you could call what he was feeling right now confidence) in his decision to forgo a marriage with you. But this fleeting hope was immediately replaced with guilt. You deserved more than an unhappy marriage, even if it meant embracing a future that felt like a cruel twist of fate for Benedict's own heart. Despite the agonizing ache he was feeling, he knew would do this again ten times over if it guaranteed your happiness.

Arriving at Aubrey Hall, Ben dismissed the carriage with a nod of thanks to the driver. With his belongings in tow, he decided to stop by Anthony's study first. His older brother had surely already met your suitor and could perhaps offer some insight so Benedict wasn't entirely blindsided when you officially introduced him.

As Ben approached the door, he caught the sound of your voice, a sweet sound that made him smile wider than he had since he left you. He couldn't help but linger for a moment, enchanted by the familiarity of your tone and wishing he hadn't spent so long away from it.

But his attention sharpened as he overheard your conversation with Anthony. "I think it might be best if it's not a massive surprise to our families, especially Hyacinth. So, would you want to announce our engagement before everyone gets here? Sometime in the coming days? And then you can propose to me properly once all the guests arrive?" he heard you speak.

Benedict's world ground to a halt. The words hung in the air, a revelation that left him stunned. He went numb, pure anger coursing through his veins as he burst open the door and barged into his older brother's study. His eyes, aggressively narrowed into slits, fell on his best friend, sitting at his brother's desk as Anthony leaned against it. Time froze as you and Anthony turned towards him, expressions of shock clear on your faces.

"I beg your pardon?" he spoke, tone low and venomous as he breathed heavily. "What the bloody hell did you just say?"

—

A/N: just wanted to say thank you everyone so much for reading ahhhh I'm so happy to see all of your reactions after every part and I just LOVE YOU okay kisses bye

previous part || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

Tag List (lmk if you want to be added!): @bellahadidnt16 @like-gabriel-and-castiel @riverraingrayworld @5sos-calm @elissanatok @titanicnerd-blog @noonenuts @moonwayne @lilasblogg @mmontgomeryb @fulltacoparadise @joyfullymulti @sopanngon @fanfiction-she-wrote @aureolinb @ambitionspassionscoffee @bbubbllejisoo @marvelspogue @avengersgirllorianna @loliakeoghan23 @cierrajhill

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendation: Multi-Chapter (completed)

Been a while since I've made one of these! Decided it's time to get into the biggest category I have...

These don't have any shared theme beside having multiple chapters and being completed, and they're both NSFW and SFW.

As always, make sure to look at the CWs and tags before reading, and if a link doesn't work, you're welcome to reach out!

[Some of these might be by authors I already recommended, you can find that list here]

Shotgun Sunsets, Desert Stars by noxmajor - Soap keeps disappearing. Ghost gets curious.

Chasing Ghosts and Dreams by TheEdwardianOne - Soap and Ghost finally do something about their feelings in a safehouse after a mission.

Give Me Hope & Let Me Down by MechanicalBones - Soap saves his idiot Lieutenant & there's a shit tonne of hurt-comfort & smooches.

Love Is Not An Act, It's A Habit by wodnica - Ghost and Soap got separated from their team, lost and alone. Ghost must reconsider how close his relationship with Soap really is.

The Devil You Know by Artaccountant1 - In order for life in the 141 to go on, Ghost had to die. He knew Soap wouldn't take it well, but he never expected him to end up like this. That mask was only supposed to be for special occasions.

It's cracked and it's scarred (but I would give you my heart) by FetteEule - After a mission gone wrong Ghost and Soap find themselves cut off from their team and have to work together to figure out what happened, all while navigating their growing feelings for each other.

when does a man become a monster by wellyesbutactuallyno - One of Makarov's men takes Ghost. Soap gets him back.

Pieces of You by FreeToWriteForMe - Soap slowly collects pieces of Ghost through his clothes or his weapons. Eventually, Simon gets something of Johnny's.

a Moth to a Flame by theidjits - Firefighter John MacTavish was eager to start his career. What he didn't expect when he was assigned to Station 141 was to fall for the elusive Lieutenant. (firefighters 141)

Trace Them Gently by Grangers_apprentice - There are a lot of reasons Ghost wears so many layers. Layers keep you warm. They keep you safe. They keep prying eyes and wandering hands away. Ghost has more reasons than most to want to keep his skin under wraps. [Restricted]

A Steady Beat in an Unsteady Time by Grangers_apprentice - Soap has been having dreams where Ghost dies, and comes up with an unconventional way of reassuring himself that his lieutenant is fine. (part 1 of the Heartbeat Series) [Restricted]

Blossoms by felicitous - Against his better judgement, John "Soap" MacTavish was in love with Simon "Ghost" Riley. And while he knew that Ghost could never, would never, love him back, he was happy to take whatever attention the man would give him, even if it killed him. (Hanahaki AU)

Remember Me (Please) by Darkflamej - Johnny winds up with amnesia and Ghost is struggling to keep them both alive while trying to balance the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with a man who doesn’t even remember him.

The Truth Comes Out by Darkflamej - Ghost is under the influence of a truth serum and is trying his best to not confess his love for Soap.

Mission: You by TheD - Soap keeps getting distracted recently by Ghost. They do something about it, leading to an entanglement that leads to complications in their relationship.

the human condition by bilbhoebangins - Ghost shows up to an anonymous hookup and finds a naked and blindfolded Johnny waiting for him. His sergeant is completely unaware of just who he's arranged to meet, and Ghost has to make a choice, between what's right, and what he so desperately wants.

Awake At Night by CYBERGUTS - A friends to lovers fic over 4 seasons.

Prank Call by Team_141_property - A prank call goes wrong, personal walls are ripped down, people get hurt, and feelings get confessed. [read the CW on this one especially]

Yes to Heaven by Apollos_Last_Prophet - Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is declared K.I.A during a failed recon mission in 2017. His commanding officer, Captain John Price, takes the loss personally, but has no other choice then to move on. Five years later, Price fights an assassin with a familiar face. [the one and only]

Someday The Dust Will Settle by shadow_in_the_window - Panic was starting to flood Ghost's senses. Johnny had lost a lot of blood. He cleared his mind. There was no way he'd let Johnny die on his watch. Not now. Not ever.

A Sunrise In the Dark by [orphan_account] - “Don’t say that, Johnny.” Ghost spoke, his voice quiet. “Say what?” “That you’d take a bullet.” “I would, though.”

On Begged and Borrowed Time by goforblood - Soap MacTavish is the newest member of Task Force 141. Soap could not have foreseen the enigmatic lieutenant, Ghost, who threatens to turn everything on its head. Can he keep his burgeoning crush on the masked man a secret? Or will someone call his bluff?

Midnight Snacks by MireyaRowan - Ghost is forced to share a room with Soap for a few nights, greatly increasing his anxiety about his night terrors. He hasn't let anyone in the task force know how hard being idle is for him. Soaps makes a whole deal out of it to try and keep Ghost distracted from his past.

I Woke Up Underground by WispScribbles - Soap, Ghost, Price and Gaz are on a mission to take out Hassan's allies. It goes south when explosives cause the cave system to collapse, injuring and trapping the team.

A Little Death by CaptainMJ - Ghost dragged himself out of Vernon's grave to see that Roba hadn't left. Had waited to see if he'd manage to do it. Ghost never escaped and eventually they were successful in breaking him down and making him someone else. Kinda. Kinda successful.

Spoils of War by CaptainMJ - Ghost defeats Soap's kingdom and after splitting up the spoils, he takes Soap too. Soap expects the worst, but Ghost doesn't seem keen on doing anything to him. How long is that going to last?

Target Locked by MildLimerence - Soulmate AU: In a world where having a soulmark is a rare and forgotten phenomenon, finding your other half can be more a curse than a blessing. Soap joined the military intent on escaping the stigma of the mark, adamant he'd never find his soulmate.

Fucking new guy by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Soap joins Task Force 141, ready to prove himself as the best of the best. On his first day, he finds himself choked in the training room by a prick in a skull mask. Now Soap must deal with his growing attraction to his lieutenant, a sarcastic and cold-hearted man named Ghost, while at the same time proving to the 141 he's worthy of being there.

ripe and ruin by ghcst - It's August 1917, the rain doesn't seem like it will ever cease, and Soap starts to wonder if this war will ever end. He also has trouble trying to decide whether or not Lieutenant Simon Riley is really human. [WW1 AU, I recommend it even if you don't like the time period!]

Got your back, you got mine by WhiteBeakedRaven - five times Ghost did Soap a favor and the one time Soap had paid him back.

He Stuck Around For The Moon by escence - He’d been avoiding Ghost, planning on continuing to do so until he could sort out his thoughts and feelings regarding the man, preferably, shifting them into something less intimate. Evidently, he’d run out of time and Ghost had found a way to pin him down, literally and metaphorically.

The fever dream by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Ghost and Soap are back from a mission when Soap is struck down with a fever. Ghost navigates keeping his sergeant alive while coping with Soap unabashedly hitting on him, riling him up to bursting point.

Worth the Wait by trueheirofslytherin - Soap needs a sign that Ghost is interested in him. Ghost needs a sign that Soap is interested in him. One of them needs to take the initiative.

kiss the skin that crawls from you by congee4lunch - soap gets kidnapped. ghost tears through flesh and blood to get him back. amidst the carnage of a sinner's hands and in the absence of his god, he remembers what it means to love.

solemn prayer, poppy in my hair by congee4lunch - when soap invites ghost back home to scotland for a week, ghost hadn't imagined he would wind up in a fake dating scheme to trick soap's family, of all people. it also doesn't help that he's head over heels in love with soap, of all people.

Need You Now by SammyLuka - Alternatively, time in between missions makes Ghost realize that he doesn't know what to do without Soap. Thankfully, Soap understands.

Deep In The Fog by Crispyywheat - Soap is a big ol’ cryptid!! The 141 hunts down monsters/cryptids but Soap being a little idiot but also smart(?) decides to hide amongst the 141 as human. [I believe this one is currently being rewritten, the new work is called "Oh Weary Souls"]

I Didn't Need It, It Needed Me by starryathame - Ghost was wearing his balaclava, but he could feel his true mask slipping. He was becoming more Simon with every day Soap was around, and that knowledge terrified him. He hadn’t seen Simon Riley in the mirror in over a decade; he didn’t even know if he’d recognize himself anymore.

Affirmative, Sir by Wixiany - A mission goes wrong and both Soap and Ghost are left wounded. Back home, on his sick-leave, Soap's apartment gets broken into by the very men they were supposed to capture that day.

Wrap Your Arms Around My Cortex, Dig You In, and Let You Drain by [orphan_account] - Ghost returns to home base for the first time in four months and is unequipped to handle the growing emotions he feels toward a certain sergeant.

Say Yes To Me by [orphan_account] - Ghost gets held hostage and Soap saves him + the aftermath.

Pattern Breaker by mothbeast - A canon-compliant rework and extension of MW2: Reboot.

your finger on my hairpin trigger by lostReality - after Soap makes a few comments, about the mask, about sex, Ghost can't think of much else. And when Soap offers to fuck him after calling him pretty, why would he refuse?

earl grey skies by hyacinthwine - Johnny tries not to stare, but it’s difficult to tear his eyes away from the man. Really, there’s nothing that striking, he’s just an average Manchester man starting his day, yet Johnny wants to ogle just a little more. [coffeeshop AU]

Blinking by witchofsparkles - When Soap started seeing a very specific face with a skull mask and a pair of honey-brown eyes on his mirror and some glass, he thought he lost it good. Then it talked to him. [alternate dimension AU]

drag the lake and bring me home again by amongthebooks - During a stakeout mission in a remote area, Ghost is taken by the enemy. He's bound and thrown into a lake, and Soap has to scramble to get to him in time.

leave and liquor by your_wild_simp - Ghost is forced on a mental leave after a harsh mission. He crumbles, loses himself, has panic attacks and nightmares every time he remembers. But Soap is there, always there for him. Either through the phone, or physically rooming with him, Soap is there to help.

Between the Sand and the Stardust by tey_a - The one where soulmates leave marks on each other at their first skin on skin contact but feel drawn to each other before. Soap joins the 141 hoping to find a home in the form of a team. He finds it in the form of a man instead.

Six Feet Under And Quiet by snapple714 - Everyone in Soap's life has told him he's just too much. Not in the 141 though. But that can't last forever. He's bound to mess it up soon. It seems to happen on a particular mission, when Johnny gets trapped in a grave with a corpse. When the team realizes where they've made him wait for so long, they feel nothing but regret. Particularly Ghost, who is all too familiar with spending time underground…

Stubborn born by DepressoEspresso1000 - Soaps a fucking idiot and almost kills himself just to avoid medical leave, and Ghost is just as much of an idiot but he loves Soap and is not gonna watch him not care for himself.

If You Don't Stop, I'll End up Believing You by Hochseeperle - The new guy in the 141, Soap, doesn't have a filter when it comes to flirting. Ghost has no idea how to cope with that. He can't afford to lose face in front of his peers, so he decides to just… play along.

With Colours Over All The Wasted Years by kilikinnie - everyone owns a necklace that displays your soulmate's emotions through colours and their proximity through temperature. Ghost never expected to meet his, and Soap thought his was long gone.

(every scar will build my) Throne by Sillililli - Soap, the new leader of the MacTavish family mafia, is owed a debt by a family rivel. To repay him, Soap is given Ghost.

Keep The Change by hertzdonut - Soap's been shipped out to a safehouse in the Canadian Wilderness alone, except then Ghost shows up, but maybe Soap wasn't supposed to be shipped out in the first place? And Soap's been running on zero sleep and pure angst since they left Chicago. 'Tis the season.

real people by ghost_throat - ghost is struggling with his recent discharge from military service and doesn't hold much hope for his future. his former captain secured him a job at a coffee shop with a stupid name and annoying colleages and customers. [Restricted]

The ghost lingering in your shadow by arkinh - It took only a few weeks before objects seemed to move around without Soap remembering moving them. Lights were switched on or off by themselves, or flickering as he passed by them. For the first time in his life, he doubted his beliefs. Perhaps he should have left room for the possibility that it was all real?

What's The Name? by AvaLoren - John MacTavish is late to the coffee shop he works at after a late night argument with his girlfriend the previous night. He can't shake the memory playing on a loop in his head until a voice snaps him out of it. The customer before him has him fumbling for words and smiling like crazy. [another coffeeshop AU]

The Wind Will Howl Your Name by Minimelo - After a hunt goes wrong, John finds himself in the care of Ghost. [medieval AU, so so so good]

Cave In by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Ghost and Soap are forced to abandon a mission after the rain washes them out. They take shelter in a cave while they wait for the storm to pass, except this storm is sitting over them and won't budge. As night falls, the cave cracks, and they find themselves trapped. It wouldn't be a problem, except Soap is panicking, and Ghost is struggling to calm him down.

Burbon Soaked Letters by FreeToWriteForMe - Soap began finding letters full of threats and extremely personal information about his family and loved ones. He desperately hides it from his team while trying to find out the identity of his stalker. [the MCD tag on this one doesn't apply to the 141]

Safety Hazard by Red_Clegane - Soap is the adoptive son of President Price, but he’s hard to contain and a security risk. He’s never had a secret service agent last more than a few weeks. So, when Special Agent Ghost and his team are brought in to babysit, he thinks it’ll be another few weeks of fun. But a traitor is lurking in the Whitehouse and while Ghost protects Soap from himself, Simon will need to protect Johnny from something far more insidious.

[foli-vora]

run to you: chapter seven

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: This has been such a long time coming, and I want to thank you for being so patient and still loving this story despite the time since its last update. Your frequent comments, asks & dm's regarding RTY have honestly pushed me and motivated me to sit in front of my laptop and get this out. So thank you endlessly. I hope you enjoy angels!

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and ‘You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: 6k-ish (I honestly didn't bother checking after a while lmao)

Warnings: angst, coz naturally. Mentions of the past case and being arrested, Marcus being undercover and tastes of what he was dealing with work-wise. Jane being Jane (aka a fuckhead). The slightest shine of something resembling friendliness between the two idiots before I smash it with a sledgehammer in a true ‘one step forward, two steps back’ fashion. Drama, swearing, it's honestly been so long I don't even know - tell me if I've missed anything!

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

You can tell by the knock that it’s not Jacob. His knocks were playful, drumming out a tune against your door that sometimes you had to finish from the other side, but this knock was tentative, simple—professional.

Can knocks be professional? Can you know someone just by their knock? Regardless, you seem to know who it is immediately, and for the first time in a while you find yourself not having to brace for his company.

There’s no shake in your hand when you reach for the door; there’s no nausea building in the pit of your stomach, swirling with the uncomfortable tightening of anxiety. There’s nothing, and it takes you slightly by surprise. When did that stop? 

Marcus is standing just shy of your welcome mat, looking slightly uncomfortable as he shifts in his simple dark suit, but still gives you a small smile in greeting when you open the door. You manage to return it without a hint of a grimace.

That surprises you, too.

“Good morning.”

“Hi,” you murmur quietly.

“Can we talk?”

He must see the slight edge of defensiveness creeping into your features, because he hurries to spit out that it’s about the case. The case? Is it over?

A frown starts to pull at your brows, and you give a simple nod before stepping aside and allowing him entry. You don’t miss the way he takes it slow, stepping over the threshold to your apartment carefully, as if giving you the chance to change your mind and revoke his invitation.

It’s... awkward.

For a moment, he hovers only a few steps away, unsure of where to go next without your direction. You watch the internal struggle, and clear your throat quietly before waving a hand to your couch as a gesture for him to take a seat. He does so without a word.

You falter, fingers brushing against your suddenly hot palms as you fidget, “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“Uh, yeah—yes. Water, please.”

Silence crawls along the edges of the room as you fuss in the kitchen, filling a glass full of chilled water from the fridge. It’s only slightly uncomfortable, neither of you necessarily feeling the need to fill the quiet with small talk, or maybe you both just don’t know what to say.

He takes the glass with a smile when you eventually patter over to him, thanking you quietly and taking a small sip while you seat yourself on the armchair to the left of him.

“So…” you murmur, “what’s going on? Has something happened?”

He suddenly can’t speak, his thoughts too much in a whirl. He doesn’t want to entertain Jane’s idea, he doesn’t want to offer you anything about getting more involved in the case. You already do enough, you’re fine with doing what you’re doing, he can’t risk it.  

You’re out of it all. You got out. Not many people get back onto their feet after something like that—the arrest and the rough fallout, the emotional spiral, the time spent behind bars… but you did. You did. And yet, a very small part of him worries that you’ll go back, that you’ll fall back into old habits for the promise of your old cosy lush life, without a worry for money. Would you?

No. No, he knows you wouldn’t. Somewhere deep inside his heart, he knows you wouldn’t turn back to it all. He saw firsthand how it all crashed down around you—he was the reason it did. He saw you through it all, and yet he still can’t help but ask—

“Do you miss it?”

A frown starts to pull at your features, “Miss what?”

“Your life,” he mutters, almost painfully too quiet.

He doesn’t want to upset you by reopening old wounds, by unintentionally rubbing your face in everything you’ve lost and mourned, but he’s too curious, too scared—he can’t do it all again. He doesn’t have the strength. He’d let you walk. He’d let you get away. He’d lose everything, and he wouldn’t care.

“Before… before this,” he gestures between you silently, watching your eyes flicker down to follow the movement before they roll back up to meet his, irises swirling with confusion, suspicion, a slight shine of pain— “before everything… when it was just you, and what you did—do you miss it?”

There’s a vague feeling of something close to panic building in your chest, but it doesn’t seem to spread out further than the iron cage of your ribs. You feel it sitting there, churning around your heart as its pace starts to quicken.

Is he asking this for a reason? Are you suspected of something? Is whatever answer you give going to be recorded and stored somewhere for future use against you? 

“A little,” you breathe before you can help it, and suddenly your throat feels too thick.

The honesty came out of nowhere. You’re left wondering why the hell you admitted it, especially to him of all people. He's used it all against you before. He’s the reason it all fell apart. And yet, here you are, admitting to a federal agent that you miss a time of your life that ultimately resulted in you left behind bars. What would he think of that?

The worry of what he would think startles you. You don’t care, you haven’t cared, and yet you hurry to explain before he could get the wrong idea. It’s only because he has the power to throw you back into prison. You worry about the fallout, that’s all.

“Make no mistake, I don’t miss the whole crime thing. I just—I miss the peace. I can’t explain it, but I was just content, and I’ve never felt anything like that before. It was just… nice, that’s all. It wasn’t worth it.”

He nods, exhaling quietly before taking a sip of his water.

“Why do you ask?”

You’d been honest, and now it’s his turn.

“Some of the team believe putting you out there, back into your old circles, would result in getting us some further suspects for the investigation, or even limiting our suspect pool,” he explains stiffly, gaze remaining on where his fingers brush against the glass in his hands.

“As you’ve worked with some of these people before, they believe you’ll have no problem fitting back in and getting any information on their jobs or who’s leading this.”

Well that’s not at all what you’d been expecting.

You didn’t think that was even an option, given how they’d firmly kept any and all details of this investigation far away from you. Whether it’s because of your past, or simply because you’re not an agent, you don’t know, but this new direction has you wondering how involved you’d actually be. Is that something you even want?

You’ve reached a point where you’re somewhat comfortable with where you are in life, having dealt with mostly everything that had happened and taken steps to move on both mentally and emotionally.

Accepting the offer from the FBI hadn’t been on the top of your priority list, and this new opportunity didn’t sound any more appealing, but maybe it would give you a chance to do a little more. Maybe if they had you on the inside, this investigation would be wrapped up quicker and you’d be able to leave everything, and everyone, in the past for good.

All of this would be over. 

“So, I’d be undercover or something?”

“Not undercover, obviously there’ll be people who know who you are and what you used to do. You’ll just have to act the part you used to play.” 

There’s a hesitancy hanging in his features, you notice. It’s clear by the tone of his voice and the slight frown working its way along his brows that he’s not the one behind this idea, but he wouldn’t be suggesting it if it wasn’t a good idea, right?

“Do you not want me to do this?”

Finally, he looks at you.

You watch his eyes flitter across your face as you await his answer, wondering what he could possibly be searching for in your expression. Would he even tell you the truth? A part of you is beginning to think so, but you can’t imagine why. He’s been anything but truthful the entire time of knowing him, what would make this time any different?

“I don’t want you to do anything that would jeopardise the life you have, the life that you’ve made.”

Ah. He must think you’ll throw all of your progress away. Because of course he does. Is that why he asked you that question before? Do you miss it? Was he gauging the possibility of you turning your back on him should he let you further into the investigation? He’d probably get into trouble, maybe even lose his comfy little job chasing criminals down.

How comforting to know that he still thinks so damn little of you. 

“Don’t worry, Agent Pike,” you murmur icily, letting your arms cross defensively over your chest. “I’ll be sure to stay out of handcuffs this time. Do you honestly think I’d go back to it all, after everything?”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he sighs deeply, already expecting and braced for your anger. “And no—I don’t think you would go back.”

You believe him. You don’t know why, because God knows everything in your body repeatedly tells you to never believe another word that comes out of his mouth, but you simply just do with this. You don’t dwell on the why, with your mind now preoccupied with what he’s asking from you exactly.

Are you just finding some old acquaintances and asking some questions? Are you getting involved with jobs? Are you no longer painting for the FBI, if you’re to be involved? How deep would you have to go to give him and his team what they need? And with all the talk of murder, knowing there’s already been quite a few victims, what the hell would happen to you should the potential killer, or killers, find out you’re working with the FBI?

Would you become the next victim?

“Will I be in danger?”

Marcus meets your eyes immediately, answering firmly, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

That’s not a no.

You fall quiet, teeth nipping and picking at the soft skin of your inner bottom lip in thought. Okay, so you’d probably be safe with Marcus—the FBI—on your side, but is this something you could even do? Physically and mentally yes, you’d already done it all before, but emotionally?

Essentially, you’d be playing the same part Marcus played all that time ago. You’d be the one sneaking around and lying to people, tricking them into a false sense of comfort until they feel safe enough around you to talk. You’d be everything you dislike Marcus for. 

It’s hypocritical.

How could you dwell on and hold anger over your own experiences, when you’d be out there doing the same thing to others? Of course not to the stupidly ridiculous extent Marcus had gone to, but you’d still be lying, you’d still be using them—

“You have the choice here,” he assures you quietly, after watching you work through your thoughts. “I don’t want you to do it if you don’t want to. I want you to feel like you can say no—this is your choice, no one else’s. If you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

Maybe it’s selfish on some sort of level, but the possibility of getting this whole thing over and done and left behind you ultimately wins over any reservations you have, and you exhale quietly. 

“I’ll do it.”

—

The wire, though so thin it would be barely noticeable wherever you decided to hide it, feels particularly weighty between your fingertips. You study the simple black cord, turning it this way and that under the glare of the office lights, wondering how many cases it had been used for, how much it had heard and how many lives it had potentially ruined.

“Nobody will notice it.”

Marcus is half hunched over the table, scribbling away on various bits of paper laid out in front of him, but he briefly stops to give you a small reassuring smile. You simply nod in response, a trickling of anxiety starting to bite away at your mind.

What if nobody approaches you? What if this goes wrong? What if somebody finds out? What if you get hurt? What if you get somebody else hurt? The constant what ifs roll around your head on an endless loop, seemingly getting worse and more horrific with every minute you squirm in the chair.

“Do you know where you’d like to start?”

Your attention falls back on Marcus, and you gently place the wire back onto the surface of the table in fear of breaking it should you fiddle for too long.

He was giving you the freedom of working this next part out yourself. He wanted it to be as natural as possible, letting them come to you instead of having you actively searching them out. It would minimise any suspicion, he had said. 

“Uh, I was thinking of visiting some of the local spots you said they’re targeting. If they’re still scouting pieces and working out security like you say, they're bound to see me eventually... hopefully by people I know?”

It wasn’t meant to, but it comes across like a question, like you’re seeking his approval. Not because you desire it, but because this isn’t what you’re trained in by any means and you feel a little lost being able to make this call on your own. You have no idea how to position yourself, or how to work strategically like they do. The last thing you want to do is mess this whole thing up for anyone.

He nods, seemingly pleased with your choice.

“That’s good, you’ll also be out in the open and that makes it easy for another agent to keep an eye on you from a distance.”

“I know that’s meant to be reassuring, but the mere thought that I need to be watched makes me a little nervous. How dangerous is this?”

“It’s not, it’s all just precautionary,” he soothes, tone calm but undeniably firm. “If anything, I’m probably going overboard, but I’d rather not take any risks.”

It makes sense that he wouldn’t. His job or position would most likely be on the line if someone he’s responsible for gets hurt. His agents, probably not so much—they know what they’re doing and what they’re in for, but you? You’re just an average person, with no knowledge or skills to aid you.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… do any of them know? About… well, everything.”

It hit you as you arrived at the building earlier. You’re walking into your old life, a life that he was once a part of as a completely different person. They—the FBI—didn’t just come for you, they came for everyone, and Marcus was a big part of that. Did he reveal himself to them, as he did you? How much did they know about your situation? What did they think of you and the part you played? 

Marcus stops fussing with the papers, his eyes soon meeting yours from across the table. They flicker over your face, taking in the concern building in your features.

“I was there during most of their arrests so the majority know who, and what, I am.”

He was? He wasn’t there for yours.

Would it have been better, you wonder, if he had been there when they unexpectedly swarmed you that day? No doubt it still would’ve been one hell of a brutal knock to the system, but at least there would’ve been a familiar face in the intimidating crowd of badge carrying strangers.

At least you wouldn’t have felt so alone.

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“Well, I—I’m part of the reason you got the information you did. Throughout our… relationship, I talked about everything. I told you everything, and during the interrogation… surely they’d know—”

“They know I was undercover, and they know you weren’t aware of that fact. Look, I can’t go into detail, but just know you weren’t the only one to talk. It’s not all on you, alright?"

It doesn’t come as much of a surprise that the others had cracked at some point, it was almost to be expected with the amount of evidence the FBI had against everyone, but at least you don’t feel so guilty for divulging as much as you did back then. 

He waits for you to acknowledge his words with a wordless nod before moving onto business and switching into FBI Agent mode. He stands taller, obviously more confident and comfortable in his element as he begins to rattle off instructions and how to behave. It’s hard to feel unsteady or unsafe when he seems so damn self assured. That’s why he is where he is, you suppose.

“Now it's important that if you’re approached, you refrain from asking any questions about jobs or pry into anything they’re doing. You need to let them bring the subject up—if they don’t, it’s okay.”

“Noted.”

“If at any point you want to stop doing this—tell me, and that’ll be it. If you don’t feel comfortable coming to me, tell Agent Wilson and we’ll go from there. After your visits, you’re to return to your apartment and either Agent Wilson or I will come to collect anything you have.”

“Okay, and where exactly is this meant to go?” You ask, prying the cord from the table.

“Somewhere discreet. Obviously we don’t want it to be hanging out or somewhere someone will notice. Under your jacket will suffice with what you’re wearing. Just always ensure it’s covered completely.”

“How do I…”

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“Do you… do you mind if I…?”

“Not much of a choice,” you murmur, glancing around at the empty meeting room. 

“I can get another agent—”

You hear the bustle of the office outside the door, the constant ringing of phones and the hum of constant conversation. There’s plenty of other people to help you work this wire thing out, other than the man you’d rather be miles away from, but the uncertainty of what they know about you, think about you, keeps you from accepting his offer.

The only agent you feel semi-comfortable with is Jacob, and he’s currently out of the office with some other agents doing his job. You could ask for him. You’re fairly certain Marcus would comply if you asked, but that means taking Jacob away from whatever things he needed to do, and you don’t want to cause any issues for him or the other agents working.

Marcus will do. At least you know him. Somewhat.

“No. No, it’s… it’s fine. Just do what you need to.”

You stand and move away from your seat as he steps closer, hands falling awkwardly to your sides after he gently pries the wire away from your hold. He keeps a considerable distance away, the absolute most he could without being unable to reach you, and you appreciate the thought, but the space begins to hinder him as he tries to work.

After a few moments of feeling him fumble beneath your jacket and watching the growing twitches of annoyance briefly break his calm expression with a surprising slight bit of amusement, you relent. 

“You can come closer if you need to.”

His eyes flash up to meet yours, brown irises studying your features before a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips. He moves, still keeping a careful amount of distance between your bodies but close enough to feel the weight of his presence. 

“Are you laughing at me?”

“The big bad FBI agent has butter fingers,” you retort quietly, lips twitching. “They let you hold a gun with those?”

He blinks in surprise at your teasing jab, the curve of his light smile quickly deepening until it causes the dimples in his cheeks to show. You used to love his dimples, often finding yourself compelled to trace them with your fingertips whenever he was close enough to. He’d always welcome it, tilting his face further into your touch or kissing your palm.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

“Now that’s not fair,” he argues playfully, “I’ve only dropped it a couple of times.”

The smile that spreads across your lips is automatic, and you don’t quite feel like fighting it. At least, not right now. Whether that’s because you don’t have the energy needed to keep up with your recurrent ice saved only for him, or simply because you don’t feel like it, you don’t know.

“Have you really?”

He makes a low noise at the back of his throat, a shine of impish embarrassment spreading throughout his features. “I’m afraid that information is need to know only, ma’am.”

“Of course it is,” you mutter lowly in amusement, his grin briefly stretching into something wider before it fades as he focuses on the task at hand. “Back when you were undercover, did you have to wear one of these?”

There’s no anger in your voice, no betrayal or tone of accusation, just simple curiosity. You just want to know, and not to dwell on the past or overwhelm your mind with what his agents may have potentially heard, because god knows that’s a can of worms you don’t want to open. You feel genuine interest, because surely there would’ve been rules and safety precautions for undercover agents. What were his?

“I did,” he answers, guarded brown eyes briefly meeting yours before falling back to where his fingers pin the wire discreetly to your t-shirt, “but I only wore it for the first few meetings. I stopped when we—when we got closer.”

That was unexpected.

Thinking back on it, you didn’t start to give him any real information to work with until you’d gone on quite a few dates and became more comfortable with him. How did he keep a record of everything you said? You never saw him writing anything down, never had his phone out while you talked, and he never just upped and left once you’d spilled all of your secrets once you became intimate. 

Why wouldn’t the FBI want all of that recorded and documented? Surely that would’ve helped build evidence against you in the grand scheme of things? 

“Why?”

“I didn’t want them to know.”

“Know what?”

How deep he was in over his head.

He wets his lips, finishing his work with a quiet sigh before fixing your jacket and stepping away from you. You watch him take a moment to find his words, wondering what could possibly be so bad he’d want to hide it from his team.

“Some things,” he answers vaguely. “Are you ready?”

—

“You’re off the case.”

He hears the words, feels how they settle in the pit of his stomach, but his mind struggles to comprehend the meaning behind them. He’s one of the god damn leads of this case, how can he be off it? His expression pinches into confusion before he can get a hold of it, the question forming in his features before it even makes it to his lips.

“What?”

He feels the gaze of Jenner beside him, wonders if there’s any judgement lingering alongside the concern. His coworker, his friend, stays quiet, and he’s left to be dragged through the mud alone.

“You’re too close.”

Too close? When has being close to finishing a case ever been an issue? But he knows that’s not what they mean. That’s not what they’re concerned about. It’s you. He’s suspected it for a while, what with the growing questions and raised brows of yet another admittedly unnecessary meeting with one of the major suspects—without a wire or trace. 

“I know what I’m doing,” Marcus argues firmly, the frown deepening between his brows.

Doubt.

It’s not evident in his words, but he feels the stirrings of it somewhere in his body. He doesn’t know anymore, and it’s starting to scare him. He’s always known this job. He knows the rules, likes the rules even, likes playing by a book and not stepping a toe out of line. It’s comfortable, secure. 

This isn’t.

This is dangerous—that’s what it is. The feelings that follow him home after a day of playing another man are anything but a cover. They’re real. The unsteady beat of his heart whenever you cross his mind, the sweat that builds on his palms when he knows he gets to see you, the tingle left across his lips after spending moments pressed against yours—it’s all fucking real.

And it’s terrifying.

“Look, Pike… we see this with undercover work often. It’s not just you, and it’s not a reflection of you, or your work. We know you’re a damn good agent, but relationships can grow, feelings can come into play and lines can become blurred—”

Panic overtakes him, and it takes every bit of control to not let it show on his face. Maybe it’s selfish, but he can’t lose you. Not yet, not when things feel so… so right. It is selfish. You help him forget, you remind him that romance... that love is—God, it’s real.

It’s real, and he has it, or is starting to at least, and he can’t lose it. Just the thought of knowing he’ll lose it all in the end is enough to make bile sit in the back of his throat and a sickly cold tether wind around his heart…

So he scrambles. He fights to keep his cool, to play the good little agent and hide everything away. It goes against everything he’s been taught, everything that he and his coworkers stand for… and he doesn’t care.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’ve put too much time and effort into this case to not see it through to the end. There is no relationship, there are no feelings. I know my job, I know my position in this case, I know where my loyalty lies, and I know what I’m doing.”

He really doesn’t anymore, but in the end they believe the lies forcing their way through his teeth.

—

You used to sit for hours, studying every little detail of the chosen piece until your eyes started to strain. The corridors of art galleries and museums used to be home—it felt like you spent more time there than your actual apartment, but it doesn’t feel as it used to. Not in a bad way, no… it felt nice. Peaceful, even. You can just enjoy the art now. There’s no anxiety, no pressure to ensure every bit of your work is perfect—it’s just you, and the art.

Like how it was before everything. Before Marcus, before the jobs, before art school—when you were just a little thing, staring up at those frames with nothing but wonder, hope, with dreams of her own styles and gallery. What would she think of what she became?

“You like this one.”

The voice alone sets a roll of irritation over your shoulders. You don’t bother looking at him when you feel him step up beside you, instead wondering if Marcus knew he was here, or if the consultant had come of his own accord. Most likely the latter, if he and Marcus weren’t on the best of terms. 

“What are you doing?” You question quietly, glancing briefly away from the painting and over your shoulder to see if anyone had taken notice of you. This damn wire makes you feel like eyes are everywhere. “Does Marcus know you’re here?”

Jane makes a noncommittal noise, “I was bored.”

He makes no effort to answer your other question, and that tells you what you need to know—Marcus has no idea. Is this something he should know? He’s leading the case, and despite your aversion to it, he’s made it clear he’s responsible for you during your time working for the FBI as well as overseeing who you speak to. He made it extra clear he didn’t like the idea of Patrick talking to you, after what happened at the office. What would he want you to do in this situation?

Get rid of him.

You don’t have time to waste playing some kind of twisted back and forth with the consultant. You came here with a simple task, and you couldn’t have him tagging along behind you and potentially ruining your opportunity to get your foot back into the door of your old life, let alone finding anything out about it. Maybe he already knows, either way you’d rather not have him shadowing and questioning you at every turn.

“I’m not your babysitter, Jane. Go and play your games somewhere else.”

“What games?”

You scoff harshly, unable to stop the scowl you shoot him, “Don’t play dumb. You know what you do, and I don’t care for it. Just leave me alone so I can do what I need to and go home.”

He hums, unbothered by your quip. 

“Is this one of yours?” He asks shamelessly, nodding to the painting hung in its ornate frame.

You startle, blinking in surprise and casting another glance around your surroundings in an utter panic. No one had taken any notice of him thankfully, with the art admirers still milling about at their leisure and passing by without any acknowledgement of either of you, yet your heart can’t seem to calm down from its heavy drum. 

There’s a smirk tugging at his lips when your eyes quickly land back on him, seemingly pleased with or expecting your reaction, and your jaw tightens in response.

The irritation turns to anger. Anger at him, anger at yourself for letting him work his stupid little mind games and getting to you. This is what he does, Marcus had said. You can’t let him get to you like he did before. You won’t. 

“Keep your voice down,” you grind out, rolling your attention back to the painting and ignoring the way he purposefully looks around in vague interest. 

“Why? No one’s here. At least not for you.”

“So then what are you doing here?”

“Chasing my own leads,” he hums thoughtfully, “I haven’t crossed out all of my suspects yet.”

“And your supposed ‘leads’ have bought you here?”

He openly eyes you, gaze critical and borderline taunting. It’s almost enough to make you feel like a complete fucking idiot for not knowing what he’s talking about, or what thoughts are rolling through his head. His 'lead'... he's referring to you.

You sigh impatiently, already sick of him. “What are you saying exactly, Jane?”

He shrugs loosely. “Just that it wouldn’t be the first time a scorned lover created some elaborate scheme to g—”

“I’m sorry—what?” You cut in before you can help it, a frown of confusion pinching your brows as your mind rushes to catch up with his meaning. “‘Scorned lover’? What the hell makes you think I’m some kind of—”

“With everything that happened between you and Agent Pike, you must’ve been angry when you found out he was an undercover agent. How many years did you get in the end? Two? Three? Whatever the time frame, I would imagine it was enough to warrant some kind of revenge scheme.”

A chill creeps along your shoulders at having it thrown at you so blatantly. He knows everything, and is definitely not shy or careful when it comes to addressing it with you. You want to shrink in on yourself, hide away from his obvious scrutinisation of every emotion crossing your face, but you can’t seem to move. Something about fight or flight rings through your mind, and that often forgotten third word—

Freeze.

A man steps up beside him to admire the art. Tall, broad, dressed in jeans and a casual tee, but obviously not a stranger to the consultant when he cuts in with a low, “Jane, that’s enough.”

You don’t recognise him from Marcus’s team, so he must be one of Teresa’s. Was he the agent meant to shadow you? Nothing in your body responds to the internal alarms practically screaming leave.  No, you’re simply frozen where you stand on that glossy hardwood flooring, heart beating in your throat and skin prickling with the overwhelming wash of anxiety.

“I don’t—”

“It’s alright, we already know everything about you,” Jane continues nonchalantly, “don’t we Rigsby?”

The man beside him practically squirms. 

“I don’t know what you think I’m doing, but I have nothing to do with this, other than what Marcus has asked me to do. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it if you just ask, instead of following me around and accusing me of whatever evil mastermind ploy you think I’m up to.”

Jane openly grins, turning his gaze back to the painting. “No, he won’t.”

“No actually, he probably wouldn’t. Maybe if you weren’t such a dick, and maybe if you just left me alone like he asked, he’d be a little more open with you and his plans.”

“That explains it,” he hums lightly, seemingly to himself but loud enough for you to hear.

The constant verbal and mental back and forth, as well as trying to keep up with whatever crap spills from his mouth next, is enough to give you whiplash and birth an uncomfortable ache along your temples. It’s no wonder Marcus can’t stand him. The urge to guard your expression, and hide any potential clues to your thoughts was beginning to feel exhausting. 

“Explains what?”

“His feelings for you.”

A distinct, uncomfortable silence follows his words. They hit somewhere in your chest. You don’t know where, but you certainly feel the force of it push some air from your lungs.

Feelings? There were no feelings. The man who seemingly had feelings for you didn’t exist, and so those apparent feelings didn’t exist right alongside. It was nothing. It meant nothing. Marcus merely had a job, and that’s all you had been to him—work.

Your stunned gaze meets Rigsby’s, and there’s a slight shine of apology in them, though you’re unsure if it’s because of Jane’s words or simply just for Jane in general.

A lump builds in your throat, even after all this time, and you try to swallow it down, try to dislodge it from where it sits at the back of your tongue threatening to choke you fully.

How? How can it still hurt? 

You’d come so far forward, only to have the consultant knock you right back. Confusion overwhelms you—dread, denial. An ache builds around your heart, agonising and familiar and you loathe it. His words… it’s all bullshit, obviously. It must be some sort of sick test or twisted mind game to push you into confessing for something you’re not doing.

Rigsby shuffles, eyes falling away from yours and towards the floor as he shifts in obvious unease. You shake your head, forcing to keep your expression close to something unbothered as you face Jane again.

It’s hard.

You feel it crack—a twitch of a frown, the firm press of your lips to hide their tremble… you hate that he sees it all so clearly. 

“Marcus doesn’t feel anything towards me, except for maybe guilt. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong, Jane. Wrong. It wasn’t real. None of it was real, especially any feelings he had for me.”

He studies you quietly, no doubt taking note of how you draw away and struggle to compose yourself. He eventually nods, saying nothing more, even when you turn away with watery eyes. You’re vaguely aware of Rigsby speaking lowly to the side, but you don’t bother to pay him any mind. 

“And yes, Jane. This is one of mine, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

It falls from your lips sharply, mockingly. You turn and leave them both standing in front of the replica you’d completed for the FBI, their eyes on your back as you attempt to stride out of the spacious room with your last shred of dignity.

-

[bvidzsoo]

Love Me Like A Rockstar (8)

ー☆ Chapter 8: Own My Mind

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

ー☆ Warning: cursing ー☆ Word count: 8.3k ー☆ Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au ー☆ Rating: sfw ー☆ Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Hello, lovelies! I'm back with a new chapter and let me tell you, ever since I've started writing this there's been little changes to the plot here and there, but...we should all thank Song Mingi for the way he's been acting this weekend for bringing a major change to it (i wanna kms ha-ha *dies in pain*) Anyways, I have a love-hate relationship with that man right now, don't mind my dramatic ass. Please listen to Maneskin's Own My Mind before or while reading this chapter, just the usual! If you want to be added to this story's taglist, just leave a comment on this post and you'll be added! Also, the drawing our girlie is talking about that is on her bed (later in this chp.), is absolutely waterbomb Mingi and it's a call-back to chp. 4 hehet. I have a surprise at the end of this chapter lol. One last question and then I'm going, should I do a Q&A surrounding this story? Like, if you have any curiosities about it, you can send in an ask and I'll gladly answer it! ^^ I hope you'll enjoy this part and, as always, let me know your thoughts about it!

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @juicy-red @sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng @deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01 @xhexy @sharksandminhos

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

            I shivered as I hurriedly shrugged off my jacket, backpack discarded the second I stepped inside my warm home, the loud thunder cut short as Mingi quickly closed the front door behind himself, hissing and groaning. I turned my head to watch him struggle out of his worn-out jacket as I stepped out of my shoes, hardly believing that from just a few minutes out in the rain, even my socks got soaked. Mingi’s head shook as his body trembled, and I couldn’t help but chuckle as I watched him. He looked quite hilarious with his black hair sticking to his forehead, glasses so wet he couldn’t see through them anymore, loose clothing now sticking to his lean body like a second skin.

“What’s so funny?” Mingi playfully furrowed his eyebrows as he took his specks off, shaking the water off the glass, as wiping it against his already wet clothes wouldn’t have helped him in ridding his glasses of water.

“You.” I mumbled with a chuckle as I peeled my cardigan off, skin covered in goosebumps as my damp skin was exposed to the chilly air in the hallway. Mingi rolled his eyes, and placed his glasses back on as I took off towards the wardrobe by the stairs, chewing on my bottom lip. Mingi would have to change out of his wet clothes, unless we wanted him to catch a cold. I couldn’t leave him standing there like that, shivering and sniffing as he already sneezed loudly. His apology was sheepish, but I just flashed him a small smile before opening the heavy door of the wardrobe. There were minimal chances that the box I was looking for was still inside the wardrobe, considering the fact that my mother would go on a cleaning frenzy every month and throw out almost everything inside the house that she deemed unusable anymore. Therefore, there were almost one to zero chances that the box I so vividly remember having placed here ages ago, was still in its spot.

“Uh, do you think I could use the bathroom real fast?” Mingi asked, voice sounding unsure as I kneeled down in front of the wardrobe, eyebrows furrowing when I didn’t spot the box right away.

“One second, let me find something.” I called out, leaning forward as I pushed my mother’s long coats hanging in my face out of the way, and disappeared further into the wardrobe as I pushed and pulled at the thick blankets she kept in there. I thought about giving up for a second, about her having thrown out the contents of the box I was searching for, but I gasped when I felt the sturdy cartoon underneath my fingertips. With a triumphant smile, I pulled on it, a few scarfs and my very old Hello Kitty beanie falling out in the process. The box felt heavier than I remembered it to be, and my heart settled knowing that my mother didn’t throw it out. But that didn’t mean it didn’t start beating wildly once I sat back on my heels, box placed in front of me. A chill ran down my spine, and I knew right now that it wasn’t because of the chilly air and my damp skin. Whatever still remained inside this box…is what I never had the strength to throw out, to fully get rid of every memory lingering of Yunho. I gulped, chewing on my bottom lip as I hesitated opening it up. But there was another loud sneeze, and as I briefly glanced at Mingi, I couldn’t help but notice the light red tinge on his cheeks as he typed away on his phone, completely soaked. I really had no other choice but to open up the box of pandora.

And a lump formed in my throat when I finally opened it, a stale scent hitting my nose. My eyebrows furrowed when a golden butterfly necklace sat on top of everything, a harsh reminder of all the gifts Yunho would buy for me during our relationship. I have thrown out all the gifts, except this one. It was expensive, and frankly, too beautiful to be thrown out or gifted to anyone else. Gulping, I pushed the necklace aside and sighed as I dug around the box, jaw clenching at the three sketchbooks getting in my way. They were filled with drawings of Yunho and myself, of all the places we’ve been to, of all the places I have wished to visit with Yunho. Of all the memories we have once made, and of all the memories I wished we could’ve made. Being an artist was amazing, but at certain times it was a nightmare in disguise, brain able to conjure such vivid images that never happened, that it could fool me into thinking that they have actually happened. I sighed quietly as I felt eyes on me, and finally found what I was searching for. A fuzzy and faded knitted sweater, a plethora of colors mixed together, from beige to a light purple, black and silver in the mix too. I pulled it out of the box, together with the grey sweatpants, and cleared my throat as I stood, hands burning the longer I held the clothing in my hands. I felt guilty, almost disgusting as I neared Mingi again, trying to avoid his eyes as he had an easy look on his face, smiling despite continuously sniffing.

“These are the only male clothing we have in the house,” I said as I reached my hands out, looking at Mingi’s chest rather than eyes, “hopefully they’ll fit you.”

“And if they won’t, you can always give me one of your colorful fuzzy cardigans.” Mingi’s tone was playful and I chuckled, giving him a playful glare. Those cardigans would never fit his broad shoulders. The tightness was gone from my chest as Mingi took the clothes from my grasp, a thankful look on his face. The guilt remained, but it wasn’t so pressing anymore.

“You can change in the bathroom downstairs,” I pointed towards the closed door across from the wardrobe, “towels are in the cabinet above the toilet. Do you need a hairdryer?”

Mingi shook his head with a smile and gave my soaked hair a light tap, “Thank you, Y/N.”

The way he seemed to linger on my name sent my heart into a dumb frenzy, and I found myself flustered beyond, emotion so foreign I forgot how to speak for a second. And Mingi didn’t miss it, fuck, because he walked away with a smug smile towards the bathroom and paused in the doorway for dramatic effect, before disappearing with a damn wink. I huffed, glaring daggers at the closed door as I scurried to shove everything fallen out back inside the wardrobe, closing its door rather harshly. I licked my chapped lips and raced up the stairs, throwing the door to my room open and taking a second to take in its state. My desk was messy, but that’s just how it always was, I couldn’t do much about it right now. I opened the blackout curtains, however, the weather already gloomy enough to cast shadows inside my dark room. I flinched as another thunder rumbled through the sky, and grabbed the first clothes I found in my closet, walking to the bathroom upstairs.

After having changed into wide legged leggings that had cotton on the inside, I quickly threw on a white tank top and a soft pink mock neck sweater, sighing in content as warmth finally enveloped my body after I have dried up the dampness on it with a towel. I skipped down the stairs as I had a towel around my head, messily towel drying my hair, completely missing the tall form standing at the foot of the stairs as I stumbled into him. I yelped, but Mingi quickly steadied me by the elbows. Before I had the chance to pull the towel off my head, two large hands grabbed at it and started softly rubbing the towel against my wet hair. I froze, everything inside me stopping as even my breath stilled, eyes wide open. Mingi said nothing as he continued with his actions, quietly humming to himself. I was afraid he’d be able to hear my loud heartbeat as I breathed through my mouth, lips parting as I struggled to calm down. I was thankful for the towel hiding my face, because I could feel the blush spreading down from my cheeks to my ears, and even neck. I couldn’t remember a time when I have blushed this hard, and it made me feel slightly disoriented. For God’s sake, Mingi was simply towel drying my hair for me, why was I having such a visceral reaction to it?! My mind seemed to be screaming at me, but I was too busy trying to regulate my breathing, doing so quietly, as Mingi’s hands became a little rougher, almost pulling on specific strands of hair. My eyes narrowed as he turned my head left to right to his likes, and I groaned as his fingers dug into my scalp.

“Hey, stop it!” I whined and slapped at his hand, making Mingi chuckle as he ruffled my hair to the point I had strands from the back falling into my eyes.

“Oh, good,” He was still chuckling, “for a second there I thought you had fallen asleep with how quiet you were.”

Despite not being able to see his face, or anything if I looked ahead, I could still peek down and see his feet. I was standing on the last step of the stairs, and with an evil grin, I jumped down, his naked toes falling victims to my attack. Mingi yelped loudly, and I cackled as I pulled the towel off my face, smiling at him smugly.

“Serves you right since my hair is all knotted up thanks to you.” I raised my eyebrows at him as Mingi had his right leg raised, massaging his toes with a pained expression.

“So you break my toes?!” He exclaimed, his deep tone a few octaves higher, making me snicker to myself as I threw the towel at him, making him yelp and look at me with an appalled expression on his face.

“Stop being a baby,” I stuck my tongue out at him as I walked towards the front door to lock it before I went inside the kitchen, “And wear some slippers before you come to the kitchen.”

Mingi was closely following behind me, ignoring my words, “What, one of your dwarf slippers? It’s either my toes or heels will be dangling off.”

The image was funny in my head, but I ignored it in order to throw him a scrutinizing look, “The tiles are cold in here, you’ll catch a cold.”

A wide smile spread on Mingi’s lips as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest, biceps bulging underneath the tight fabric of the sweater, “You’re so cute when you worry about me, doll.”

There goes the pleasant exchange we’ve been having up until now. My voice became devoid of any expression besides the glare I threw at him, mirroring him as I crossed my arms in front of my chest, “I’m not cute. I’m merely saying you’ll probably catch a cold since we’ve been out in the rain not even fifteen minutes ago. And since you’re a singer you should be taking a lot more care of yourself.”

Mingi remained silent for a few seconds, until I watched a light hue tinge his cheeks. Was he blushing because I was lecturing him? Just what in the hell?!

“You’re right, sorry.” Mingi mumbled, but showed no intentions of actually following through with my words as he walked further inside the room, sitting at the table, feet up on the chair as he hugged his long legs to his chest. For such a tall and broad man, he looked extremely tiny sitting on that chair right now.

“Uh,” A little confused by the turn of events, I looked around the kitchen, trying to remember the initial purpose of me coming here, “Right. You don’t like tea, so we have coffee or hot chocolate to warm us up, which one would you like?”

Mingi’s eyes lingered on me for a second too long, taking in my whole being before his eyes settled on my face again, a smile so genuine settling on his lips that his eyes were sparkling, “Hot chocolate is fine.”

I hummed, a little breathless, then turned to open the cabinet above the microwave to take out two tall mugs for the hot chocolate. For some reason, I didn’t mind Mingi’s eyes following my every move as I tinkered around in my kitchen, taking everything I needed in my hands to prepare them on the counter. The thought of having Mingi inside my home, sitting in my kitchen, wearing my ex’s clothes, acting like we’ve been friends since forever seemed to hit me at once as I froze for a second while pouring water inside the second mug, Mingi’s mug. And what was even more surprising was not finding any thoughts that suggested that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this, that Mingi didn’t belong inside my kitchen. I didn’t want to dwell more on why it all felt so right, so instead, I watched as the mugs whirled around in the microwave, locking these thoughts away for later…I knew they’d come back late at night to haunt me, it’s just how it always was.

Mingi clearing his throat gained my attention as I glanced back at him, and tried not to look too long. The way Yunho’s clothes perfectly fit Mingi’s form was alarming, albeit the sweatpants seemed to be slightly too long for Mingi. I’ve had Yunho’s clothes since highschool, which was a few good years ago, yet they still fit Mingi. It made me wonder if the two ever exchanged clothes or wore something matching, like best friends would do for fun. I know Yunho had once mentioned having matching rings with Mingi, but back then I was too jealous about their closeness to ask any further questions about any other matching items they had. And it was a little surprising just how well Mingi’s skin tone was complimented by the colors of Yunho’s old sweater, Mingi’s necklaces sitting on top of the knitted fabric. That sweater was one of my favorite’s while Yunho and I were dating, Yunho always seemed to be glowing when he wore it. At some point I had even forgotten that I still had it. Perhaps I should do something about the contents of that box, join my mother next month in her frenzy cleaning marathon and throw out its contents.

The microwave pinged and I took the two mugs out, realizing that Mingi and I had been staring at each other for at least a good minute, my cheeks flushed again. A soft chuckle was heard behind me, but I ignored it for my own sake. The silence didn’t last for longer as I opened the little packages containing the hot chocolate powder to pour into our cups, “This might sound crazy, but I swear I’ve seen this exact sweater on Yunho quite a few times.”

I froze, thankful that I had my back to Mingi as panic flashed over my face. Deep breaths, I had this. Mingi didn’t have to know, I could lie my way out of this. And so, I forced a small smile on my face as I faced him while walking to the fridge, “Really? Well, coincidence, maybe. It’s my cousin’s sweater, he forgot it here once, but as he lives overseas he never came to get it and my mother just placed it away for when he comes to visit us.”

I didn’t have one single male cousin. Let alone cousin’s that lived overseas.

“Oh,” Mingi mumbled as he picked at an undone string on the sleeve of Yunho’s sweater, “Yeah, that could be it, a coincidence, I mean. Besides, my memory is a little fuzzy, I might be wrong.”

I gulped away the guilt that suddenly bloomed in my chest and grabbed the whipped cream, raising it up, “Whipped cream for your hot chocolate?”

I grinned at Mingi as he slowly shook his head, “I drink it simple.”

“Really?” I asked surprised as I walked back to the mugs, “Not even with marshmallows?”

Mingi shook his head with a small smile and so I mixed his powder with the warm water, handing it to him. Mingi had a fond smile on his lips when he took it, his cold fingers lightly brushing against mine, making me blush like a stupid schoolgirl who has a crush. And I do not have a crush on anyone, let alone on Song Mingi. I swiftly turned around, hoping that Mingi didn’t notice me blushing as I quickly put whipped cream in my hot chocolate and stuck two marshmallows in it, putting everything away quickly. I turned to face him as I took a sip, leaning against the counter. Mingi sat in a cross-legged position on the chair as he had the mug in his hands, ring clad fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic. I couldn’t help myself as my eyes lingered on his painted nails, slowly trailing up to Mingi’s face. His black fluffy hair fell in his eyes, obscuring his sharp eyes slightly as they were devoid of the black eyeliner now, a few blemishes tainting his otherwise glowing skin around his jaw, glasses slipping low on his tall nose, and plump lips red and slightly wet from how much Mingi always licks his lips. The simplicity of his whole being has never looked more attractive than right now, and as Mingi opened his mouth to say something, I was startled by such alarming thoughts, and so I hurried out of the kitchen.

“Let’s go up to my room!” I called out, on the brink of crying from all these stupid emotions I was suddenly feeling, trying to calm my crazily beating heart. Who allowed my brain to think in such way of Song Mingi? When did I even start considering him attractive? He was annoying, obnoxiously loud, arrogant and irritating, there was absolutely nothing to like about him or find in him attractive. I had to get a grip of myself right now! Mingi’s footsteps were dull as he followed after me, probably surprised that I had waited for him at the top of the stairs, unknowing of the storm inside my head, matching the raging storm outside. Lightning flashed every two seconds, skies rumbling with thunder, shaking even the ground at times. I hated storms, but suddenly it wasn’t as unbearable as before. When Mingi stood next to me, I lead us towards my room and pushed the door open, leaving it like that as Mingi walked in once I stepped aside for him, allowing him inside my safe space.

I have never been consciously proud or embarrassed of what my room looked like, the thought of what others thought of it absent up until right now. As Mingi walked further inside, head turning each and every way, taking everything in, suddenly I realized I was scared of what he would think. My walls were painted a light grey, on purpose, and there was little to no space left bare except for the wall on which the window was. My bed was pushed up against the wall to your left just as you walked inside, sketches that I have done throughout the years plastered up and put on display, my very first drawing even making it up on my wall. It was my little personal museum, a way of reminding myself of where I started out and how much I have evolved ever since, and even how much I was still changing as I was experimenting with my styles, learning a new technique in the class of Mr. Yoon. The desk across from my bed was messy, like I have said, it was littered with everything I needed to have at hand. Pencil holders filled to the brim, at least five of them, then there were brushes and little paint tubes littered all over it, notebooks and discarded sketches sitting underneath it, with my laptop hanging just a little dangerously off, not having paid much attention where I have put it this morning. A plain canvas was spread out on the little free space I still had, a project I had planned on starting today, now postponed for tomorrow. The wall above my desk had three modest shelves filled to the brim with books and some vinyl’s I have started collecting not long ago, pots and plants hanging off from the sides. The wall around the shelves was decorated by posters and pictures of my favorite bands, a few of my favorite paintings mixing in with them. The little stand next to my desk had my vinyl player, plants underneath it and around it, little ones. And then in the corner there was an old guitar that once had belonged to my mother, who has had a phase back in highschool and dreams of becoming a band member, famous and rich. She didn’t have the heart to gift the guitar to anyone, so she’s always kept it and passed it on to me once I was old enough. I never had an affinity for playing any instruments, but I do enjoy good music. A mix of old and new artists making it in that mix, actually—perhaps Noir Zenith slowly becoming one of them too, but Mingi didn’t have to know that. My closet was to the right just as you walked in, and it was of dark and sturdy wood, expanding from the ceiling to the floor. I had a little mirror right on its right side, the wall above and behind it, going right behind the door even, littered with my favorite painter’s paintings. Of course, they were only prints made at the local copy shop, but that didn’t matter. Fairy lights hung above my bed and from the lamp on the ceiling. The two nightstands on either side of my bed were more organized than one would expect from me, little makeup buckets placed on the one closest to the window, charger cable and some headphones sitting on the dark wood. The one nearest to the door had pictures of myself and my mom, and of Seulgi and I on display with a little clock, its drawer so filled with notebooks that I couldn’t quite close it. Thankfully the drawers of my desk weren’t so filled, I had just rearranged them last week, one evening when I was too restless to sleep.

Mingi was quiet as his mouth was slightly open, eyes wide as he took everything in, eyes falling onto my bed. I followed his sight and was mortified to find my biggest sketchbook open and displaying a quite realistic sketch of Mingi performing on stage. It was from the night I had a breakdown and Mingi found me in that diner. Seulgi had sent me some pictures she had taken of Wooyoung and accidentally slipped in one with Mingi too, and because the image just wouldn’t leave my mind, I knew I had no choice but to draw it. I dived for the sketchbook as if my life depended on it, all of it happening so fast I hoped Mingi didn’t actually catch what the drawing—or better said, who—the drawing was of. I shut it closed and pushed it off the bed, the light thud loud in the silent room. When I turned to look at Mingi, ready to face his smug face and taunting words, I was surprised to find his attention on something completely different. Of course, I should’ve expected from a man who plays in a band to be enamored by the vintage guitar in my possession. Its body was a light blue and had cherry blossoms painted over it, something my mother admitted to doing so, which lead to an argument with her father back in the days when he had seen the “damage” my mother had done to the pricey guitar.

“Is that a Martin D-19?” Mingi gushed as he walked toward the guitar, mouth hanging open. My eyebrows raised at his knowledge about it upon one glance. To me, it looked like a regular acoustic guitar. But then again, I should’ve expected it from a music major and a guy who has a literal band and plays the bass.

“Yeah, it was my mother’s.” I answered as I set my mug on the nightstand and sat at the edge of my bed, watching the awed expression on Mingi’s face. He had placed his mug by the foot of my desk as he crouched down, admiring the guitar from up-close.

“It’s absolutely beautiful.” Mingi whispered, fingers carefully tracing its body. Not even at gun point would I have admitted my next thought, which was of just how beautiful Mingi looked in this exact moment. Lightning flashed and the ground shook with the intense thunder, making Mingi tense for a second before he turned back to face me with the prettiest smile I have ever seen on someone.

“Your mother knows how to play it?” He asked, sounding enthusiastic. I was breathless, but after a big gulp, I forced my brain to function.

“Yeah,” I answered with a small smile, “she was a big rock lover back in the days, even wanted to start her own band. But due to her parents negative reactions to it, she unfortunately had to give up on that dream and do something more ‘real’.”

I rolled my eyes at the end of my sentence, not very fond of my grandparents. They weren’t bad people, but they also treated my mother harshly, and even myself, always asking about my future plans and straight up crying when I told them I wanted to become a painter. I saw the way Mingi’s face hardened for a second, but I knew he didn’t want to talk about it as he became expressionless quickly after. I was curious what made his mood become sour so quickly, if he perhaps related to what I have said in some way, but I wouldn’t prod. If he wants to tell me, he will sometime. So, instead, as a distraction, I scooched up further on my bed and patted the mattress next to me with a lazy smile, watching Mingi’s eyes slightly widen. He looked a little shy as he grabbed his mug and rose up to his full height, steps almost hesitant as he approached the bed, making me snort. It made Mingi narrow his eyes as I crossed my legs underneath myself as he kneeled on the bed and then settled beside me, long legs extended as he playfully wiggled his feet left and right. I chuckled as I clasped my hands together, letting them rest in my lap as Mingi took a sip of his hot chocolate. The silence was comfortable between us, the harsh rain hitting the windows loudly, wind rocking trees harshly, and the lightning and rumble a constant background noise.

“Last time when we performed at Outlaw, when you didn’t come,” Mingi paused and turned his head to look at me, “you know, when we met at the diner—”

“Let’s not talk about that.” I muttered with a grimace and Mingi hummed, licking his lips.

“Right, so, that night,” His voice was quiet, lips pulling into an abashed smile, “the crowd was bigger than usual, at first I blamed it on being a rowdier night, but it turned out those people were there to see us, Noir Zenith, to see me.”

I felt a small smile appear on my own lips, Mingi looking pleased with himself despite the light pink tinge of his cheeks, “And now Hongjoong might help us sign with a record deal, I feel like everything is finally coming together. Like my hard work is finally being rewarded.”

I bit my lower lip to stop myself from smiling too wide, subconsciously reaching out to hold Mingi’s arm as he looked me in the eyes, “That’s so good, Mingi! You deserve all the praise and attention your band gets, you’re really good.”

“You really think so?” Mingi sounded small, eyes wide in wonder as he flushed more. I knew I have said some things that weren’t the nicest, and now it made me realize that Mingi never deserved hearing those things from me. Yeah, I didn’t like the guy much at the beginning—not that now I like him more—but I still shouldn’t have shit on his music, on something he pours his whole soul and heart into.

“I really do, Mingi.” I slightly squeezed his arm, hoping that he could hear the sincerity in my voice as a wide and bright smile spread onto Mingi’s plush lips, so contagious that I found myself with a matching smile on my own lips. I chuckled, for some reason not wanting to release his arm just yet, the knitted sweater soft and warm under my touch.

“Lovely seeing you slowly turn into my number one fan, doll.” Of course, trust Mingi to ruin the moment. My eyes narrowed as I sighed loudly, slowly shaking my head. Mingi chuckled before taking a large gulp of his not so hot anymore chocolate, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Now, don’t get cocky.” I rolled my eyes, pulling my hand off his arm, watching as his eyes lingered where I have touched him, “I can recognize good work without becoming your fan.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Mingi mused playfully and I scoffed, bumping my shoulder into his before I went to retrieve my laptop from my desk, “Seonghwa and Wooyoung want us to try out new genres.”

“Really?” I asked surprised as I settled back in my previous spot, knee brushing against Mingi’s thigh, “Like what?”

“Well, nothing specific, just something little softer.” Mingi pursed his lips, fiddling with the mug in his hands, “Maybe something more indie rock.”

“I love indie rock,” I muttered absentmindedly as I powered on my laptop, “and why are you reluctant?”

Mingi seemed surprised that I had caught on, but it was quite obvious in his tone that he didn’t sound very enthusiastic about it, “Because my voice is rough and raw, unlike Seonghwa’s who’s smooth and almost angelic, and Wooyoung’s who’s can reach pitches I can only dream of and has a roughness that is absolutely soft at the same time, alluring.”

“Your voice is deep and powerful, it conveys every single emotion you’re feeling when you sing, Mingi. Your raspy tone alone tells a story, even without speaking the same language I would understand what you’re singing about. But just because it’s rougher and more powerful compared to Seonghwa and Wooyoung’s doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful and enchanting, Mingi.” Occupied with typing in the password to my laptop, I failed to notice the way Mingi’s breaths became shallow, the way his eyes bore into the side of my skull, “I think your voice is unique and desirable, you should be proud of it and not look down on yourself because of it. Many wish to have what you have, so really, don’t think any less of yourself because you think Seonghwa and Wooyoung are somehow better and more alluring. It’s not true, each one of you has their charm and well…I think you’re the most charming out of the three of you.”

I didn’t expect the expression on Mingi’s face when I turned my head to look at him. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were glazed over as his sharp eyes watched me intently, his breaths loud as his cheeks were red. My eyebrows furrowed, and for a second I worried I have made him angry, but the longer I looked, I realized the look in his eyes had nothing to do with anger. I gulped and averted my eyes, suddenly feeling my heart race again, biting my lower lip and trying to ignore the overbearing proximity between us. It was only our knee and thigh touching, yet it felt like Mingi was all over me, his scent still strong despite having changed out of his clothes and getting soaked by the rain. He always had a sharp scent surround him; it reminded me of pine trees.

“Thank you.” At last, Mingi found his voice and it was lower than before, goosebumps covered my skin as the low baritone of it traveled through my body. I nodded once in acknowledgement, not trusting my voice as I went on the internet to search for some movies to watch and pass the time while we wait for the storm to pass. If it passes, “Do you think rapping would fit my tone?”

It was an unexpected question, but as I mulled over it, I concluded that Mingi had the perfect timbre to both sing and rap, “Yeah, I think it would.”

I dared to take a peek at Mingi from the corner of my eyes, and was relieved to find the intensity gone from his face, instead, a soft smile grazed his lips as he finished his hot chocolate. He leaned back and placed his empty mug next to mine on the nightstand and fished his phone out of his pocket, “I found some old videos of me at school plays, let’s see what my music genius bestie thinks of them.”

I rolled my eyes, but nevertheless peered over Mingi’s shoulder in curiosity, “Don’t make fun of me, I’m merely stating something that someone with not musically trained ears hear. You should be more thankful.”

“I’m more than thankful, Y/N.” Mingi suddenly turned his head, our faces too close for comfort, so I quickly leaned back as he placed his arm on my thigh and pressed play on a video he pulled up from his gallery.

『Do you wanna, do you wanna own my mind, own my mind?

Do you wanna, do you wanna own my mind, own my mind?

Do you wanna know what the good, good, bad things all feel like?

Do you wanna, do you wanna own my mind, own my mind?』

            The movie of my choice was simple, The Quiet Ones. Nothing better than something a little spooky while there’s a wild storm raging outside, but to my utter surprise, Mingi looked terrified after only ten minutes of watching it. We were both leaning against the headboard of my bed, pillows behind our backs, and laptop placed between our lower bodies as our legs were stretched out. And despite the laptop being between us, Mingi’s shoulder pressed against mine not even five minutes after settling in our current spots. Trying to watch the horror movie, which was one of my favorite movie’s, turned out to be a fail, and I had no choice but to give in to Mingi as he only stopped whining when he got what he wanted. And that was watching a rom-com from the nineties, called 10 Things I Hate About You. I’ve seen it numerous times already, but it never gets old. There is something about the way the actors play their parts, and the plot too, that have me coming back to it with the same enthusiasm I had for it when watching it for the first time. At first, I thought Mingi hadn’t seen it and had only went along with my suggestion because he didn’t know what else to watch, but when he started quoting Patrick’s lines as if he were the character himself, I narrowed my eyes at him and poked his arm. After some painful jabs, he admitted that it was his favorite movie and he regularly rewatched it, especially if he was in a bad mood. That was a piece of information I wasn’t expecting from someone like Mingi. He looked like a guy who enjoyed tough and brutal movies, with the occasional romance movies if a pretty girl begged him to watch it together. Turns out, Mingi’s favorite genre is romance, and he hates horror, and depends on the type of thriller whether he likes it or not.

We found ourselves joking and laughing throughout the movie, making our own commentary about it after our first disagreement. Which was about whether Patrick accepting the money to charm Kat was right or wrong. Of course, it was very wrong to play with someone’s feelings and get paid for it too, but Mingi argued that if he never accepted it, then him and Kat would’ve never gotten together. And for that, I threw in the hypothetical scenario of him accepting money from Wooyoung so that he could take me out on a date and make me fall in love with him if that meant Wooyoung could have Seulgi date him. Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed and he declined such scenario, exactly proving my point why this was so wrong then, but he remained believing that for Kat and Patrick it totally worked out. And then he had the audacity to compare my stubbornness to Kat’s, making me call him just as stupid as Patrick was.

Time flew by as our laughter got louder, completely missing the way the rain had started to quiet down as we were immersed in the movie we were watching. It felt like a bubble was wrapped around us, isolating us from the cold world, and letting us enjoy ourselves without being so cautious of what we were saying. It felt nice. I couldn’t remember a time when I was able to let loose with someone other than Seulgi. It was a nice feeling, it made me excited in some way, completely making me forget that I was doing this with Mingi. He made it too easy to forget my worries and made me feel really comfortable all of a sudden, never stepping out of line—if we ignore his stupid flirting—and always keeping everything lighthearted. It was a nice change for once.

I groaned as I let my head fall back, lips pursed as my ass had gone numb from sitting so much in one place. Mingi snickered as Kat reversed into Joey’s car, clearly amused by the snarky remarks exchanged between the two characters. He was clearly into the witty exchanges, especially between Patrick and Kat, even having said that it makes Kat attractive how quickly and well she can shut Patrick down. I had told him that she wouldn’t have to do that if Patrick wasn’t so stupid most of the time, making Mingi roll his eyes at me, and say that I simply didn’t appreciate some good banter. Which wasn’t even true, I liked bantering if it had a smart purpose, not just to rile each other up, what was the point of that?

I licked my lips as my head lulled to the right, eyes falling on Mingi’s profile as he had his legs up, leaning forward as he hugged them around his knees with one arm. He was smiling and chuckling, pretty red lips pulled to the side, showing off his white teeth. His brows were dark, and his browbone being more prominent really sharpened his face in a very aesthetically pleasing way. Mingi’s face was very beautiful, and as an artist, I couldn’t help but admire it, and recognize it. So many pretty portraits of his face could be made, pity he doesn’t model. My lips pulled into a tiny smile at the thought of him modelling for me when we had to sketch human forms for our next class. I’m sure my professor would appreciate my drawings even more. Mingi’s glasses were discarded, and my eyes paused on his long nose, biting my lower lip just as Mingi chuckled again, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. He sniffed before rubbing two fingers against his plump lips, wetting them not even a second later. I gulped as I suddenly wondered what they would taste like. It was such a startling thought that I jumped, but Mingi suddenly looking at me certainly scared me more. I gulped, instantly blushing as a friendly smile painted Mingi’s lips as he leaned back, placing his head on the pillow, and letting it roll to the left. Our gazes connected, and I wasn’t surprised to find my heart beating so quickly once again, my lips pulling into a straight line as I struggled to keep my breathing even. Mingi’s easy smile didn’t disappear as his eyes racked over my face, it only became wider.

There was a whole galaxy behind those beautiful deep brown eyes of his, they sparkled with life and an excitement I haven’t seen in anyone before. I wished that I could recreate that in my drawings, but I wasn’t good enough to give simple eyes such deep emotions yet. And I really wished I was able to do so, because the longer I stared into Mingi’s eyes, the more lost I got in them, thoughts and worries disappearing into nothingness. Mingi’s hand twitched for a second and I tensed when I felt a finger gently poking my cold hand. I gulped, but I wasn’t able to look away as ever so softly more fingers brushed against my skin like feather, Mingi’s bottom lip between his teeth. His actions were slow and cautious, probably afraid that I would pull away, but I was too captured by his alluring gaze to even think to move away from him. Slowly, his longer fingers intertwined with mine and his rings cut into my skin when I squeezed his hand, uncaring that it hurt a bit. I knew my cheeks were now surely very red, but I couldn’t actually be bothered to feel embarrassed, not when Mingi’s cheeks were dusted pink as well. His high cheekbones were flushed the pretties color they could have been, and I smiled as Mingi blinked, looking abashed. Somehow no words had to be exchanged between us, everything felt comfortable, scarily familiar. I haven’t felt like this…since my ex. And not even with him have I felt so safe and understood, it always seemed like there was some invisible barrier between us, and I never understood why. With Mingi, if I allowed myself to feel and be unafraid, no barrier lay between the two of us.

I gulped, eyes suddenly falling on Mingi’s lips as his tongue poked out just slightly to wet them, his plump lips red and full. I’ve never seen a person have such full lips, and it made me wonder if they were as soft as one would imagine them be. Aware that my eyes were glued to Mingi’s lips, I looked back up in his eyes, trying to ignore how insanely attractive his mole right underneath it made him look. There was something about Mingi’s bareface that was so charming and beautiful that it almost made me feel jealous of it. Mingi sniffed quietly, and his bottom lip was between his teeth again as his eyes fell to my lips, my rapid heartbeat halting for a second. Could he be having similar thoughts to mine? I wouldn’t know, but when Mingi’s eyes found mine again, they were just slightly more intense and sharper. Like he was determined and nothing could stop him. I gulped loudly as he moved his head, just lightly, but it was closer than before. My heart was beating like crazy, but almost as if I was under a spell, I found myself shifting my head just a little bit closer. Mingi’s eyes no longer were on mine, and as my lips parted when I licked them, I felt Mingi’s hand squeeze mine just a little bit more. I gulped as I proceeded to lean even closer, my eyes fixated on Mingi’s lips now too, just wondering and wondering infinitely if they were warm, soft, wet, and what they would taste like. I didn’t startle nor flinch when Mingi angled his body so that he could lean dangerously close, the bridge of his nose brushing against mine. His hot breath mingled with mine as our lips were parted, a pull so magnetic I couldn’t untangle myself from it even if I tried to. My eyes threatened to flutter closed as I pressed my nose against his, the side of our lips rubbing just a little together as I couldn’t breathe regularly anymore. Mingi’s lips pressed ever so slightly against the corner of mine, feather like, and it suddenly wasn’t enough. The distance, it was too big—even if it didn’t even exist between us anymore—and I squeezed his hand as I angled my head to finally press our lips together, Mingi’s breaths audible due to our proximity.

But suddenly, a door was slammed shut loudly, “Sweetheart, I made it home finally! I saw a car parked in front of our house, all’s good?!”

The curious and shrill voice of my mother sent Mingi and I flying away from each other, both of our eyes wide as I was panting, my whole body burning. I couldn’t look at Mingi as I scrambled to press pause on the movie and Mingi was off the bed in a flash, sprinting towards my window. I could still feel his hot puffs against my face, and I gulped as I forced myself to forget everything I felt just seconds ago.

“The rain stopped,” Mingi’s voice was hoarse, so gravely that I had to clench my fists to stop myself from doing something I would regret, “I will be going.”

“I’ll go downstairs, let my mom know you’re here.” My voice wasn’t better off, I sounded breathless. I felt lightheaded as I got off the bed, standing and pausing for a second.

“Right, I’ll change back into my clothes and then—”

“No,” I didn’t mean to sound desperate as Mingi’s eyes fell on me, I had to look away in embarrassment, “keep them, they are of no use to me.”

“Right.” Mingi cleared his throat and I quickly walked past him, thankful that he stepped aside, and hurried out of my room and down the stairs. I took a deep breath to compose myself as I heard my mother placing down plastic bags in the kitchen. I needed to behave like everything was fine, when nothing was fine anymore.

“Hi!” My greeting was high pitched and way too cheery, my mother’s eyes narrowed when she saw me standing in the doorway, “Glad you made it home, the storm was awful.”

“It really was.” My mom grimaced as she continued unpacking the groceries, “You got home alright?”

“Yeah, uhm, actually,” I gulped and bit my lower lip as I heard Mingi coming down the stairs, “a friend from university drove me home as it was already raining, and he, uhm, stayed over. Because the rain was so bad he wouldn’t have been able to drive home. You know, safety measures and all.”

My mother paused and looked up at me with both of her eyebrows raised, “He?”

And on cue, Mingi appeared next to me, glasses pushed up on his nose adequately for once and hair not as messy as before, “Hello, my name is Song Mingi.”

“Nice to meet you, dear.” My mother’s eyes were glinting, looking way too happy for someone who was just introducing themselves. I was afraid of what would come, so, I grabbed Mingi’s arm and guided him towards the coat hanger.

“Mingi’s leaving, mom.” I said as I let go of his arm, averting my eyes as he wore his shoes and pulled on his jacket.

“Already?” My mom asked with a pout, coming to stand in the doorway, “Don’t you want to stay for dinner, dear?”

Mingi froze, eyes first finding mine before he looked at my mother with a polite smile, “Don’t worry, Mrs—”

“Oh, don’t be all formal with me, I hate that shit.” My mother chuckled and winked at him, “Call me Boyoung.”

Mingi gulped, seemingly taken aback by my mother’s behavior. I couldn’t help but chuckle quietly, knowing how surprising the contrast between my mother’s personality and mine was. Sadly, I haven’t taken after her when it comes to my attitude, but that’s fine.

“Well, Boyoung, thank you for your offer, but my friends and I actually agreed on dining out tonight.” Mingi’s excuse sounded real, so I knew he wasn’t lying. I gulped when my mother threw me a very slick glare, almost saying that this was my fault. I rolled my eyes, offended by her assumption.

“That’s a pity, dear,” My mother pouted, but soon a bright smile appeared on her lips, “But you are invited for whenever you feel like having dinner with us, right, my starlight?”

I tried not to glare at my mother for the outrageous nickname, especially when I saw Mingi’s lips twitch in amusement. I told her not to call me that in front of others so many times, “Right, mom.”

My mother chuckled, all too aware of my dislike for the nickname, before her eyes landed on Mingi again. There was a brief pause, one too awkward for my liking, and then Mingi was clearing his throat and opening the front door.

“Uh,” He made eye contact with me briefly, “talk to you later.”

“Wait,” My mother’s eyebrows furrowed as Mingi stepped outside, trying to adjust the strap of his backpack, “Aren’t those Yun—”

“Talk to you later!” I loudly said, making sure to send my mother a very alarmed look as Mingi froze for a second before he hummed quietly and took off towards his car.

The air was chilly and humid due to the harsh rain, and as I closed the front door, I knew I had a lot of questions to answer when my eyes fell on my mother’s amused face.

❱❱ Next chapter

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lol, this is the surprise I mentioned...I saw this post and it would just not leave my mind, besides, I think it's very fitting for our plot, no?

[juustokaku]

Confidentiality - Chapter 7. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

T/W: This story will include talk about mental health struggles such as body dysmorphia, paranoid thoughts and more. Possessive and obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, violence. Dark themes are to be expected. A/N: I'm so scared to post this... Forgive me for the long wait! I was about to post this sooner, but my friend said this wasn't good, so I was devastated and swore to myself to delete my account (overreacting a little?) I'm definitely not confident in this chapter, and I have to apologize to the people who have been waiting for this; you deserve better. I've been having a tough time in my personal life these past weeks, and I'm not in the same state as I was in when I started posting. The chapters will be posted less often compared to the usual pace - for now at least. I am sorry. I hope at least someone will find this enjoyable. Word count: 4 859 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “Yeosang, we shouldn’t...” 

“It’s okay. Jongho won’t know,” Yeosang whispered to you with a reassuring look, trying to ignore the nervousness of what would happen if Jongho found out. 

“But he would get really angry.” 

“That’s only if you tell him. Please, let’s do this. Okay?” 

The mix of hesitation and guilt was evident on your face, as you pondered what to do. You had no reason to feel guilty; you hadn’t done anything wrong yet, but just considering of accepting Yeosang’s offer made you feel ill. 

“Fine... But just one,” you murmured. 

Yeosang smiled shyly, a gleam of triumph in his eyes, and scooted closer to you on the couch, that suddenly seemed too small for both of you. 

“Just one...” 

Then, Yeosang took two chocolate bars out of his brown bag, and gave the other one to you, wrapper rustling. It was your favorite one, which baffled you, because you couldn’t recall ever telling Yeosang that. 

“How angry do you think Jongho would be if he found out we’ve eaten before dinner? He said I should save my hunger for the food,” you spoke while munching on the bar. 

Yeosang chuckled sheepishly at your worry. It seemed like he hesitated for a bit, almost like scared to touch you, before setting his hand on your shoulder, “You’re a grown woman. He can’t tell you what to do.” 

His hand lingered longer than necessary. It sent tingles around your upper half; you weren’t used to affectionate touch, but after joining the peer support group you received it more than maybe necessary. 

“I think you should take another one,” Yeosang offered you more chocolate, working as the devil on your shoulder while looking like an angel, tempting you to give in to the pleasure of gluttony. 

You were too far gone. The first chocolate bar had woken up your hunger that shouldn’t be satiated until Jongho was there. 

“I guess one more wouldn’t do any bad.” 

After devouring nine more with Yeosang, to your horror, you didn’t find yourself hungry anymore. Your stomach was full, and to be honest, it even ached. It was expected, and you felt guilty to have betrayed Jongho. 

“I... think this was a mistake.” 

Yeosang looked away in shame and took his hand off your thigh he had placed it on, as the warmth left you too, “I-I’m sorry. I just wanted to buy you something nice.” 

He looked like a kicked puppy, staring at the floor. It would have been cruel of you to let him believe you didn’t appreciate his kindness. 

He had just wanted to make you happy, which he succeeded in, but you were afraid of Jongho’s reaction. Yeosang and him didn’t even know each other properly, having shared only a couple words. 

After a little hesitation, you patted Yeosang’s shoulder in reassurance, “It’s okay. I appreciate your gesture.” 

Yeosang and you had been hanging out a lot after last therapy session. You found yourself enjoying his company and even starting to trust him – maybe a bit too much to your liking. You let him in your apartment, of course under your surveillance, but still; it was a big step in starting to give people chances. 

But this was a day you were supposed to spend with Jongho. Still, Yeosang had come to your apartment, smiling sheepishly and convincing you to let him hang out with you and Jongho. How could you refuse him when he looked at you with those hopeful brown eyes? It would have been a crime not to let him in especially when he had brought you chocolate. 

Hopefully, Jongho wouldn’t mind that much that you had already stuffed yourself with candy before dinner. 

The doorbell rang, indicating Jongho was there, making your full stomach flutter with anxiety. 

Every step you took towards the door felt too fast, approaching the inevitable danger. You hoped the floor had a sinkhole under it and you’d fall into it, rather than you having to open the door. Jongho could be furious, but like usually, he would show it in other ways than pure aggression. 

And behind the door, there he was, standing drenched because he had walked in the sleet on his way to your apartment. 

“I brought the ingredients. We’re making soup” Jongho said, two heavy grocery bags in his hands, undoubtedly filled with other stuff as well than just the ingredients. 

“Oh, splendid. By the way, Yeosang’s here,” you revealed nervously. 

Jongho’s expression turned sour as Yeosang peeked behind you. Neither of the men smiled at each other, but you didn’t think of that as a big deal. Jongho wasn’t one to smile that much and Yeosang was shy; they’d get along just fine. At least you wished so, because if they started fighting, you wouldn’t be able to handle that. 

“Do you need a towel? You look quite wet.” 

Jongho seemed to contemplate your words for a second before answering, “Yeah, that would be nice.” 

“I’ll bring you a fresh towel.” 

“No need to. A used towel is just fine. I wouldn’t want to cause you more laundry.” 

You frowned but nodded slowly. All kinds of thoughts tangled in your mind, ranging from Jongho wanting to steal your towel to darker scenarios, like selling it on black market to old perverts or criminals who wanted to steal your DNA and make a clone of you. But you had to remember: you had a bad habit of overthinking. 

After he had dried himself off with the towel you brought, Jongho walked past Yeosang, shooting him a glare as he made his way to the kitchen. 

“Yeosang grates the vegetables,” Jongho informed with a tone that left no room for discussion. 

Poor Yeosang didn’t have the courage to refuse so he just walked to the kitchen as well, steps slow and sad. You had to catch the chuckle that was about to fall from your lips despite feeling bad for him. 

The three of you started cooking, the kitchen filling with delicious scent and sound of the water boiling and meat frying on the pan. There were no other sounds though, just awkward silence. You didn’t want to be the person who would have to start the conversation, but you were the only one who could do it. You had to be the savior, although you couldn’t afford to hope for Yeosang and Jongho to become friends.  

“Uh, this smells really good. I’m sure it will be yummy,” you started, sounding like you were pathetically awful at holding conversations. 

Jongho didn’t reply, focused on frying the meat. Luckily – and surprisingly – Yeosang had the social capacity to answer you. 

“It will be yummy because you were preparing it.” 

It was corny but kind of cute. Jongho didn’t seem to think so as he scoffed. 

“With that logic the food will taste like shit because Yeosang is preparing it. He’s cutting the carrots wrong.” 

You almost gasped at Jongho’s mean words directed at Yeosang. There was nothing Yeosang could have done to make Jongho hate him; Yeosang was a sweetheart. 

The room fell silent once again, but you tried desperately to keep the conversation alive. Usually, silence didn’t bother you as much, but this kind of quiet, tense atmosphere made you uncomfortable. 

“Wow Yeosang, I could never cut vegetables as well as you.” 

“Instead of cutting vegetables, he should cut the bullshit and tell us why he’s here.” 

The situation started feeling even more tense, making it hard to breathe. Surprisingly, Yeosang didn’t seem to take Jongho’s harsh words into heart as much as you would have thought. Sure, he looked flustered and a bit scared, but he still bravely defended himself. 

“I-I didn’t know you were coming here... I just wanted to spend time with Y/N.” 

“I let him in. Don’t blame him,” you joined in to protect Yeosang from Jongho’s wrath. 

You didn’t like to anger Jongho either, but throwing Yeosang under the bus and letting him take all the blame didn’t sit right with you. 

It was silent for a moment as Jongho just stared at you two before murmuring, “I’ll let it slide. But I just wished I could have spent today with her alone.” 

A pang of guilt hit you, but it was too late to kick Yeosang out. Jongho just had to deal with the situation now, and you’d apologize later. 

The food was done in about 30 minutes, and the three of you were sitting at the table. Jongho had stolen the place next to you before Yeosang could even utter a word, and Yeosang was sitting opposite to Jongho. It wasn’t a nice spot to sit at, under Jongho’s spiteful eyes. 

“Jongho, how was the weather? You looked pretty upset when you got here,” you wondered. 

“I was upset about the weather, yes. Now I have other reasons.” 

You couldn’t come up with any else response than just nodding to him. It was not your fault he seemed so grumpy and unresponsive – well, maybe it was your fault for letting Yeosang in. 

The food was good, but you definitely did not feel that way otherwise. Yeosang must have felt very uncomfortable, you thought, so instead of dealing with Jongho’s attitude, you wanted to talk to Yeosang. 

“How have you liked hanging out with me?” 

That was the best you could do in that atmosphere. 

“Well, I think you’re lovely and-” 

“Have you been hanging out? How much?” Jongho interrupted Yeosang and raised his gaze from the food. 

The look on his face startled you. It was intense, burning through your skin to find out the truth. You had done nothing wrong, just hanging out with Yeosang. Even if the relationship between you and Jongho wasn’t fake, it wouldn’t be wrong of you to have friends. 

“Well, we’ve been meeting pretty frequently this week.” 

Jongho’s eyes narrowed. He gripped the utensils tighter, but couldn’t find the words to say. His body language told enough. 

Not to Yeosang though, because he didn’t drop the subject, “Y/N and I went to a restaurant. It was very romantic...” 

The chair you were sitting on felt so uncomfortable but it was like you were tied to it, unable to leave the room. Your eyes begged Yeosang to stop, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

“A-At one point, she needed help with the zipper of her dress. The dress was beautiful just like its wearer.” 

Jongho nodded, signaling Yeosang to continue. 

“We also went ice-skating. It was freezing so I gave her my jacket.” 

You sensed a catastrophe was about to happen. The tension and Jongho would snap any moment now, and you were not waiting eagerly for that to happen. Yeosang was like a completely different man, not seeming so reserved and anxious anymore. 

“If she was my girlfriend, I would treat her like a queen.” 

It all happened so fast. The sound of the plate shattering and the sight of Yeosang’s bloody face were something you couldn’t realize first nor forget. 

Yeosang’s nose was bleeding, eyes teary in pain, yet his face was also covered in soup. The plate shattered on the floor in thousand little pieces served as a reminder to you, that Jongho had really thrown the plate at Yeosang’s face. 

The room was silent for a small moment. Yeosang’s pain and state made you feel sick in stomach. Jongho had no reason to throw the plate; he didn’t even love you. It was just pure, cruel violence towards Yeosang who had complimented you kindly. 

“What the hell?!” your head snapped to look at Jongho. 

Against all expectations, he looked horrified. It was a sight that had never been seen, Jongho being so calm and collected usually. He didn’t look guilty, but yet his eyes were wide open in terror, after he had finally realized what he had done. 

“I-I didn’t mean to do that.” 

It wasn’t like you to show your anger, but this was a serious situation, serious violence towards your friend. One thing you couldn’t accept was hurting people close to you. It wasn’t always easy to defend them since you were afraid of the consequences, but you couldn’t let this slide. 

“It doesn’t matter! You still did it because you couldn’t control yourself. What did Yeosang even do to deserve this?” 

“He was flirting with you,” Jongho muttered despite wanting to present himself stronger. 

“And why does it bother you? We’re not even really dating.” 

Yeosang’s eyes looked like the plate that had just crashed into his head; that’s how wide they were after hearing your revelation. 

You didn’t even care about the fake relationship anymore. You couldn’t care less about Jongho either anymore, at least that’s what you told yourself. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. After all the dates and days you had spent with him, despite them being fake, you had grown fond of him. 

But resorting into violence when he didn’t even love you, was what you found repulsive. At that moment, you saw him as a monster worse than the stalker. 

“Get out and never talk to us again.” 

“I’m sorry. I’ll do anything to repair this.” 

“There’s no way you could redeem yourself,” you said sharply. His face you had found handsome just a few moments ago made you feel disgusted now. 

“Let me help you, Yeosang-” 

Jongho’s attempt at fixing the situation was shut down by you instantly. You wouldn’t let him touch Yeosang. 

“Don’t touch him. Get out or I’ll call the police. They’ll arrest you for assault.” 

He looked so sad as you demanded him to go out. The mention of police apparently worked though, because he started making his way out. You wouldn’t grant him any access to your apartment anymore. He had no keys to your home and definitely none of your sympathy. For the rest of his life, he would be banned from entering. 

You rushed to Yeosang as Jongho left the apartment, the sound of the front door shutting signaling that. 

“Are you hurting much?” 

“Y-Yes. I’m pretty sure my nose is bleeding.” 

With careful movements, you wiped his face clean of the food. Once his face was clear of the hot soup, you noticed his nose was indeed bleeding. 

You couldn’t help but feel guilty, despite nothing being your fault. If you hadn’t let Yeosang in your apartment, this catastrophe would have never happened. 

“I’m so sorry, Yeosang-” 

“Were you really fake dating Jongho?” 

You hadn’t expected Yeosang to ask that, but he deserved your honesty after what happened. 

“Yes. Jongho suggested it so he could protect me from a stalker that has been sending me disturbing stuff,” you sighed. 

Yeosang hummed in acknowledgement, before he frowned, “Do you have any idea who it could be?” 

“It’s someone from the therapy group, but at least it isn’t you... I hope so.” 

Yeosang let out a shy laugh at your comment, “What can I do to gain your trust?” 

“Only time will help,” you grinned sheepishly, “So you’d do well to not be revealed as the stalker.” 

Yeosang started looking dizzy, so you decided you’d let him take a nap on your bed. While you tucked him in, he gave you a sleepy smile, making your heart ache in guilt yet warm up with gratitude for him not blaming you. 

He slept like a baby the whole night, and you checked up on him frequently to see if he had stopped suddenly breathing or suffered concussion. You weren’t one to abandon your friends... and you were also kind of afraid if he died the police would blame it on you. That night, you slept on the couch, too scared to sleep next to Yeosang. He was your friend, but he could backstab you any moment both figuratively and literally. 

The next day, you were at the therapy meeting once again. You didn’t know whether to be surprised or not about the fact that Jongho wasn’t there. Yeosang and San were sitting next to you. 

“What’s up with Yeosang’s face?” San leaned to whisper to you, wondering why Yeosang’s face was bruised. His scent was appealing, and you felt both nervous yet somehow excited to be so close to him. 

“Um, he hit himself with a hockey stick.” 

“Dumbass,” San chuckled in response. 

You wanted to punch him, but after some thinking, he probably hadn’t meant anything bad with it. San was playful but you had never seen him act hostile except when Hongjoong had insulted you. 

As Hongjoong himself came in the room, being the last one to enter, you realized Yeosang wasn’t the only one who had been assaulted. 

Hongjoong’s cheek was bruised and it almost hurt you to look at it. There was an eyepatch in front of his left eye – if there even was an eye there anymore... 

“Ahoy! The pirate king’s here!” Wooyoung cheered gleefully, earning a few chuckles around the room. 

Even if the eye patch wasn’t enough to make Hongjoong look like a pirate, he was limping. It was honestly a sad sight. 

Hongjoong shot a deadly glare at Wooyoung, looking like he wanted to say something. But he held back from starting to argue with him. He knew what mean words had gotten him into last time. 

“May I ask what happened to you?” Charlotte directed her question at Hongjoong who looked like he wanted to kill someone. 

“You may not,” he sat down as far away from Wooyoung and San as possible. 

Right at the moment Hongjoong spoke his words, the tension tightened, like a rubber band being pulled from both sides. Even though Charlotte started speaking again, explaining that today’s subject was inspiration and motivation, nobody could concentrate, just focusing on Hongjoong’s pathetic state. 

“Looks like Jongho isn’t here. Does anyone know where he is?” 

You felt cold shivers when the attention was on you, listening ears all around you, waiting for your answer because you were supposedly Jongho’s girlfriend. What could you tell? That Jongho had thrown a plate at Yeosang’s face and gotten kicked out of your apartment? 

“Last time I hung out with him he seemed a little sick,” Yunho informed. 

You had had no idea that Yunho had even spoken to Jongho, but now he was revealing that they had been hanging out. 

“That’s weird. He told me that he... Never mind,” Charlotte shrugged, “Let’s start with Mingi. What is your motivation to keep living?” 

Mingi seemed to be deep in thoughts before looking straight at you and smiling happily like you had asked the question, not Charlotte, “I keep living because my music helps people.” 

Wooyoung snickered and turned to look at San swiftly, who just smiled faintly in response. 

“Weren’t you performing at the Valentine’s Day event?” 

Mingi nodded confidently at Wooyoung’s question. 

“I happened to see Y/N and Jongho there. They were the only ones that stayed,” Wooyoung mentioned. 

But unlike Wooyoung had hoped, Mingi didn’t seem fazed by his mocking, “It means the world to me that Y/N stayed. Have you done anything to gain and earn her attention?” 

The way Mingi stayed confident and didn’t back down made you feel proud of him. He had been ridiculed so much before that he deserved to finally stand his ground proudly. 

Wooyoung shut up when Mingi didn’t react to his comment in the way he wanted. A rare sight truly, was to see Wooyoung embarrassed, murmuring something to San. 

“Let’s not mock each other here, okay? This is a place of acceptance and love.” 

Charlotte’s pacific words almost made you cringe. How was it that when Hongjoong had insulted you, Charlotte let it happen, not caring to defend you, but now she wanted to play an ambassador of peace? 

“Yunho, go ahead and tell us your motivation and inspiration to life, please.” 

“Protecting the people I love keeps me going.” 

“Why not protecting all people? You’re a policeman, you just can’t pick and choose who to protect,” Wooyoung chimed in again. 

“Oh, shut up already,” San smacked Wooyoung in the head. 

In your opinion, Wooyoung’s question was valid. Maybe it was just because you wanted a reason to suspect Yunho, but it was reasonable to consider why Yunho mentioned only his loved ones. 

“Oh, of course I want to protect everyone. Justice means everything to me. Locking up criminals is just my way of protecting my girlfriend.” 

You felt incredibly stupid and shocked – yet also relieved. All this time, Yunho had had a girlfriend, but you had been suspecting him of being the stalker. A wave of relief washed over you, making you relax on your seat, finally knowing that Yunho wasn’t the stalker. He was just an innocent man who seemed a bit twisted. 

“You have a girlfriend?” San asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Yunho’s smile was an odd and dreamy one, “Well, she’s not my girlfriend yet but she will be. Sooner or later.” 

And it was gone, your relief and belief that Yunho would be safe after all. His words sounded ominous even if it wasn’t possibly you who he was talking about. 

“Yeosang, your turn.” 

“I’m motivated to live because I finally have a friend by my side.” 

As Yeosang turned to glance at you quickly, the corners of your lips rose into a soft smile. Having had deep conversations with him before, you knew about the loneliness he had had to endure his whole life due to his social anxiousness. 

“Do you think she really wants to be your friend? Or does she hang out with you because she pities you?” 

Hongjoong dared to speak ill again, and you weren’t about to accept that. Maybe you didn’t know how to defend yourself, but you had developed an instinct to take care of Yeosang, so you spoke before thinking. 

“Pity him? If I befriended people because I pity them, you would be my best friend. You’re pathetic, thinking you’re so much better than others just because you were born with a silver spoon up your ass.” 

A forced scoff made its way out of Hongjoong’s mouth when you insulted him, “That’s the best what you can do? I’ve gained my wealth and glory by my own. You wouldn’t know that, leeching off government’s aids.” 

“Do you talk about anything other than money and how successful you are? You’re making your whole personality orbit around things that are going to disappear anyways.” 

“Everything and everyone disappear eventually. Just like your parents did.” 

Hongjoong’s snarky reply froze you. There was no way he could know about your parents’ disappearance in your childhood. Either he wanted to use a petty, unoriginal insult or he actually knew secrets about your past that only people who you trusted should have known. 

It was the last thing you expected, him bringing up things about the most painful time in your life. About the time you so desperately wanted to forget. 

“I advise you to shut your mouth, Hongjoong,” San said coldly. 

It worked to your surprise and luck. Hongjoong’s bruised lips shut and he was glaring at San with the visible eye. Despite his undeniable fury, he kept all of his thoughts where they belonged. 

“Y/N, could you tell us about your motivation next?” 

You had to learn to open up, but after Hongjoong’s comment, you couldn’t. Your mouth was sealed, sewn shut. 

It was humiliating to have let him get under your skin once again, but it was impossible for you to speak anymore. You were silent, while everyone was waiting, but you did not care. 

“It’s okay, say something vague,” San took your hand gently, making you flinch. 

Everyone in the room was nuts. They were way too intrusive, though in many variable ways. 

But you couldn’t let Hongjoong win, to make you shut down completely. The satisfaction it would bring him made you feel disgusted, so you managed to come up with an answer. 

“My motivation to live is to prove that I refuse to die like this.” 

The others were silent, taking your words in. 

“Wow, that’s inspiring. A bit cringe, but inspiring,” Wooyoung nodded. 

The round continued, it being San’s turn next. He talked about how his aspiration was to be the best version of himself. Wooyoung didn’t have an answer that deep, but it was okay. Apparently, he dreamed of having a sword battle with Hongjoong, because he was convinced he’d win the ‘pirate king’ himself. The notorious pirate king did not even scoff but he was embarrassed, looking away with his one eye. 

It was Seonghwa’s turn. 

“My motivation to live is not anything special,” he started sheepishly, “I just want to take care of my loved ones. Make them feel like they’re the most important people in the world. Because they are – to me.” 

Seonghwa’s admission melted your heart into a puddle. How could one be so sweet and still be friends with Hongjoong? It was suspicious. 

Maybe they weren’t friends after all, because Seonghwa hadn’t been sitting next to Hongjoong that therapy session. There was an empty chair between them, a spot where Jongho was supposed to be. Jongho could have been next to you if he wasn’t such a madman and hadn’t thrown the plate at Yeosang. The memory still made you boil. 

Hongjoong was the last to speak. For a second, he didn’t look as angry as before, but the soft expression was quickly gone. 

“My motivation is to prove I am better than everyone else. And my inspiration to all of my recent work... it’s someone special.” 

Your ears must have been damaged or lying, because you couldn’t fathom the fact that Hongjoong had called someone ‘special’. Unless he meant himself, of course. The man with a heart made of iron had a soft spot for another human being. It surely wasn’t you to your luck. 

As if he wasn’t intimidating enough with the pirate type of look, his gaze made you shiver. It stopped on you for a moment, reading you like a book he was strangely interested in. 

He stared at you with his eye, and surely the one under the eyepatch would have been directed to you as well. 

The feeling of being watched and stared at didn’t stop even when you were walking home. Your home wasn’t far away from the bus stop, actually a very small distance, but the need to run was overwhelming. Like someone was breathing in your neck, you knew it was just the wind. 

The couple hundred steps it took to reach your apartment felt excruciating, pure torture to your mind. But when you finally got home, feeling the warmth and turning on the lights, the world seemed to brighten up a little bit. Out there, you were in danger but your home was the safest place you could be at – although you always had the nagging sensation of someone watching you. Home inspectors had told you countless times there was nothing to be afraid of but you knew better. Others may have thought of it as highly unlikely but there was always a possibility of the stalker living inside your walls. 

Looking around the apartment for any signs of something suspicious like letters, you came to the conclusion that nobody had been there. So, for that night at least, you were safe. This had become a ritual for you. It was impossible for you to fall asleep if you hadn’t checked every room. 

As you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. Eye bags told the story of your restless nights, tossing and turning around in anxiety. Your psychiatrist advised you to start taking melatonin but that was too risky. What if someone really broke into your apartment and you wouldn’t wake up from your slumber? 

The bedroom was always the last room you checked. It was small, so there weren’t a lot of potential hiding spots for stalkers and murderers to attack from. Still, you had to check it thoroughly. 

In the bedroom, there was a pile of pieces of fabric on the floor. Instantly, you recognized the pattern being your bed sheets. 

You just couldn’t remember changing the sheets before you left. Sure, Yeosang could have changed them as an act of kindness after he had slept on your bed. His blood had surely stained the pillow sheets, and Yeosang was a considerate man. 

Nonetheless, you were exhausted, and the clean bedsheets invited you to snuggle in, smell the fresh scent of laundry detergent. You knew you should have been more careful, think about the situation with more depth. But still, you let yourself fall onto the bed and let it embrace you. 

You instantly noticed something was off though. The sheets didn’t smell like the laundry detergent or anything that you could reason with. They didn’t carry the scent of Yeosang either. 

As you sniffed the sheets furiously, trying to dig your memories to realize what the scent was, you realized something. The scent was too familiar. It wasn’t Yeosang. It wasn’t you. There was absolutely no reason for the sheets to smell like Jongho, but they did.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <- Chapter 6. Chapter 8. -> Masterlist ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taglist: @devilzliaison @lover-with-dolar-sign-is-a-loser @passerbyforfun @gigikubolong29 @peqchplvto @eighttens

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You and König attend a holiday party.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI, vague racism, heat (omega verse)

Word count: 3.1k

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there. Smut.

A/n: Omg....Hi guys......it's me.....hey.......I am alive. This chapter is defiantly geared more towards my poc readers. Theres some angst that i'll revisit in a later chapter. Some comments are made. You'll see. Anyways, I can't promise I will be posting super consistently but I will definatly try to post more then I have been.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Five:

Your editor droned on about deadlines and writing engines as you ate some soup König got you earlier. You can hear the desperation through the computer screen. You'd be lying if you said you were listening. They'll get the pages when they get them, with you, no money. König sat on the couch waiting for your meeting to be done. 

“I'll get the next chapter done, Frankie.” You said.

“You promise?” He was almost teary-eyed.

“Yes, I promise.” 

You hung up and closed your laptop while sighing. You got up and walked over to your giant Alpha. You outstretched his arm, inviting you to cuddle. You obliged plopping yourself on his lap and resting your head on his chest. The November winds were seeping into the atmosphere slowly. You didn't mind. That meant the holidays were coming. 

“The 141 is having an early holiday party. Everyone goes on leave one week into December, so we celebrate early. Would you like to go with me, Schatz?” 

“Oh yes, that sounds lovely. When is it?” You asked delightedly.

“This weekend. It's a dressy event.” 

The weekend was in four days. You haven't done your hair or dressed up in a while. You'd want a new dress for this especially with the cold, but you supposed you could make something work. As for your hair, it was time to hit up a YouTube tutorial for some ideas. König seemed to sense your internal struggle. 

“We can go shopping today, I need a button-down shirt.” 

“You don't have a button-down?” You asked a little amused. 

“Never needed one.” 

“Huh, well I also want to get my hair done. But, I've never been to a stylist here.” You started searching for braiders in the area, and to your surprise, there were some. 

The prices were comparable to ones in the US so that gave you some comfort. König looked over your shoulder browsing the different styles along with you. Some he has seen and others he hasn't. He chimed in with some styles he thought would look cute on you every so often. 

“Oh, she has an appointment available tomorrow.”

“Book it, I'll take you.” 

“I can take myself it's alright.”

“Nein. I'll take you.”

You grumbled a bit at his stubbornness but gave in. You booked the appointment and placed your deposit. 

“How much is it?” König asked.

“Um, all together with the deposit, one hundred fifty euros. I was also gonna tip but I forgot Europe doesn't do that.” 

König replied with a 'hmm' and tapped away on his phone. Your phone dinged and you checked the notification. 

'König has sent you € 150,00' 

“Kö, You don't have to pay for this.”

“Why shouldn't I? You are mine, You want it, I like it when you look beautiful, so I pay.” He said simply.

König had a habit of paying for everything. You liked it but it made you a little uncomfortable. This wasn't how you'd be treated back in the States. Whenever you mentioned it, König would always rant about how American men were cheap and lazy. He also would mention how he has more money than he needs so spending it on you is fun. König loves to see your little face light up whenever he buys you something sweet, or a piece of jewelry you were looking at. He told you to get dressed for the shopping trip and you obliged, making sure you were bundled up for the cold weather. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you opted to shop for König's clothes first. Finding clothing that fits him nicely is a challenge with how tall and muscular he is. There were some stores specifically made for big and tall men that you went into first. One store only had bright floral patterned shirts and loosely fitting dress pants. Neither you nor your Alpha liked that. The next one had some nice boots in his size. They were a fancier version of combat boots. Finally, you found a simple black button-down shirt and slim tapered dress pants for him. You made him try it on before leaving the store.

 My god...You had to keep yourself from drooling. The pants hugged his waist perfectly, and the shirt was just tight enough for you to see some muscle peeking through. König smirked at your reaction. 

“You think this will look good with my sniper hood?” he asked. 

“What?! You're gonna wear your hood and cover-up that gorgeous face? No way.”

“I don't show my face to anyone on base, Schatz.” 

“Hmm, well you look good in anything so... I guess.” You pouted.

König got dressed and paid for his clothes. Nearby there were a few boutiques with dresses. You wanted something nice, but not too fancy. You didn't want to overdress. König was patient with you as you browsed a bunch of stores. Eventually, you found something you liked. It was a midi deep purple knit dress. It had elegant sleeves and looked like it could be dressed up or down. Perfect for a cold night. König sat on the bench of the fitting room as you tried it on. You came out and twirled giving him a full view of the dress. 

“So?” You asked.

“Beautiful.” He motioned for you to come closer. When you did he placed a hand on your hip gingerly. 

“I can think of many things I could do to you in this dress.” He said quietly. 

“König!” You gave him a light slap on the arm and went back into the changing room embarrassed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day you started prepping for your hair appointment. You had to wash your hair but the stylist said she could blow-dry it for you. You spent about an hour washing your hair and another detangling it. König kept you company on the couch as you combed and sectioned it out. You sighed and slumped on the couch once you were done. Your arms were a little sore but you were glad you were done. You put your bonnet on to keep your hair neat and moisturized. You made sure you had your tip ready and a book to read while you got your hair done. König stood at the door watching you pace around the apartment gathering your things. 

The drive to the salon was quick and smooth. König gave you a kiss on the cheek before you exited the car. You opened the door to the building, and the smell of hair spray wafted into your nose. A tall woman greeted you as you walked in. Her hair was braided back into neat rows and her dark cheeks had a warm glow to them. 

“Are you my twelve pm?” She asked with a smile.

“Yes, I am, nice to meet you.” 

She guided you into a salon chair and got started. Her hands were quick, skilled, and gentle as she worked her way through your head of hair. In about two hours she finished. You admired your new do in the mirror and thanked your stylist profusely. König waited at a café down the street. You spotted him sitting peacefully at one of the outdoor tables, away from most other patrons. As you got closer he glanced up to meet and look at you. His eyes widened, taking in your new look. Although he had his mask on you could tell he was smiling under it. He stood up to greet you. 

“You look beautiful, Liebe.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead careful to avoid touching your freshly done hair. You giggled bashfully and returned his kiss on his cheek. 

The next few days went by quickly. You did some extra work and scheduled an editor meeting before the weekend. When Saturday rolled around, you were anxious. You wanted to make a good impression with your Alpha's coworkers. How do you act around military personnel? Your father never brought you around any of his military friends. As you got ready you just tried to keep an open mind and stay confident in yourself. Also, you will get to see Soap again. You slipped on your dress and spritzed a light mist of perfume.

You walked out of your room while looking through your purse to make sure you had all of your essentials. König was sitting on the couch but stood when he saw you. He was dressed and ready, looking over your form affectionately. You zipped around the dining room and kitchen making sure you had everything in order. König walked over to you, stopping you in your path. He slinked his hand around your waist pulling you out of your thoughts. He pulled you into his chest gently. 

“Relax, Schatz.” He purred. You looked up at him and gave him a nervous smile. 

“I think I left my wallet in my room. Do I need it? Should I bring a gift?” You rambled. 

König pulled your wallet out from his back pocket and handed it to you. He shook his head and gave you a small smile. His sniper hood was hanging haphazardly over a dining room chair. He led you towards the door swiftly grabbing it and opening the door. You followed him out reluctantly. 

The drive to the base was uneventful aside from your occasional worrying that was quelled by your alpha quickly. You can't help but feel more on edge than you usually would, but you can't put a finger on why. König pulled up to the massive, barbed wire-lined fence. A man in full military gear and a large gun strolled up to the window. You hadn't noticed that König out his hood in a while back. He rolled the window down and quickly flashed his ID to the soldier. The man nodded and waved his hand in the air. The gate slid open almost painfully slowly. König placed a hand on your thigh as he drove slowly through the base. It helped calm you for the time being. 

There was a large building with a few dozen cars parked outside. König Parked the SUV rather haphazardly a good distance away from the entrance. When you opened the door you heard faint music coming from the building and lots of voices and laughter. Your alpha lapped the car and met you on the passenger side. You started to walk towards the door but he stopped you.

“What is the matter, Schatz?” His eyes softly gazed down at you. 

“Nothing is wrong, I'm fine.” You said quickly.

“If you are uncomfortable, we can go.” He gently caressed your cheek., his scent enveloping your senses. 

“I'm ok, I'm just a little nervous.” Deep down you knew something was off, but you were confident you could get through this night. 

“Shcatz, You forgot your collar.” König said nonchalantly.

You gasped and your hand flew up to your neck covering your exposed scent glands. 

“Oh no! Why didn't you tell me? Now I'm gonna stink up a storm in there.” You turned around embarrassed and even more on edge. 

Your Alpha said nothing, he simply opened the back door of the car and pulled out a small black bag before closing the door. He spun you around by the waist to face him waving the bag in front of you. You glanced at him unsure before taking the bag. König gave you a small nod waiting for you to open it. Inside was a large square jewelry box. When you opened it it held the most beautiful gold metal collar. The one you looked at from the boutique a while ago. 

“König....” You truly didn't know what to say. Tears pricked your eyes but you quickly wiped them away and replaced them with a smile. 

“Thank you, Alpha.” You said while wrapping your arms around his middle. 

He held you close and kissed the top of your head through his hood gently. He pulled away and took the collar out of its box. He clasped it around your neck locking it with the provided key. It fit perfectly, you could barely tell it was there. König held the small key out for you to take but you shook your head. 

“Keep it safe for me Alpha.” You said giving him a warm smile. 

Although you couldn't see his face, you could tell he was happy you trusted him with the key. König held out his elbow for you to hold and led you towards the event. You were still nervous but you brushed it off, you had someone there to protect you. The large hall was buzzing with conversation. Most people were sitting around in large groups having conversations and others were at the bar. There were string lights hung all around the ceiling giving the place a relaxing atmosphere. König led you to the bar eager to get a drink. Parties are not you or your Alpha's natural element.

He ordered a beer for himself and a gin and tonic for you. As you waited you glanced around taking in the different people. You were probably one of the very few omegas. You could tell who was military and who wasn't very easily. Some were still in uniform, others wore masks or dog tags. Some soldiers brought a plus one but it was a minority. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching. You turned to see a familiar mohawk. 

“Hey! There they are!” Soap exclaimed pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. You could smell the alcohol on him. 

“Hey, soap.” You eked out while being squeezed. 

Soap turned to König and gave the large Apex a hug as well. König grunted, a little uncomfortable with the contact but patted his back affectionately. 

“We've been waiting for you two to get here, everyone wants to meet the Colonel's Mrs.” His Scottish accent was thick and slightly slurred. 

The bartender set your drinks down and you quickly scooped yours up and took a sip. Soap led both of you away toward a group of men. You lingered behind König slightly allowing him to greet the group first. Soap announced your name loudly sparing König of the burden. You waved shyly giving everyone a small smile. Everyone greeted you and your Alpha before returning to the conversation they were having. You were grateful the attention on you didn't last as you could sip your cocktail and listen to the drunken ramblings of the soldiers. 

As the night dragged on, you met various people. You chatted with Ghost a bit and met Captain Price, as well as Gaz. Though the drunker people go the more rowdy things become. You sat on a chair near the group, only on your second drink. Your Alpha was loosening up after four. Soap suggested they go out to the field and play football, challenging Ghost to a team match. The whole group along with some others from the party joined them outside. König glanced over at you. 

“Will you be ok if I join them?” He asked gingerly.

“Of course, go have fun.” You gave him a reassuring smile. 

You watched him follow his coworkers out of the door into the frigid night. You decided to hang out at the bar as your drink was almost done. Although the night has been fine so far there was still something nagging in the back of your head. You plopped down on one of the bar stools and ordered another drink. Good thing this event had an open bar. You scrolled on your phone for a while not noticing how fast an hour has passed. An Alpha sat on the bar stool next to yours sighing loudly. You didn't bother acknowledging him as many people have sat there in the time that has passed. 

“It's a nice night huh? Not too cold.” The guy said in a European accent you can't place. 

You looked up from your phone. “Oh, are you talking to me?” 

“Yeah, I am. So uh, are you a new recruit or?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no, I'm just a visitor.” You glanced back at your phone hoping he would leave you alone. 

“I've never seen an omega like you.” 

“An omega like me?” You looked at him puzzled.

“Yeah, you're so exotic. I thought omegas like you have to stay in your own countries.” He said while taking a sip of his drink. 

“Well, that's rude and extremely ignorant.” You scowled at him.

“Come on, it's a compliment. I mean I knew your kind your be spicy but damn.” He chuckled. 

You took that as your cue to leave. And you stood up from the bar your felt a tug on the crown of your head. 

“I mean, is this even your real hair?” He rubbed the hair he grabbed in between his fingers. 

You ripped away from his grip. “What is wrong with you?! Don't touch me!” You yelled. Everyone at the bar turned to look in your direction. 

“Relax, I'm just joking around.” The Alpha said trying to diffuse the situation. 

“You don't touch a random person's hair, who raised you?!” 

You felt a hand rest on your shoulder gently from behind. The Alpha you were confronting turned pale. 

“Schatz? What did he do?” Your Alpha asked lowly.

 You turned to face König anger still written all over your face. As angry as you were, you wanted this to be a teaching moment for this young Alpha. You turned back to the Alpha who was standing up now sweat forming on his face. 

“Nothing Alpha, this guy just needs to watch where he's going, right?” You eyed him carefully. 

“Yes! Yes, I'm very sorry miss.” He looked down at your feet. 

You looked up at König who seemed unconvinced. He was staring daggers into the young Alpha. You saw König take a deep breath closing his eyes while doing so. When he opened them he looked down at you.

“Time to go, it's a long drive home.” He placed a hand on the small of your back and led you out.

 Some people glanced in your direction as you left. You couldn't help but feel embarrassed. You hurried to the car in an effort to get out of the cold. König opened your door for you and helped you slide into the passenger seat. 

“I forgot something inside, I'll be right back.” He said quickly shutting the door and storming back inside the building. 

You couldn't tell if he was about to torture that soldier or not. But you did what you could, if he gets in trouble it's his own fault. König came back out no more than two minutes later. As he started the car, you got cozy relishing in the heated air. 

“What did you forget?” You ask him.

“I had a project for Ghost, I had to tell him about it.”

“Hmm.” You responded, not buying it completely. 

As your Alpha drove, the gentle rocking of the car lulled you to sleep.

As your Alpha drove, the gentle rocking of the car lulled you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

König shook you awake gently. “We're home.”

You stirred and sat up stretching gently. You felt warm, a little too warm. Did you drink that much? You followed König into the apartment and kicked off your shoes at the door. That's when the cramp hit you. It was so painful it made you dizzy causing you to stumble. König caught you by the arm and ushered you to the couch.

“Schatz? You're burning up.” He laid you down and hurried to the kitchen.

You felt the sweat forming on your brow. Your heat had come early. You whined into the couch cushions trying to breathe through the dull achy pain. König brought some water and sat you up to drink.

“Why didn't you tell me your heat was coming?” he said concerned.

“Early...it came early.”

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[vivid-ink]

'The Love Shack'

Part IV - Haunted by You

Relationship: Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya reader(21) x Lo'ak(22)

Part IV Summary:

It seemed like such a simple plan to execute: Stay away from Neteyam, distract yourself with other males and move on… But your body seems determined to fight you every step of the way, longing for the touch of a man you are desperate to forget… Your mind is haunted with memories of him, and the only place you seem able to find your pleasure is when you’re alone, drowning in your fantasies and pretending your touch is his…

Read Part I, II and III in my Masterlist HERE

Warnings: Adult content 18+ MDNI

Word count: 15k

Content: Mentions of group sex, MMF threesome smut, sex toy play, squirting, double penetration, anal sex

Author's Note:

This chapter really ran away with me. It was a struggle to write, at points, so I'm not sure how I've managed to churn out 15k words. 🥲 Now that I've written this part, I can confirm there will also be a final Part 5 to this series after this.

Without further ago, enjoy Part IV, my lovelies!

***~~~***

The sound was muted, hushed. It was a soft keen, so quiet he barely heard it.

Perhaps if Neteyam hadn’t recognised it, hadn’t replayed the sound so many times in his head, he would’ve thought nothing of it and kept walking. But his ears pricked upright in keen attention, swivelling instinctively in the direction of the noise. The turn of his head followed and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lo’ak slow in his steps and do the same, both of them, two brothers standing still with their heads turned in a perfect parallel of each other.

They were on their way home from a late-night run through the bush to calm their nerves as they’d both ended their work day tense after a disastrous day of hunting.

A miscommunication between the two hunting parties had lost them a valuable opportunity to bring down a small herd of yerik (hexapedes). Yerik were a prime resource for the clan; their meat was a staple food source and their hides and innards were useful for many things like clothing, weapons and other instruments. The lost opportunity had culminated in a series of heated arguments between the hunters and harsh words of blame had been exchanged.

Distracted now from their homebound journey, the two brothers stole through the brush like predators locked onto the sound of prey. The forest of the Great Mother was luminous around them and alive with the vibrancy of night. Years of warrior training and countless hunts meant that stealth was an ingrained habit of theirs. Even outside of their work hours they crept intuitively through the thick undergrowth of the woodlands on nimble feet and with soundless breaths.

Locating the source of the noise, Neteyam felt his mood curdle at the sight that greeted him through the loreyu (helicoradians) and eyaye ferns.

Lying sprawled on your back in the glade, thighs parted and beneath another eagerly rutting male, was you.

Your moans and whimpers had been unmistakeable, sounds that both he and Lo’ak would recognise anywhere after their many nights with you at the shack. Whatever tension Neteyam thought he’d rid himself off during his run returned to him in an instant, hot ire bubbling in his veins and seizing his muscles.

Everything had changed after his one night alone with you at the hot spring… You’d begun putting walls up after that night…

The memory of your reaction to his affection, of how you’d used your safeword during the tender intimacy you’d shared post-sex, stung bitterly in his chest. It was a painful reminder to Neteyam that whatever pleasure you chose to share with him was purely that; physical and nothing more.

An unimpressed groan left Lo’ak and he turned bothered eyes at his brother, his tail swishing low behind him, “At least now we know why she’s not coming to the shack anymore. She’s playing elsewhere.”

Lo’ak’s voice had been a low murmur, but Neteyam’s gaze flicked anxiously toward the coupling pair in the glade. Neither you nor your playmate appeared to have heard though. He rolled exasperated eyes at Lo’ak and shook his head slowly, scowling in upset. Begrudgingly, he glanced at you once more before he looked away, his eyes finding his feet.

A grumbling curse left Neteyam under his breath and he grouched sourly, “Well, let’s hope she’s satisfied.”

Lo’ak could see the thunderstorm of agitation brewing in his brother and he tugged on Neteyam’s elbow, urging him to move onward. Neteyam acquiesced, but not before he saw your back arch beneath your playmate and he heard you let out a higher-pitched moan. He frowned, cocking his head curiously.

The sound was all wrong… He knew what you sounded like when you came, when your passion finally consumed you. This moan was too controlled… It lacked the breathless quality and note of wild abandon that usually accompanied your cries of bliss.

Neteyam felt Lo’ak tug on his elbow again and he set his feet moving, following along behind his brother.

It appeared Lo’ak shared the same previous thought, however, and he scoffed a little louder as they shifted out of earshot, “She doesn’t sound very satisfied; rather contrived if you ask me.”

Neteyam gave a snort, “If it’s Kai she wants, then so be it.” He recognised the male you were with; tall, broad shoulders, with a head of long and thick dreadlocks.

Kai was the commander of the clan’s fisherfolk. The young man was the same age as Neteyam and had completed his rites of passage alongside him growing up. Kai had done well in archery and hand-to-hand combat, but he had excelled particularly with a fishing spear. He’d chosen to join the river platoon, hunting and gathering in the rivers, but he could easily have joined the warriors if he wanted to. Neteyam wasn’t close with Kai, but they were friendly enough.

Although that had changed in recent weeks…

Neteyam gritted his teeth until his jaw muscles ached. His breath whistled from his flaring nostrils as he walked and his steps weren’t so much stealthy now as they were stompy. He’d suspected for a while now that Kai was trying to woo you. The river huntsman had been lingering in your vicinity at mealtimes and he’d even started wishing you well in the mornings, seeing you off on your work days.

As Neteyam’s suspicions had grown, his greetings in passing with Kai had grown brisk. The easy smile he usually graced his fellow clan members with no longer made an appearance when he regarded the other man. And the more Kai loitered around and flirted with you, the more intense Neteyam’s glowers became whenever he was in Kai’s presence.

The tangle he and Lo’ak had found you and Kai in tonight was simple confirmation of what Neteyam already knew, and suddenly, Kai was a rival.

“You know, I don’t think that’s it.” Lo’ak’s voice came out of the blue after a while.

“What?”

Lo’ak looked back at his perturbed brother, “I don’t think Neyomi wants Kai.”

Neteyam’s expression was one of impatient displeasure. Did Lo’ak not just witness the same thing he did?...

His ears flattened in annoyance and his response was a bitter hiss, “She hasn’t come to the shack for three weeks straight and now we walk in on her fucking Kai. It’s pretty clear cut, bro.”

“She might be fucking him, but it’s you she really wants.”

Tetchily swatting a low-hanging shrub out of his eyeline, Neteyam’s laugh was incredulous, “Have you had your head in the clouds these last couple of moons, Lo’ak? She’s been distancing herself for weeks now. Her reaction after the one night I had with her made it quite clear that she doesn’t want anything deeper than body play.”

Neteyam felt his face contort into a crabby pout as he recalled the events that had followed. You’d barely been able to look at him the next day. It didn’t help that every time you spoke to him or answered him during your work days, you used your formal address of him as ‘sir’. What had been a playful and titillating game of rank that night had now become an awkward aide-memoire of your dismissal of his affection. And things had only worsened from there.

Your next visit to the shack had seen you impose a new boundary: No kissing. It wasn’t something you’d discussed with him and Lo’ak out loud, but it became clear after the first few rebuffs. It’d been obvious in the way you’d subtly twist your head so their seeking lips would meet your cheek instead, or how you’d deliberately keep your face tilted downward, buried in their necks or against their chests.

It hadn’t stopped Neteyam trying at first, but each unspoken denial hurt him more than the last, and when his attempts appeared to aggravate you, he gave up altogether. He’d already spooked you with his behaviour that one night and his fear of driving you away entirely made him play along with your new rules.

As if that wasn’t bad enough though, your weekly visits to the shack then began to dwindle. It had started with excuses: Your parents needed you for something; you weren’t feeling up to it; or something had cropped up. Eventually the excuses stopped, but so did your visits. You gave no reason to him or Lo’ak, but there was a tense and tacit understanding that lingered between the three of you whenever your work put you near each other, that your arrangement with them had reached a conclusion.

Lo’ak chewed on his bottom lip. Unlike Neteyam, he wasn’t convinced that you didn’t have feelings for his brother, “You need to talk to her, bro.”

“She’s avoiding me. She keeps things professional during work times and she’s near impossible to get hold of in the evenings. It’s a clear message. There’s nothing to discuss.”

Lo’ak frowned, his eyebrows pulling into a deep knit as he pondered his thoughts. He’d teased you about your crush on Neteyam many times. Tula had even confirmed to him that you had a soft spot for Neteyam, that you liked him. Great Mother, Lo’ak had seen the evidence of your growing emotional attachment to Neteyam for himself during the nights you’d spent with them at the shack.

He’d seen it in the way you responded to Neteyam: The way your hands had always reached instinctively for his brother; the way you’d kissed Neteyam so deeply and so keenly; the way in which you came so utterly undone in your pleasure only when it was his brother who fucked you; and the way it had always been Neteyam you curled up against if you fell asleep after their playtimes. Ordinarily, Lo’ak would’ve been incredibly envious, but he knew of the tender feelings Neteyam harboured quietly for you and he was happy for his brother that you appeared to reciprocate them.

But then something changed after the night you’d spent alone with Neteyam. Your behaviour flipped, almost becoming a direct contrast to what Lo’ak had initially seen. Something had spooked you that night, but Lo’ak didn’t believe for one moment that it was because your feelings for Neteyam had changed.

“You’re the olo’eyktan in waiting, successor to the clan.” Lo’ak reminded his brother matter-of-factly, swivelling around to face Neteyam, “If you need to speak to her, you have ways of ensuring a meeting.”

Tail lashing behind him, the affront was clear in Neteyam’s stance and in his outraged expression, “I won’t use a formal summons to get her to talk to me! What kind of man would I be, cornering her like that?”

“A man who fights for what he wants!”

Neteyam snarled heatedly, shouldering past Lo’ak to walk onward, “Enough! This conversation ends here, bro.”

Growing up as the annoying little brother had its perks. Lo’ak was used to weathering Neteyam’s admonishments and he wasn’t letting this argument go. It seemed so simple in his mind. Neteyam had feelings for you and Lo’ak was quite sure you felt the same. All that stood in the way appeared to be mixed signals that stemmed from a lack of communication and badly wounded pride on his brother’s part.

Deciding to change tact, Lo’ak broached a related subject, “Didn’t Grandmother agree to what you and Dad proposed to her?”

“Yes.” Neteyam’s patience was wearing thin.

“So what’s stopping you opening up to Neyomi? There’s literally nothing standing in your way now. Didn’t you initiate the arrangement because of her?”

“Actually, the arrangement was Mum and Dad’s idea because of Kiri and her talents.”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes and waved a hand in the air, “Whatever! But you backed the proposed arrangement because of Neyomi. It gave you the opportunity you wanted and now that you’ve got the tsahìk’s approval, and Kiri’s acceptance, you’re just going to throw it all away and let things slide?”

Neteyam whirled around to face Lo’ak and though his volume was a careful hiss, his words dripped with acrimony and his fists were clenched tight, “She doesn’t want me, Lo’ak! You weren’t there that night! We were done playing, just winding down. I had her in my arms and she used her safeword! She was uncomfortable!”

“That’s such bullshit, bro. She used to let you clean her up, let you take care of her and coddle her. She was happy for me to join in, but it certainly wasn’t my arms she used to fall asleep in.” Lo’ak countered, shooting his brother a shrewd stare, “Look, I don’t know what’s happening with her. All I know is that something spooked her that night, but it sure as hell isn’t because she suddenly decided to go off you.”

“It is what it is.”

Lo’ak looked on silently at Neteyam’s retreating back as his brother strode away from him. With a long-suffering sigh, Lo’ak dragged a hand down his face. Neteyam was level-headed and wise when it came to matters of leadership and strategy. He was adept in his navigation of clan politics and his interpersonal skills were strong, but if there was an area of life that wasn’t Neteyam’s strong suit, it was women.

Women fawned over him and he enjoyed them easily enough, but Neteyam didn’t know women like Lo’ak did. And Lo’ak knew that when it came to a woman’s behaviour, things were never as straightforward as they seemed.

***~~~***

“Thanks for walking me home.” You pushed onto the balls of your feet to brush a kiss of gratitude against Kai’s cheek.

“Don’t mention it. Goodnight Neyomi, sleep well.” Dissatisfied though with your chaste farewell, one of Kai’s hands caught your elbow and he pulled you towards him to claim a proper kiss against your lips.

They were smooth and warm, comforting, but also entirely wrong…

Kai’s kisses didn’t spark passion within you, they didn’t make your heart skip a beat or make your stomach flutter with need. His kisses were too soft, almost tentative at times as if he didn’t want to scare you. It wasn’t what you craved. You craved confidence, sure hands and sure lips that consumed you entirely as they set your body ablaze with desire.

You forced as genuine a smile as you could at Kai as you pulled away to disappear into your family’s shelter, “Goodnight, same to you.”

Your parents would be asleep by now, but you still skulked through your home on silent feet towards the little alcove that was your own private space in the shelter. You were the youngest of three siblings and your two older brothers had left home several years ago after getting mated. It made home seem less lively than you remembered as a child, but you were thankful for the lack of people about now.

Less people at home meant less chance of someone overhearing what you were about to do. You hadn’t found satisfaction with Kai tonight and your body still burned with the need to be satiated.

You liked Kai, you really did. He was warm-hearted, thoughtful and incredibly sweet. He was strongly built and also good-looking. In fact, his build was very similar to Neteyam’s, tall and brawny in all the places a woman appreciated. Guiltily, you acknowledged within yourself that it had been the similarities in his physique that had drawn you to him in the first place. However, apart from his height and muscular build, that was where the similarities ended.

Hidden now in the privacy of your alcove, you double-checked that the thick cloths that hung from its entryway were tied and fastened to keep them closed and you lit the small oil lamp that hung in the corner. Little needles of shame pricked in your gut as you unfastened the ties at your hips and behind your back, letting your loincloth fall while you shimmied out of your chest piece.

You weren’t ashamed of touching yourself, that part was natural. It was the shame of the entire conundrum you found yourself in that made your face flame. You’d been seeing Kai casually for just over a moon now and while your encounters with him were pleasant, and his touch felt good, your traitorous mind refused to forget the other man who your heart yearned for. Your body refused to submit to Kai’s touch and it denied you the height of pleasure with him as a result.

Kai tried, truly. It wasn’t lack of enthusiasm or skill on his part. It just didn’t feel the same. He simply wasn’t Neteyam. So, to avoid the certainty of awkward conversations and to save Kai’s pride, you’d faked your pleasure with him from the beginning. How low you had sunk…

It had been Tula’s suggestion to distance yourself and try to connect with other males. Near distraught at the doom you felt after the night you’d shared with Neteyam, you’d spilled the entire truth to your best friend the next evening. Tula had looked on with a myriad of emotions and reactions as you relayed your story from start to finish; of your secret arrangement with the brothers, of the unadulterated bliss you found with them, and the subsequent crash and burn of your emotions for Neteyam at the end. You’d thought you could keep things simple, keep the lines clearly drawn between pleasure and emotion, but you’d failed ultimately.

Beautiful soul that she was, Tula hadn’t judged you, only comforted and consoled you before advising you of what you already knew you had to do. Put space between you and Neteyam, end the arrangement with him and Lo’ak, and try to move on. But alas it wasn’t working…

Sinking down to sit on your heels with your knees splayed, one of your hands snaked downward to its destination between your parted thighs. Licking your lips, you let your head loll backwards, eyelids sliding shut as your fingers smoothed through your still soaked folds. Your pussy throbbed, appreciating the repeated stroke of your fingers delving into its slick depths, alternating with a sensual massage over the swollen nub of your clit. You were helpless to stop the torrent of images and memories of Neteyam that swamped your mind; the feel of him suckling at your nipples; the feel of his longer, thicker fingers stroking in and out of your pussy; the ravenous look in his amber eyes as he looked at you while his tongue and lips wrought pleasurable havoc at your core.

Rolling a nipple between the fingers of your free hand, the dual stimulation made your pussy squeeze and pulse desperately for something to fill it. The three fingers you had buried to your last knuckle inside you weren’t cutting it and you needed something bigger. Your eyes travelled to the neatly piled heap of your belongings on your right where a cloth-covered satchel sat.

Pausing in your pleasure, you reached for the satchel and undid the fastening at its front to flip it open. Rummaging through it, it didn’t take long for your hand to grasp hold of what you were looking for.

Long, girthy and weighty in your palm, the blue toy was a striking replica of a Na’vi cock. It was called a dildo apparently and its use was obvious to you from the first time you’d laid eyes on it. You’d filched the toy from the toy box at the shack many weeks ago when the brothers hadn’t been looking. If they had noticed its absence since, they hadn’t remarked on it.

Heat pooled between your legs and you could feel your slick dripping from you in anticipation as you turned the dildo over in your hands. It wasn’t as smooth or as seamlessly designed as the other toys you’d been introduced to, and it didn’t hum, but by Eywa did it feel fucking good with its bulbous head and its ridged shaft. The dildo had a flanged base where it could suction to a flat surface and you reached towards your pile of belongings again for its accompanying aid.

Gingerly, so you didn’t make a sound, you extracted a long and shallow wooden serving platter from the pile. You turned it upside down so the smooth wood of its polished base was turned upwards towards you and placed it between your thighs. A wave of embarrassment washed over you again as you positioned the dildo on the platter so you could mount it.

Great Mother, your mother would kill you if she knew what you were doing with her serveware…

Lifting your hips and shuffling forward on your knees, you let the head of the dildo smooth past your folds, lubricating it. You were so wet that you knew the impressive size of the toy would be no issue upon entry. Aligning it with one hand, you let your weight bear down on it and your other hand flew to your mouth to stifle a muted cry as it breached you.

The stretch of it entering you was rapturous and your aching pussy eagerly swallowed its length whole, your inner walls squeezing appreciatively around its fulfilling girth until you bottomed out. It wasn’t warm with body heat and it wasn’t attached to your man of choice, but it was a close second. You undulated your hips, testing the feel of things, and when unfettered ripples of pleasure shot through your core at the movement you instinctively began a rhythm of gyrating hip thrusts.

Your fingers circled at your clit while you moved, your body rippling back and forth in time with the slight up and down of your hips. Your thighs burned with the exertion, but your pussy burned even more torturously as your climax came hurtling towards you. An unbidden fantasy of Neteyam groaning beneath you plastered itself to the back of your closed eyelids. You rode him wildly, imagined the feel of his fingers digging into your hips while you worked his hard cock in and out of you. You could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the shine of it over his flexing abdominals as he panted and strained with you. And then you felt the familiar burn of urgent pressure low in your pelvis.

It was like an old friend that had come by to visit. The urgent pressure mingled with the pulsating of your pussy and it thrilled you because you knew what it signalled, what was coming. You hadn’t felt this sensation in weeks, not since your last session at the shack when Neteyam had pinned you beneath him and drilled into you from behind with your face pushed into the plush bedding. Your encounters with Kai hadn’t even come close to the mounting bliss you were feeling now.

Caressing one of your breasts and stroking over the nipple one last time, you flew over the edge of ecstasy into freefall. Your face scrunched tight and you fought to remain quiet while your core clenched and pulsed with orgasm. Your inner walls had a crushing hold on the dildo, gripping it within you and your pussy gave a cathartic little squirt of pleasure. Chest heaving with panting breaths, your vision cleared as you opened your eyes, the last image your mind supplied was one of Neteyam smiling sleepily up at you.

The furnishings of the alcove swirled around you, the flickering flame in the oil lamp casting warm shadows about the place. You were alone in your alcove and you’d once again touched yourself to imaginings of a man you were supposed to be trying to forget. A juddery sigh of defeat left you and you flopped over onto your side, rolling onto your back so you could press your fingers firmly against your eye sockets.

The futility of the situation began to overwhelm you and you felt hot tears sting behind your closed eyes. Try as hard as you might, your little plan of ‘move on and forget’ wasn’t working. Kai was a wonderful man, skilled, respected and honourable. You enjoyed his company and everything about him showed real promise that he could be a good mate for you. But the heart wanted what it wanted, and it was Neteyam that your heart soared and longed for.

You hiccupped as sobs began to wrack your frame then. Your hands were pressed tight over your face and your palms grew wet from the streams of your tears. A smothered snuffle snuck its way out from behind the cage of your fingers and you fought to keep any more from escaping. The lump in your throat hurt and you swallowed it down stickily.

It said a lot that you found your sobs harder to stifle than your moans of bliss.

If only you’d kept your distance from the beginning. In hindsight, it would’ve been easier for you to have never known Neteyam like you now did, and to just have watched, daydreaming from afar. But too late now. You’d made your bed and now you had to lie in it.

***~~~***

Your emotions had gotten the better of you last night and you’d awoken far later than you were supposed to this morning. You’d hauled yourself from the floor onto your bed at some point and proceeded to cry yourself to sleep. Your mother’s concerned voice had roused you in the morning as she’d jostled the hanging cloths at your alcove entrance with a query about why you weren’t up yet. You’d shot a panicked glance at the floor then, before relief washed over you when you found that you’d at least had the sense to remove the evidence of your late-night activities before bedding down.

Your pa’li whickered softly and you treated her to a sweet tuber while you continued to secure your hunting gear to her leathery back. Blinking scratchy eyes, your stomach rumbled with hunger. You’d woken so late this morning that you’d missed communal breakfast, so a lone yovo fruit from your family’s fruit bowl had been your only breakfast sustenance so far. Today would be a gruelling day again. The hunting platoons were going to make a second attempt at felling the small herd of yerik that was passing through the clan’s territory.

Neteyam was in a particularly disagreeable mood this morning.

He’d been very terse during his briefing of the hunters, making sure to reiterate and clarify the plan several times before sending them all to their departure positions. It was fair to say that he was likely still upset about yesterday’s failure, but the botch-up had been as much his fault as it was yours. The miscommunication between his platoon and yours had occurred because his orders hadn’t been clear, but you’d also been too proud to clarify, so you’d assumed and assumed wrongly. All because you were avoiding as much interaction with him as much as possible.

Stupid.

“Good morning, sevin (pretty).”

You heard Kai before you saw him and you couldn’t help but smile at his smooth voice. He really was very sweet. Turning to face him, you greeted him with a kiss to his cheek and he extended his greeting by placing a warm kiss against your temple as well.  

“Look at you in your warrior garb. So fierce and ready to take on whatever danger the day brings.” Kai teased with a toothy grin.

He was dressed for his work day too in a simple loincloth, fishing spear in hand and his long dreads bundled atop his head in a messy topknot. The fisherfolk spent much of their day in the rivers wading and swimming, so the lack of any other accessories, like arm bands, limb guards or necklaces, all served to reduce friction while they swam. Even without all the embellishment, you had to admit Kai looked good.

Tutting your tongue you cocked your head at him and shrugged, “Well, you could’ve been a warrior too, Kai. I remember you did well in training.”

“Nah, the rivers have always called to me.” Kai answered assuredly. He held up a small parcel in his free hand, “Here, I noticed you missed breakfast so I brought you a niktsyey (food wrap) to take with you. You’ll need your energy.”

“Thank you.” You accepted the parcel gratefully, its delicious scent drawing another audible rumble from your stomach and you both laughed. Grinning at Kai, you placed a hand on his muscular chest and wished him well, “Eywa be with you, have a good day.”

Kai nodded, one of his large hands covering yours where it rested against him, “You too. I’ll see you tonight-”

“Neyomi!” A booming call of your name sounded in the near distance before you could utter your response. Neteyam.

Kai’s eyeline flicked over your shoulder and his ears pinned flat, his jaw clenching tightly. He squeezed your hand before taking a few steps back from you, letting it drop to your side again as Neteyam came striding up to the pair of you.

“Neteyam,” Kai greeted coolly, acknowledging the other male.

“Kai,” Neteyam’s acknowledgement was equally frigid.

Neteyam turned to regard you and you were momentarily struck by his arresting presence. Neteyam always looked striking, especially so when he was in full regalia with his arm bands, leather limb guards, cummerbund hugging his waist and dagger strapped across his chest. The glower on his face today was new, but the addition only seemed to add to the appeal.

“We’re already running behind time.” Neteyam’s gaze then shifted back to Kai, “I’m sure as commander of the fisherfolk you can appreciate the importance of timeliness where orders have been given to move out.” His words were a deliberate jab at Kai and the implication that he was holding you up was clear.

“I was just giving Neyomi some food to take with her.” Kai’s icy response was delivered with a scowl that rivalled Neteyam’s.

“The warriors have packed plenty of food for our journey. We’re more than prepared.” Neteyam hissed.

“Yes, but she missed breakfast this morning.” Kai countered, his posture and his glare throwing Neteyam an unspoken challenge, “Now, as future olo’eyktan, I’m sure you can appreciate the importance of looking after those in your command and ensuring they have what they need, the most basic of which is keeping them fed.”

The challenge was not well-received by Neteyam and the ferocious snarl that left him shocked you. Kai took a step back but returned a snarl of his own, both males baring their teeth with pinned ears and whipping tails.

“Enough! What the fuck is wrong with both of you?” You growled, maddened by their ridiculous behaviour, “If you’re done comparing cocks, then let’s all get to work, shall we? Since we’re so late.” Your last sentence was thrown at Neteyam with a glare, and you shoved past him to mount your pa’li.

Kai shot you an apologetic glance as you cantered past him towards your waiting platoon.

Flustered by the testosterone-fuelled interaction you’d just witnessed, you hastily unwrapped the niktsyey and took a big bite out of the savoury wrap. You paused. You couldn’t smell your food.

Kai’s and Neteyam’s scents had spiked during their spat, their bodies emitting a pungent surge of pheromones that now clogged your nostrils, both alluring and both very male. But only one of those scents lingered heavier and for longer than the other, tantalising you, causing your nipples to stiffen and sending liquid heat pooling between your thighs.

You sighed.

No prizes were being awarded for guessing whose scent was responsible for your body’s reaction…

***~~~***

You jolted awake with a start, the peaceful serenity of the surrounding woodland glade quickly coming back to you as Kai’s shoulder shifted a little beneath your cheek. Instantly, you felt remorse as you realised you’d done it yet again, fallen asleep on one of your date nights with Kai. The patch of young grass you were both lying on was soft beneath your elbow as you moved to prop yourself up into a sitting position. You turned contrite eyes at Kai who gave you a weak smile.

“Sorry, I fell asleep again.” You apologised shamefacedly, “You’re not boring, I swear. I think I’m just really tired tonight.”

“It’s alright,” Kai answered, his strong abdominals contracting as he pulled himself upright into a sitting position without using his arms. He reached out to pat at your hair on the side of your head that you’d fallen asleep on, smoothing down the fly-aways that had freed themselves from your braided locks. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, so it gave me some time to think.”

His kind face was vexed and a furrow creased his forehead. His thick mane of dreads was loose and they framed his head and shoulders quite impressively. It made him look very imposing, but you knew Kai was gentle-natured. It was one of the reasons he chose not to pursue a warrior’s path despite excelling in all his physical training tests. He preferred more temperate work as opposed to the potentially dangerous and adrenalin-filled rush of hunting and patrolling.

Feeling a renewed rush of penance as you took in his troubled mien, you took one of his hands in yours, “I feel bad. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. It’s a day of rest tomorrow so we can head out during the day, maybe take our ikran out for a flight and stop somewhere? Then you can tell me what’s bothering you, if you want to share.”

Kai was also easy-going and he usually leapt at any opportunity to spend time with you, but he seemed unsure today. He began worrying his lower lip between his teeth, appearing to be seriously deliberating your suggestion.

Growing apprehensive at the uncharacteristic and uncomfortable silence, you filled it, “Or not. We don’t have to if you’ve got other plans. I really am sorry for falling asleep. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

He chuckled and scratched uneasily at his jaw, “I’m not upset that you fell asleep, it’s OK really.”

“But?” You could sense there was something else weighing on him, something that was on the tip of his tongue that he was wavering over.

“I don’t think we should see each other like this anymore.”

Kai’s words were unexpected and they hit you like an unwelcome splash of cold water. Confusion flushed through you and you felt your own brows pull into a frown as you spluttered, “What? Why?”

“There are things going on in the background that need to be resolved and they’re outside my circle of control.”

There was something in the inflection of his voice, an unspoken implication that pointed at these unresolved issues being your responsibility to settle. He wasn’t being direct about his meaning though and your annoyance flared, “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Look, I may have respectable standing in the hierarchy of this clan as commander of the fisherfolk, but even I have enough self-preservation to know better than to challenge the future olo’eyktan.” 

An incredulous scoff left you and you blinked in disbelief, “Wait, is this about what happened with Neteyam last week? Before we left on that yerik hunt?”

Kai’s silence was all the confirmation you required.

“No, Kai, come on. He was in a really bad mood that day. He’s not normally like that.”

Kai’s answering laugh was bitter and he shook his head, “Neteyam has been glaring daggers at me for weeks now. He’s territorial over you and he’s made his claim clear to me.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. It was ridiculous what you were hearing and indignance swelled within you, “That’s bullshit! He has no such claim on me whatsoever and if he’s told you so then he’s lying!”

“He’s not said anything, but it’s been clear in his behaviour.” Kai clarified.

“So what?” You exclaimed, your exasperation clear in the way you threw your hands into the air, “Don’t I get a say in this? You’re just going to tuck tail and run?”

“It’s not just that-”

But you weren’t listening. Your skin prickled with anger, outraged that Neteyam appeared to be consciously sabotaging your budding relationship with Kai. As if he hadn’t caused enough emotional turmoil in your life already… You were trying so hard to move on and for some reason unknown to you, Neteyam had decided to act up. The man had barely spoken three sentences to you in the last moon!

“I’ll talk to him.” You declared to Kai firmly, “I’ll set him straight!”

“Neyomi, stop. Listen.” Kai implored, clasping your hands in his to stop your heated gesticulations. The points of his ears lay flat, not angry, more defeated and unhappy. He held your gaze and his eyes were cheerless as he continued, “I know that you have history with Neteyam. I don’t know the exact details, nor do I want to. But whatever it is going on between you, I can’t continue seeing you like this until it’s resolved.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Neteyam.” You spat. Ain’t that the truth…

Kai let go of your hands, letting his own slide gently from yours before returning them to his lap. His voice when he spoke was a murmur, but his words were incriminating, “You talk in your sleep.”

You froze and dread seized hold of your heart at what you might have muttered unknowingly.

Consciously making every effort to appear unaffected by his words, you queried, “What did I say?”

“Just his name.”

You attempted to brush it off with a scoff, “What? Just now? I don’t remember what I was dreaming about, but I might’ve been having a work argument with him for goodness sake.”

Kai exhaled and he asserted more firmly. “No, you sighed his name. And it’s happened on more than once occasion.”

The gravity of the situation was plain and you were scrambling to formulate an answer, anything at all that would refute the impression that Kai had formed. You decided to stick to the facts.

“There isn’t anything and will never be anything between Neteyam and me. He’ll choose a woman fit to be our next tsahìk. That won’t be me.”

“So you don’t deny your feelings then?”

“W-What?” You stammered, taken aback by the directness of the question, “Neteyam can’t claim me, Kai! It’s not possible!”

With an exasperated growl that surprised even you, Kai slammed his palm down onto the lush grass beside him, “I’m not talking about him right now, I’m talking about you!”

It was surreal what was happening and an odd, foggy feeling was consuming you. Part of you was reeling in disbelief and another other part of you was simmering with ire.

Your answered in a quiet voice, “I want this to work.”

Kai’s sigh was heavy and when his gaze met yours again, you perceived firm resolution in them. He replied, “So do I, but it won’t work if your heart’s not in it.” He rested one hand on your knee, “Look, when all this has blown over, and if and when you’re ready to open up fully, you know where to find me. But I don’t want to be second-best and I don’t want to be settled for. I’ll see you round, sevin.”

With a sad smile, Kai squeezed your knee before rising to his feet. He threw you one last parting glance and departed, leaving you flummoxed in the glade. Your brain made a frantic attempt to sort through the whirlpool of your emotions; shock, woe, confusion… But the dominant emotion was anger. Beneath the surprise on the surface, you were frothing with rage, not at Kai, but at Neteyam.

There’d been inklings of something good with Kai, something you could grow into and learn to cherish. Sure, your body seemed slow on the uptake, but perhaps that would change as time passed and as the memories of your mistakes began to dull. However, Kai had snuffed that little flame of possibility out tonight.

You pressed your lips together in mounting irritation as your breaths began to heave louder and louder. You counted the days of the week and realised it was the fifth night, which was when you’d normally have gone to meet the brothers. Shack night. Perfect.

Hopefully the object of your ire would be where you expected him to be, because you had a mighty big bone to pick with him.

***~~~***

Neteyam swilled the pulpy residue of his rumautpxir (fermented cannonball fruit beer) that was left in the wooden vessel he held. The alcoholic odour of it burned his nose a little and it certainly burned going down his throat too, but the drink was a welcome indulgence on nights like these. He was reclined in a hammock strung inside the old shack and it swayed gently with his movements. The oil lamps about the place flickered, bathing the shack in a lambent glow. 

He expected your no-show tonight, to be fair. You hadn’t come to the shack for the last three weeks and tonight was the fourth in a row. Neteyam’s heart twisted sorely in his chest and his mind gave a mental eye-roll at the expected result. Licking his lips, he downed the bitter remnants of beer and swung his legs out of the hammock to get a refill.

The quiet chafing of a blade against wood filled the background while Lo’ak busied himself with carving a new wooden charm that he intended to affix to a choker necklace. Ordinarily he’d be yammering away to Neteyam whilst he worked, but his brother wasn’t in a talking mood tonight. Lo’ak had all but given up trying to convince him to speak to you. Sulky wasn’t a description Lo’ak would ever have used to describe Neteyam in the past, but the last four weeks had changed that.

Neteyam had always been quick to learn, quick to bounce back from setbacks, but you’d clearly wounded him acutely with your dismissal of his affections and his pride hadn’t recovered. This only served to exemplify to Lo’ak the depth of what his older brother felt for you, but Neteyam was convinced you didn’t feel the same and that talking to you would only wound him further.

“Want a refill, bro?” Neteyam asked, holding his hand out to receive Lo’ak’s empty vessel.

“Nah, thanks. I’m good. I’ve already had four tonight, which is plenty.” Lo’ak eyed the refilled vessel that Neteyam was nursing. This was easily his fifth or sixth of the night and his inebriation was clear in the slightly glazed look of his eyes. Thank Eywa that tomorrow was a day of rest for the clan…

The familiar swish and rustle of foliage outside the shack made Lo’ak’s ears twitch in keen attention. He set down his craftwork, eyeline instantly trained on the shack’s entrance. He saw Neteyam had turned to do the same. Someone was approaching and judging by the rapidly thumping crunch of leaves under their feet, they were approaching quickly.

In a flash, the heavy draping cloths at the shack’s entrance flew aside to admit you as you stormed through the entryway. Your breaths were audible and you were sporting a deep scowl. If he wasn’t a warrior, Lo’ak would’ve jumped at the ferocity of your entrance. However, the only thought that crossed his mind as he took in your outraged state was that you reminded him very much of their mother Neytiri in that instant, all fearsome grace and incredible beauty.

“You!” You snarled, catching sight of Neteyam and closing the distance between you in several big strides. You aimed a forceful shove against his chest with both arms, causing him to take a step back.

The sight of your figure storming into the shack was a shock to Neteyam, but he only had seconds to ponder if it was a drunken hallucination before your violent shove knocked him backward. He hissed a curse as his drink slopped messily over his hand and wrist from the force.

Neteyam hissed caustically, fixing you with narrowed eyes, “Didn’t your parents ever teach you that shoving someone while they’re holding a drink is rude?”

“Well, let me solve that problem for you then.” You snatched the vessel from his hand and brought it to your lips. Tipping your head back, you downed the contents in three large gulps. The alcohol scorched its way down your throat and you grimaced, its bitter fumes stinging your nose and making your eyes water.

“Whoa, easy sweet thing. You’re supposed to drink that stuff slowly.” Lo’ak remarked, carefully setting aside his work and dusting his hands off to get to his feet. He moved closer to Neteyam, but stopped short of standing beside him, opting to stand a few feet away instead. He sensed that things were going to turn heated between you and his brother.

Recovering quickly from the alcohol’s physical assault on your senses, you slammed your hands against Neteyam’s shoulders again in another shunt, “You need to leave Kai alone! Mind your own business and stay out of my shit!”

Neteyam was quick to catch you by your elbows though and his firm grip encircled your upper arms. He emitted a hoarse chortle and he smirked at you, “Kai sending you to fight his battles for him, is he?”

You could tell Neteyam was drunk, the sweet odour of the beer lingering on his breath and seeping from his pores to mingle with his scent. You squirmed, fighting his hold but failed to break free. You carried on your tirade nonetheless, “How dare you intimidate him! You’ve got no right. You’ve got no claim over me whatsoever and you never will!”

Your last words were a shriek and even Lo’ak felt their impact. He snuck a cautious glance at Neteyam and saw the effect they had on him. His brother’s jaw was clenched, his upper lip curled in a slight snarl. Lo’ak sighed internally. Eywa, your words were just another blow to his brother’s pride…

Neteyam fought to hide the injury your words caused him. It was yet another painful reminder that you didn’t return his affections. He still had a hold of you and your chin was tilted up defiantly as you stared up at him in challenge.

He growled, “If Kai has a problem with me then perhaps he needs to grow a pair and bring it up with me himself.”

Your mouth snapped shut then and you couldn’t find any appropriate response to Neteyam’s retort without having to admit that Kai had ended things with you tonight. All you could do was glare at him. You realised in that moment that while Kai’s decision to break up with you was upsetting, you weren’t hurt by it. You were disappointed, maybe? But the root cause of your current bitterness was really Neteyam’s audacious interference.

Neteyam watched you, his amber orbs piercing your own gaze as he waited for your answer. Your response never came and that in itself was telling. He understood then what had happened and he snorted, “He didn’t fight for you, did he? Typical.”

Lo’ak pursed his lips at the hypocrisy of Neteyam’s remark and he couldn’t help the smartass comment that left him in a mutter, “Bit rich coming from you, bro.” His brother’s reaction was instant and a snarl of warning was thrown his way.

Much to Lo’ak’s disappointment, you didn’t catch on to his meaning and you continued to twist in Neteyam’s hold. You shrieked, “Only because you’re throwing your weight around where you have no business doing so! Let me go, kurkung (asshole)!”

Your struggling only seemed to spur Neteyam on further and he looped a muscled arm around your waist, clutching you to him. Trapped against his torso now, you cursed your traitorous body as it took note of how hot his body was, and how the heady musk of his scent filled your nose. You’d missed this, missed him… You were angry still, but the heat of your ire was quickly waning. Being in his arms felt so disastrously right…

Neteyam crushed your slighter frame to his, scenting the skin of your neck in small puffing sniffs. He could smell you so clearly at this proximity and he hated that he could smell Kai on you. It’d been weeks since he’d held you against him and the addition of his alcohol-induced confidence made him daring with his words, “You stink of him, paskalin.”

“Don’t call me that. Let me go and you won’t have to smell it anymore.” You hissed, but it sounded half-hearted even to your own ears as the words left you.

“No.” Neteyam’s voice was a rumbling purr and he rubbed his cheeks against yours while his hands roamed the expanse of your slender back.

You knew what he was doing. He was marking you with his scent. Your body warred with the logic in your mind. Your conscience told you to finish saying your piece and leave, but your body wanted to indulge in this gorgeous male it had been denied the pleasure of for weeks. Your neck prickled when the heat of another warm body closed in on you from behind. Lo’ak.

“Forget about Kai. He doesn’t deserve you if he won’t fight for you.” Lo’ak murmured matter-of-factly, settling his hands on your hips and caressing your skin. His eyes locked with Neteyam’s behind your back then and he gave his older brother a sharp and pointed look, “The right man will.”

“I’m not staying. I didn’t come here for this.” Your tone was more breathless than you’d anticipated and you could feel the alcohol you’d foolishly guzzled earlier settling in a haze over you, clouding your inhibitions. Your head was craned to the side, your jaw cradled in one of Neteyam’s hands while his lips worshipped the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You don’t sound very convinced, sweet thing.” Lo’ak chuckled hoarsely. His hands stroked in a bold path from your hips to your bottom, squeezing the pert flesh of your derriere, “We’ve missed you since you’ve been away spending time with that skxawng.”

“Leave Kai alone. What’s your problem with him?”

Never one to pass on an opportunity to crack a joke, Lo’ak snickered and crowed, “Nothing. There’s just something fishy about him.”

It was a corny attempt at a joke, but it elicited an amused chortle from Neteyam nonetheless and even you had to fight a grin.

However, the moment of light-heartedness was short-lived and you reminded yourself of why you’d even come to the shack in the first place. You fortified your defences, squirming away from Neteyam only to find your back wedged against Lo’ak’s front. You were thoroughly sandwiched between them.

You pressed your point insistently again, “Stop it, both of you. I came here to make a point, now let me go.”

“Aww come on, sweet thing. You might as well stay and play now that you’re here.” Lo’ak cooed, tracing the fingers of one hand up the seam of your buttocks to grasp the base of your tail. He twisted it in his palm and the feeling sent a sensual shudder through you. “You didn’t even say goodbye the last time.”

Lo’ak’s lips began their own assault on the free side of your neck that Neteyam wasn’t attending to, and you fought the urge to whimper. Their hot hands were everywhere; gripping your hips, tickling your ribs and caressing your tail. There was so much of them against you, hot and masculine and Great Mother did they smell good. Their scents were familiar, strangely comforting yet also tantalising in the promise of the pleasure you knew the brothers could bring you.

And by Eywa, you had missed the pleasure… Your body ached for it… The urge to just give in was so strong. In your mind, it was as if you stood on the edge of an abyss within which raged a churning whirlpool that would swallow you whole if you stepped off the ledge.

Neteyam’s lips wandered from your neck, pressing kisses along your jaw and up to the corner of your lips. You stiffened. You wanted his kiss, craved the sweet, searing heat of it… But no, you’d be taking five steps backward if you were stupid tonight…You turned your face from his.

Neteyam’s jaw tightened at your refusal. Fine, still no kissing… But he was desperate and he would take what he could get from you. He uttered his request, “Alright, you’ve made your point. I’ll back off Kai, but only if you stay tonight. One last time, paskalin.”

Lo’ak chimed in with a filthy promise by your other ear, “You know you won’t regret it. You never do.”

Your knees almost buckled and you knew your mind had lost the fight against your body when you felt your inner walls clench and flutter involuntarily.

Fuck it. Fuck logic, fuck your conscience.

You’d spent the better part of the last several weeks trying to pick up the pieces of your dignity, only to find yourself right back where you started every time you’d faked an orgasm with Kai and then touched yourself to thoughts of Neteyam after. You just wanted to feel good now, wanted to feel your body detonate with mindless ecstasy. Fuck it all. You’d deal with your regression later. That was a tomorrow problem.

Their breaths were hot around you and you could smell the alcohol they’d both imbibed. Their loincloths didn’t do much to disguise their erections. Their hard arousals dug into your flesh, one poking insistently into one round of your bottom while another was nestled against your lower belly.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you hissed an impertinent taunt, “You’re both steaming drunk. How long can you keep those cocks hard for?”

Their dark chuckles resonated in the shack as the brothers smirked triumphantly at each other. Lo’ak’s fingers were already flying to untie your loincloth while Neteyam dropped to his knees and pushed your breasts free of their covering, opting to indulge himself with a taste of your nipples while his fingers dealt with discarding the covering there.

“You let us worry about our cocks and just focus on yourself. Rest assured we’ll stay hard long enough to do more than satisfy you.” Lo’ak guaranteed, and without any verbal warning, he hauled your now nude form into his arms and carried you to the main play area at the back of the shack.

He settled you on your feet before the large mirror in the space to divest himself of his own clothing. When he straightened to full height again, just as bare now as you were, you reached out to give his proud cock a stroke. Lo’ak sucked a breath in through his teeth and his hips jolted forward into your grasp, “Oh, he’s missed you alright. Tonight’s not about us boys though. It’s all you, sweet thing.”

Neteyam wasn’t far behind and he returned to join you and Lo’ak. He’d clearly paid a visit to the toy box and he deposited a few of your favourite toys onto the bed behind you. He strode up to you, but before you could greet his naked body in the same manner you’d greeted Lo’ak’s, he clasped your chin in a firm but not ungentle hold. Tilting your face up to his, he eyed the outline of your plush lips.

For a moment, you thought Neteyam was going to infringe on the boundary you’d set as his face neared yours. His lips grazed yours, but it was the lightest of touches and not quite a kiss. You both felt and heard him as he murmured against your lips, “Since you won’t let me kiss these, I’ll have to content myself with kissing you everywhere else. Any other boundaries tonight?”

Freeing both of your hands, you ran your palms down his front, enjoying the ridges and planes of his muscled chest and defined abdominals beneath your fingers. Finally reaching him where he strained the hardest, you gripped his cock and pumped your fist several times, spreading the already beading pre-cum over the rigid length of him. Neteyam flinched at the contact and his eyes slid shut in pleasure.

“No, no other boundaries. Just the usual. Same safeword.”

A low purr of approval sounded from Lo’ak behind you and he reached around you to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking repeatedly over the peaked buds of your lilac-coloured nipples. You moaned wantonly and pushed your bosom out towards his touch, the pleasure pulses zinging in a direct line from your nipples to your pussy. Neteyam swiped two fingers between the apex of your thighs and, even without looking, you could tell you were embarrassingly wet already just by how easily his fingers moved through your folds.

Neteyam brought his fingers to his mouth and cleaned them off in a slow, smacking suck. He groaned quietly and nodded his head at his brother.

It was a signal that Lo’ak understood without words. Standing behind you, he crouched to slide his hands down your thighs, before gripping you behind both knees and suddenly lifting you, folding you in half with your thighs splayed wide. He sat down on the edge of the bed then and hooked each of your knees over his, leaving your bottom dangling down between his shins.

You gave a startled cry at the change in position. It was a new position to you too. You were facing your reflection in the mirror and the wanton young woman who stared back at you tonight was a far cry from the sobbing mess you’d been most nights in the last while. Your folded body was hanging in what could only be described as a deep squat, your arms and knees hooked over Lo’ak’s splayed thighs to keep you suspended just above the floor. You were nimble though and the position was oddly comfortable despite how it looked.

The position left you helpless and completely exposed, but judging by the hungry expression that both brothers were sporting, it was exactly what they wanted.

Neteyam situated himself in front of you, stretching out on his front and balancing the weight of his upper body on his elbows. His face was parallel with where he wanted to ravish you, but before he indulged, his gaze flicked up to meet yours and he checked in with you gently, “You comfortable there?”

You nodded and your answer was quiet, “Yeah, I’m good.”

This was the sweet side of him, you mused. It was the side of him that you loved most, and it was the side that you hadn’t seen in a while. Your interactions since the night at the hot spring had been awkward and then they’d dwindled to become few and far between as you both avoided each other. Your work day conversations were kept to a minimum and whenever you had spoken, he’d been clipped and guarded. You’d missed seeing this sweet side of Neteyam…

Although, it was also this tender side of him that had made you run in the first place…

The corner of Neteyam’s lips quirked upward in a small smile and he scooted forward to cup your bottom, helping to support your weight as he lowered his lips to your waiting core. He kissed your folds then, languidly, his lips and tongue stroking and sweeping over your flesh as if he was kissing you on your mouth instead. Your breath stuttered and the muscles in your thighs tightened at the delicious sensation.

Your reflection was a sensually gratuitous picture. Your eyes were hooded and your cheeks and chest were flushed a deeper hue of violet. Neteyam’s head bobbed and shifted between your thighs where he pleasured you, and you could see that Lo’ak was enjoying the show. He had his cock in hand and the slippery length of it was disappearing in and out of his tight grasp whilst he stroked himself.

You were entirely at Neteyam’s mercy in this position. You couldn’t move or grind your hips against him. He had complete control of the situation and all you could do was squirm and whine his name while he worked. He was suckling intently at your clit now, your pussy throbbing with the rhythm of your pleasure.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful like that.” Lo’ak groaned, watching you through the mirror, “You want to cum so bad, don’t you?”

Neteyam’s fingers were digging into your hips where he held you and you canted your hips as much as you could against his face, “Y-Yes, but I need more-”

With a small pop, Neteyam released his hold on you and you gasped at the sudden lack of stimulation. His grin was a dirty one and he clucked at you as he shifted to sit upright, “So impatient. We’re going to take our time with you tonight.”

Lo’ak chortled in agreement and he reached over to pass two toys over to his brother, “One last hurrah, right? Gotta savour it.”

“You taste like nectar, paskalin. So sweet and so soft.” Neteyam crooned, toying with something in his right hand.

You glanced downward and you recognised the glass butt plug he was holding. They’d used it on you in the past. It was good size, neither too big nor too small. It was just big enough to give you a feeling of fullness in a place you’d never explored in this way before the brothers, and you certainly never expected it to feel as good as it had.

Neteyam ran the cool surface of the plug against your pussy, lubricating it with your copious moisture. He teased you deliberately, letting the glass bulb of it slip into your pussy a few times, causing a mix of curses to tumble from your lips. He smoothed his thumb over your butthole with his other hand, slowly letting the digit work its way past the tightness of the outer ring of muscle at its entrance. You were chanting his name under your breath like a prayer now, eager for him to insert the plug.

Lo’ak’s own breathing was laboured and he stifled a few curses of his own, slowing down his palming of his cock, “Shit Neteyam, just give it to her already.”

“Losing your control?” Neteyam goaded with a sneer, “It’s alright. You can blow your load. You don’t need to fuck her tonight. I’m happy to do all the honours.”

“Not a chance, bro. I’m not missing out.”

Your pussy squeezed hard at Neteyam’s display of possessiveness. It was so fucked up, especially given the circumstances, how your body thrilled to know that he wanted you for himself. It was so fucked up also on another count that you were excited by the idea of his sexual possession, but his emotional possession had sent you running for the hills. But you knew it was only because you’d end up hurt, you both would… If there was a way that you could have him as more than a playmate, perhaps as a potential mate for life, you’d have drowned happily in his tender affections.

The sore turn of your thoughts was halted when you felt Neteyam press the glass bulb of the plug against your butthole. The feeling of the pressing stretch as he worked it into you cleared your mind and you were forced to breathe through the slightly uncomfortable sensation.

“Relax for me, good girl.” Neteyam murmured, his free hand rubbing gentle circles over your clit.

With a quick slip and clench, your body accepted the plug, seating it into its intended position inside your rear. The discomfort of its initial entry faded and was replaced by a gratifying sense of fullness. The plug was weighted and the slight heaviness of it was a wonderful addition. You closed your eyes, relishing the feeling and you heard the familiar click and whirr of another toy coming to life in Neteyam’s hands.

“You take that plug so well, sweet thing.” Lo’ak praised, leaning down to pepper the side of your face with a few kisses, “I love watching it pulse as you enjoy your pleasure. You going to put on a show for us tonight?”

Your response was a skreich of pleasure when Neteyam parted your folds to settle the clit sucker over your little nub. Your clit was already so sensitive and swollen from his earlier suckling. The toy’s intense and pulsing suction formed a seal around it immediately, throwing you straight onto the racetrack towards a powerful orgasm. Your pelvic muscles quickly settled into a thumping tempo, your inner walls contracting and releasing with bliss, making the glass plug physically jump where it was seated in your ass.

Cracking open your eyes you spied yourself in the mirror, splayed open as you were before with a clit sucker held against you while your pussy and ass visibly pulsated. Your slick was trickling out of you and down your rear with each squeeze of your core. It was a horribly obscene yet incredibly arousing image that you were sure would make any heterosexual man salivate. Your mouth was slack as you mewled and cried out, and sure enough, you discovered both brothers were furiously working their cocks while they watched; Lo’ak seated on the bed above you and Neteyam sitting on his heels beside you.

With another audible click, you felt it when Neteyam turned the intensity of the clit sucker up a couple of levels and within moments your first orgasm crashed into you. A hoarse cry left you as your torso and thigh muscles went rigid, your entire core bursting with bliss. There were mutual groans coming from both Neteyam and Lo’ak too, but in the height of your pleasure, the noise sounded muffled and far away.

“Fuck, Neyomi. I need you right now.” Lo’ak ground out through gritted teeth, “I want to feel your pussy squeeze around me like that when you cum.”

There was commotion as Lo’ak pulled you upward from where you dangled between his legs. He settled you on your side on the plush bedding. Your legs tingled numbly and they felt like they were no longer solid.

“Do you think you can get onto your hands and knees for me, sweet thing?” Lo’ak urged, steadying you as you made an attempt to roll onto your knees. He caught sight of the thunder on his older brother’s face then and he rolled his eyes, peeved, “Sharing is caring, bro. I can’t fucking wait anymore.”

“Don’t be too long. And don’t-”

“Yes, yes I know! Don’t cum inside her.” Lo’ak waved Neteyam off irascibly, “I know the drill.”

Manoeuvring onto all fours, you found, to your relief, that your limbs were fairly stable. Your legs were still tingling, but the numbness had disappeared now and you could hold yourself up just fine. You felt Lo’ak mount you from behind and he gave the butt plug a teasing tug while he lined his cock up with your entrance. Eager to be penetrated, you lowered yourself onto your elbows with your rump high in the air.

Lo’ak didn’t waste a moment more. He ran the head of his cock over your folds once and then plunged into your wet heat with a brutal thrust of his hips. His cock easily slid to its hilt with how slick you were and a harsh groan was his reaction to the feel of your walls enveloping his length. Gripping your hips, he drew his hips back and thrust in again, earning him a guttural cry from you.

Neteyam leaned against the wall on the adjacent side, facing you so he could watch your face dance with your many expressions of pleasure. Lo’ak was less patient than he was and Neteyam wanted to be the last to have you so he could take his time. He tried his best to focus on you instead of the fact that his brother was fucking you. It was an exercise he was used to by now, given that this was always the order of things when you’d visited the shack. Not that sharing you had become any easier the more you’d visited the shack…

Neteyam was impatient tonight though. He hadn’t had you in weeks and things had been strained. Though he hoped otherwise, tonight was quite possibly the last time he’d ever have you. Especially if you were going to try and work things out with Kai… He had promised you earlier that he would back off. If Kai was truly who you wanted, then Neteyam wouldn’t stand in the way. His heart thumped painfully in his chest at the thought.

If tonight was to be the last time he could have you like this, then he was going to make the most of it. He was going to try to steal a kiss from you tonight by hook or by crook.

Through the jarring smack of Lo’ak’s hips against yours, you saw Neteyam watching moodily from against the wall. He had his arms crossed over his chest, but his cock was still hard and standing at attention, jutting out from his narrow hips. A thin string of pre-cum was dangling from its thick head and your mouth watered, wanting to lick it away and taste it. Lo’ak had set a steady pace and one of his hands was skilfully working at your clit while he thrusted. You could feel your second orgasm building gradually, but you were still distracted by the sight of Neteyam’s cock.

Unable to speak because your breath was being forcefully pushed from you with each of Lo’ak’s thrusts, you caught Neteyam’s eye and extended a hand out towards him. You curled your fingers, wordlessly beckoning him to come towards you where you were positioned on your hands and knees at the edge of the bed. He seemed to catch your drift and he pushed off the wall to stalk towards you.

Once he was within reach, your encircled his erection with one hand and tugged him closer until his knees were flush against the bed. A particularly hard thrust caused you to lose your balance and you let go of him, palm slamming flat against to the bedding again to steady yourself. Your mouth had been open though and your intention had been clear enough to Neteyam. He grinned and guided his cock to your lips, which parted again to receive him.

“Oh paskalin,” Neteyam’s breath rushed from him as your mouth engulfed him with moist, tight suction.

You couldn’t take him all the way in your position without the risk of choking and hurting yourself due to Lo’ak’s thrusting, but you could take him half way. You sucked in your cheeks and swirled your tongue over the tip of him, enjoying the salty-sweet taste of his pre-cum. You didn’t even need to bob your head, courtesy of Lo’aks jolting thrusts.

The sight of you spit-roasted on two cocks between him and his brother was enough to almost make Neteyam lose his control. He closed his eyes, willing his throbbing cock to just teeter on the edge of bliss without spilling. He burned the image of you into his memories; the way your lips stretched over his thick girth; the way you whimpered as your body jerked while you were being railed; the way your eyes watered a little every time a hard thrust made his cock head hit the back of your throat.

Lo’ak’s intermittent groans were becoming more frequent now and his pants were getting harsher. You knew you were close too with how your pussy seemed to be trying to swallow more of him with each pulsating throb. The consistent rub of his fingers over your swollen nub made your core burn with impending ecstasy, your climax so close yet not quite within reach. But you knew what would send you over the edge, you knew whose eyes you wanted to lose yourself in as you came.

Neteyam’s thumbs stroked at your cheeks encouragingly and you pulled your head back as far as you could so you could catch his eyes. A pleasure-filled frown was twisting his handsome face and the moment his piercing golden orbs locked with your green irises, your second climax shattered you. Your pussy clenched down hard and you heard Lo’ak emit a gravelly shout.

Lo’ak had never felt anything as intense. He was supposed to withdraw and spill outside you, but your orgasm triggered his own like a sudden and hot strike of lightning at the base of his spine. Your inner muscles had clamped down on his cock, his own climax merciless as he felt himself ejaculate. He hadn’t had time and he couldn’t help it. Instead of pulling out, his primal instincts overwhelmed him and forced his hips to stay pressed against your rump while he spilled.

An unrestrained string of curse words left Lo’ak as he withdrew afterward, collapsing onto his side in a heap of heaving breaths. Neteyam’s displeasure was immediate and a harsh growl filled the air. He pulled his cock free of your mouth and he would’ve rounded on his younger brother if not for your hand, which had caught him around one wrist.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t stop it!” Lo’ak exclaimed, dragging a hand down his face and pawing at his eyes, “I lost control, alright? I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“It’s OK.” You placated, tugging on Neteyam’s wrist. His expression was still marred by a snarl and you gingerly rose onto your knees to smooth a soothing palm over his chest, “Calm down. It’s my body and I’m OK with it.”

Neteyam wanted to tell you that he didn’t care that you were alright with it. He wasn’t alright with it. He wanted to be the only brother in that space to have you that way, and Lo’ak knew that. His brother was more than aware of what it meant to him to be the sole bearer of that privilege.

“I swear it was an accident, bro.” Lo’ak mumbled tamely.

You saw Neteyam shoot an unimpressed glower at his brother and you caressed his cheek, drawing his attention back to you, “Come on, put your hands on me. How do you want me? Facing you or from behind?” You took his hands and placed them over your breasts, loving the feel of his rough palms against your nipples.

A peculiar sense of déjà vu washed over Neteyam at your question and he realised it was the same question he’d asked you on your very first visit to the shack: Do you want me to take you from behind or do you want me to face you?...

It was a poignant moment for him and he echoed your original answer from that first night back to you, never feeling the truth of them more than he did in that instant, “I want to kiss you.”

Your eyes softened and he saw sadness cloud your irises. You remembered too.

Your soft fingers stroked Neteyam’s jaw and you murmured despondently, “You can kiss me everywhere. Anywhere but here.” The fingers of your free hand touched your own lips and you kissed them, before pressing those fingers to his lips.

Neteyam’s eyes were aggrieved, but he toppled you onto the bed anyway and covered your body with his. It seemed he’d taken your answer seriously as he began to leave a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses down your body: from your cheeks, down your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, your navel and lower. Your skin prickled in heated anticipation; your arousal still high despite your first two climaxes. Neteyam seemed to have that effect on you. Your body would always respond to his and it could keep going.

Neteyam reached for the last toy that they hadn’t yet used tonight. The wand vibrator.

Parting your azure thighs, he found the butt plug still nestled neatly in your rear and your core glistened with your slick and the pearlescent remains of his brother’s cum. The reminder of Lo’ak’s mistake annoyed him, but he had to admit that the vision of the sticky mess smeared over your pussy was very arousing.

The wand came to life with a low whirr and he ran it gently over your luscious folds. You jumped with a moan, the intense and rumbling vibrations of the toy stimulating every last nerve ending between your thighs. Your pussy pulsed and the butt plug jumped with the flex and lax of your pelvic muscles. Lo’ak had recovered from his earlier orgasm and had quietly rejoined to play. He busied himself with your breasts, letting his tongue rasp over their sensitive peaks while his fingers fondled and squeezed.

“Come on, paskalin, you know what the aim of the game is.” Neteyam purred, focusing the head of the wand on your clit while two of his fingers curled inside your pussy to find your g-spot.

“Ohhh Eywa!” You squealed, thighs quaking and tail curling under as Neteyam’s fingers found their target swiftly and efficiently.

All it took was for him to apply pressure with his curling strokes and your body skyrocketed to the precipice again. The pleasure was so intense with the wand that chills raced their way across the expanse of your skin. The burning pressure built and built in your lower belly. Your clit throbbed under the wand’s unforgiving assault, and combined with the full feeling of the plug still in your bottom, you hurtled over the precipice for a third time with a scream. Your entire frame seized and you pushed through the euphoric blow of your orgasm, releasing the pressure with a wet squirt that you knew was inevitable the moment Neteyam had laid his hands on you.

You began to writhe in discomfort, your body oversensitive now and uncomfortable. Neteyam’s fingers left you, but the wand remained over your swollen and stinging clit. You tried to squirm away from it, reaching down with your hands, only for Lo’ak to stop you, “Nuh uh, we’re not done, sweet thing. Use your safeword if you need it. Otherwise, you’re going to have to ride the overstimulation out.”

“W-Wait, no!” You wriggled and twisted, the stimulation almost too much and yet it was still so incredibly good.

“Use your safeword, Neyomi.” Lo’ak reminded.

When your safeword didn’t leave your lips, Neteyam positioned his hips at your parted thighs, still holding the wand in place with one hand. He added, “One last hurrah, and we’re going to make it worth your while.” Aligning himself with your pussy, he pushed his thick cock inside you.

The speed of his penetration had been slow and steady, but you felt every single bit of him; from the swollen head of his cock to each raised ridge on his shaft. You felt as if you were melting around him, as if your body was moulding itself perfectly to his. It was absolute paradise.

The triple stimulation you were experiencing was devastatingly good. You could feel the girth of his cock grinding against the butt plug through your inner walls as he thrusted with each roll of his hips. Your mind was blissfully clear as your pleasure heightened again another notch, every single cell of your being focused on the never-ending rapture that appeared to have consumed you whole. You didn’t even know if you were climaxing or not because it just seemed to carry on.

When another pulsing squirt gushed from you, Neteyam abandoned the wand and pinned you beneath him in full missionary position. There was only a moment’s reprieve from the assault of pleasure while Neteyam repositioned himself before he hips began their relentless onslaught again. You clung on for dear life, your ankles crossed behind his back, your arms looped about his ribs, nails raking his skin.

Burying his face against the side of yours, Neteyam ground out his assertions, “This might be your last night here, paskalin, but you’ll never forget this. You’ll never forget us and how we made you feel.”

“Y-Yes…” Your answer was a shaky whisper.

“We’re going to have all of you tonight, you hear me?” Neteyam continued, and it was testament to his athletic strength and stamina that he could keep up whisper to you while maintaining the speedy canting of his hips, “I’m going to cum so deep inside you and when I’m done, my brother and I are both going to take you at the same time.”

Beads of wetness seeped from the corners of your eyes to run into your braided hair and you realised you were crying. Whether from overstimulation, from the filthy promise of Neteyam’s words, or from the looming reminder that you were going to be an emotional wreck tomorrow, you weren’t sure.

You hiccupped softly and Neteyam pressed a kiss to your wet cheek. He couldn’t hide the tinge of concern in his tone, “Those better be tears of joy. You know what to do if it gets too much.”

You shook your head, clutching on even tighter to him as what felt like another tidal wave of pleasure began cresting towards you. Your body tightened around his, your core squeezing around his cock in preparation to milk him dry. The tidal wave curled and crashed in the next moment and you screamed his name, your pussy squeezing and squirting so hard that the butt plug was ejected from your bottom by your pelvic muscles.

Neteyam roared his climax into the plush bedding by your head. Your pussy contracted and pulsed in time with the spurting of his cock, and he could feel the warm heat of his cum filling you. Great Mother, he never wanted to be without you like this… Everything about you was good and right… Instinctively, not wanting to suffocate you with his dead weight, he rolled off you to rest on his side.

Your hitching breaths were a staccato harmony to his ragged breathing. Everything on your body was buzzing with oversensitivity. Your nipples tingled uncomfortably and you felt feverishly hot between your legs. Your skin felt too tight all over you and your nose was a little stuffy from mucus. However, if you thought you were going to be able to lie there for a bit, you were wrong.

Neteyam called out to Lo’ak, who was reclined on your other side, “Roll her over onto you, bro, gently.”

You blinked teary eyes at Lo’ak as he scooted closer to you. He stroked your forehead and your cheeks, wiping away the sticky tears that rolled down your face, “Shh, one last thing ok, sweet thing? One last thing and then we’ll take care of you and you can sleep.”

Taking your upper arm, Lo’ak pulled your upper body over his, before hooking his palm behind your knee to haul the rest of you over him. You were lying front to front with him and he settled your cheek against his shoulder and collarbone. You instinctively curled against him, tucking your arms against his ribs and tucking your knees up under you by his hips. Unbeknownst to you, it was exactly the position they wanted you in.

You’d heard other women speak of the term ‘fucked dumb’ before, and you’d merely thought they were joking or exaggerating. But you understood it now. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess and coherent words were far from your lips.

“No one will ever make you feel this way again,” Lo’ak murmured to you, and you felt him shift your bottom over his pelvis. It didn’t surprise you anymore that his cock was erect again. Both brothers appeared to be at the height of their virility currently. Two rounds was no issue, some nights even three.

You felt like putty and allowed Lo’ak to guide himself into your silky heat once more. In your position, your body sank onto his cock easily and you whimpered again at the girthy stretch of him. Lo’ak chuckled, “Now for the good part.”

The bedding dipped a little on either side of you and Lo’ak when Neteyam came to position himself behind you. He was straddling your hips in a crouch and you felt him bring your tail over one of his shoulders. His earlier words rang in your ears and you understood what he was about to do… My brother and I are both going to take you at the same time…

Neteyam ran his thumb over your puckered butthole. Between your slick and his cum, there was plenty of lubrication available for what he intended. He caressed one round of your pert bottom and pulled the flesh aside a little, “I said I wanted to have all of you, Neyomi.”

An audible gasp left you as the blunt head of Neteyam’s cock pressed at your rear entrance. He said nothing to reassure you, but his touch was gentle and cautious. He pushed further and you felt your body resist the girth of him. You breathed deeply, fighting to relax the muscles like they’d taught you when you’d first been introduced to the butt plugs. Slowly but surely, your body accepted him and he slid into your bottom with a tight groan that was echoed by both yourself as well as Lo’ak.

The fullness was exquisite. The three of you remained still, just getting used to the sensation and enjoying the initial wonder of something new.

Balancing on the balls of his feet while he straddled you, Neteyam’s voice was an indulgent purr, “You feel fucking amazing.”

Lo’ak began to move first, just a slow and shallow rock of his hips and it amazed you that Neteyam synced in with him almost immediately in the opposite direction. When one brother pulled outward, the other pushed inward, their cocks slipping in and out of you in coordinated tandem.

The dual stimulation was definitely overwhelming. You were quite literally stuffed full of them both and it was an incredibly intimate position. Neither of them were thrusting particularly deeply, both just rocking their hips with you sandwiched between their bodies. It was slow and sweet, and it felt strangely like making tender love with two people at once.

It was the most tender that either of them had been with you all night. There was just one thing missing that would make things perfect; one crucial thing that would see you violate the very boundary that you had set for yourself if you did it. A kiss.

Tonight was your last night with Neteyam and Lo’ak, it had to be. From tomorrow, you’d have to put all of this behind you, keep it locked away in the deepest recesses of your mind. Forget about Lo’ak. Forget about Neteyam. Try to work things out with Kai and move on with your life.

The reckless part of you offered up the idea of crossing your boundary again. It was your last night here and look at all you’d done with them tonight already. Surely crossing that line couldn’t hurt that much more, right? What was one last kiss in light of everything you’d done tonight?

Your heart trilled with contentment at the thought. You would remember their bodies and remember the touch of their hands; remember their scents and remember their voices as they teased you and praised you. You resolved to share one last kiss with each of them, so you would also remember the feel of their lips against yours too.

You raised your chin to look at the brother closest to you. Lo’ak raised a brow at you and a corner of his lips quirked upward in a small smile. With shaky breaths you eyed the cupid’s bow of his upper lip. One last kiss from each of them Neyomi, and then tomorrow it’s back to reality… Carefully, you leaned downward and gently slanted your lips over his.

Abruptly, the tender and serene mood was splintered by an ireful hiss from Neteyam. You jumped, pulling back from Lo’ak to see him regarding you with a confused expression, the furrow between his brows knitting deeper with every passing moment. The gentle rocking of your bodies ceased and you cried out as Neteyam swiftly withdrew himself from your body in a jarring tug.

Everything happened so quickly and the last thing you perceived, as you craned your head backward, was Neteyam’s frame storming angrily from the shack.

Lo’ak moved beneath you, taking you by your hips to roll you gently onto your side again. You could see your own confusion mirrored back at you through his amber irises. Your body buzzed still from the aftermath of your pleasure and your brain was a foggy muddle.

“What just happened?” You asked meekly.

Lo’ak scoffed and shook his head at you, appearing equally bewildered and upset, “I could ask you the same thing. What the fuck are you playing at?”

***~~~*** Part V - The Fault Is Ours now HERE

Author's Note:

Gaaaah another cliffhanger!! 🫣 Spill your thoughts and all your messy emotions to me, my bebes! Neteyam is such a stubborn ass, right? And oh that unwitting mistake that Neyomi made at the end... 🥲

I hope this made your heart squeeze as well as other places... Thanks for reading. I love each and everyone of you that supports me. Comments, reblogs and likes are all very much appreciated! 😘

Taglist note: There are so many of you who've asked to be tagged that I've exceed the tag limit. So if you haven't been tagged in the body of this post, I haven't forgotten you! I've probably tagged you in another post that links you back to this one. 💖

Taglist:

@teymars @eyweveng @leaveitbythewave @luvteyams @akiras-key @bajbr @qcswrites @reggiesslut @neteluvr @savvysscandles @dasaniix @emery-333 @vintaqestar @live-laugh-neteyam @itssomeonereading @strawberry-vamp0 @delacruzyari @bluecooki3 @frustrated-kitten @innercreationflower @wheneclipsefalls @iameatingmyhair  @ele-sme @investedreader @oasiswithmyg @daeneeryss @pandorxxx @anonka01 @hunbomb @pandoraslxna @adrianarose7 @sunghoonmyluv @notnat02 @getthisoverwith33 @simp4myself @spicymayyo @animehoe1-800 @daddysmurfslefttoenail @iman-lu @creepytoes88 @flyingspacewhale @neteyamswifesworld @lostress101 @nilsavatar @itsjazzsworld @solemnlover @asweetblueberry2 @blue-slxt

[catmiemy]

Another Chance to Live Part 1 (Ana Maria Crnogorčević x Reader)

Summary: Ana and you are both struggling with unwanted transfers, but maybe you can at least find happiness off the pitch.

A/N: This is the first part of a story I've been working on for a while. I guess my way of processing my emotions about Ana's transfer. I've been in the denial stage for a long time 😅

The next two chapters are already written (just need to edit them) and so far it's a total of about 13k words. I'm now at a crossroad which will decide how long the story becomes. So I thought I'd publish the first part and see how much interest there is in a story like this to help me decide.

It felt like a cruel joke of the universe that now, now when you had been forced to leave, the woman you’ve had a crush on for years, joined your team, or well your former team. Words that made your heart crack a little more every time you thought them. Never in a billion years had you expected your team to become your former team.

Ever since you had first laid eyes on Ana you had been dazzled by her, not necessarily only by her looks, although you definitely enjoyed them, but also by her personality and her aura. She always radiated so much kindness and positive energy. It was impossible not to be drawn to her.

Sadly your paths didn’t cross all too often and when they did, Ana was always somewhere in the heart of whatever group you were part of, while you were lingering on the edges, looking in. So the Swiss woman was probably only vaguely aware of your existence, while you soaked up every detail you could find about Ana. The more you learnt, the more you liked her.

 And yes, sometimes when you lay in bed at night you made up little scenarios how the two of you would meet. One of your favorite ones was Ana coming to Atleti, not really knowing her way around Madrid yet, so you take her under your wing and show her everything. And of course she starts falling for you as you spend so much time together. It was your imagination after all, so you could day dream all you wanted.

Now part of this little fantasy was actually coming true, Ana really was joining Atlético, and it frustrated you to no end that now that she came, you were gone.  Although perhaps it wasn’t the universe being cruel towards you, maybe it was protecting you because even if you played for the same team there was no way the Swiss woman would ever go for someone like you.

Still, you spent a good amount of time fuming about it in your apartment. Possibly also because it was easier to focus on that rather than on the fact that your childhood club had just dropped you like you meant nothing.  Every time you remembered the conversation with the club’s managers you felt like throwing up, hiding under the covers for the rest of your life, and ripping off your ears so you didn’t have to listen to one more word from them. So yeah, it was comforting in a weird way to think about your missed chance with Ana, especially since it never had been much of a chance anyway.

It was harder to hold on to that strange comfort when training actually started and you had to go to Real Madrid’s training center every day. Most days were spent attempting to do your best and keep your negative emotions in check, while thinking nonstop about how much you hated this, how much you wanted to return to Atelti, how much you wanted to leave Madrid altogether.

So all in all you weren’t having the best time, barely getting by was actually a more accurate way to describe it. Then a few weeks after the season started you got a call from Lola.

“Sooo I heard you’re doing a lot of moping these days,” she teased you.

However there was an underlying note of worry in her voice. You had done your best to pretend as if Atleti’s decision hadn’t hurt you, that these things happen in football, and you were completely fine with it, but Lola had seen right through it.

“I’m not moping, I’m just quiet and focused like usual,” you quickly defended yourself. It was only partially true, you hated every single second you spent at the training center of Real Madrid.

“That’s not what I’ve heard, but how about you convince me over a cup of coffee. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”

You didn’t even question how Lola knew that you had the day off tomorrow, apparently she had some spies at Real. As much as you didn’t want to continue talking about the misery that was your new club, you did want to see your friend, so you agreed.

“I might ask some other people if they want to tag along. Everyone misses you,” Lola continued, making you happy and sad at the same time. It was nice to be missed, but you wished you weren’t in a position where you could be missed.

Before you could hang up, Lola told you to bring “your moping buddy Misa”, then she ended the call with a cackle, not giving you any chance to retaliate. In all honesty there was some truth to it, both you and Misa were unhappy at Real, so it wasn’t surprising that she was the only person you had really bonded with so far.

Going by Lola’s words you expected a big group the next day when you entered the café you had agreed upon. What you found however were merely three people, Lola, Misa and no one other than Ana.

Suddenly your stomach was filled with butterflies flapping their wings wildly, making you somewhat nauseous as a result. You hadn’t expected this and you weren’t prepared for it at all. If it wouldn’t have been incredibly rude you would have walked right back out of the café.

Instead you walked over to the small group, doing your best impression of a friendly smile. You could have sworn you saw a knowing glint in both Misa’s and Lola’s eyes. There was no way they knew about your crush though, right?

Lola jumped up when she saw you, hugging you tightly. “It’s good to see you, chica, I’ve missed you,” she told you.

You had to blink a couple of times to chase away the tears burning in your eyes. There was no denying that you had missed her too, all of your former teammates really. You longed to be back at Atlético, and not only because Ana was there.

Right, Ana.

You extracted yourself from your friend and smiled at the blonde. Should you hug her as well? Or greet her with kisses on the cheeks? That’s exactly why you should have been informed that Ana would be there, so that you could think this over beforehand. Or, well, over think it.

Unlike you Ana knew exactly what to do; she got up, greeted you kindly and gave you a quick hug. “It’s nice to see you again, Y/N. We’ve never had much of a chance to talk, so I’m glad we get one now.”

For a few seconds too long you started at her. You were torn between awe, and a little bit of envy, at how easily the Swiss woman had navigated this greeting, and shock. She remembered you? She was happy to see you? Once your heart slowed down from a wild canter to a moderate gallop and your brain was working more clearly again, you realized that this was probably just something Ana had said to make the situation less awkward, not something she truly meant.

“So, do you want to sit down?” Lola suggested with a smirk on her face. Thankfully she left it at that though and you quickly sank down into a chair. You felt too embarrassed to look at Ana, so you completely missed the reassuring smile she sent your way.

After that things went much more smoothly, mostly because Lola and Ana carried the conversation, allowing you and Misa to remain in your preferred role, attentive listener. Your former teammate as well as your crush tried valiantly to draw you out of your shell, but out of fear of saying something stupid, you kept your answers as short as possible without being weird or unfriendly. If only you could think of something witty to say!

On the bright side your relative quietness gave you a good opportunity to study Ana. She was stunning as always, but you could easily spot the signs of the toll this move to the Atlético had taken on her; her smile wasn’t quite as wide as usual and didn’t reach her eyes, her voice was a little duller, there were badly covered up dark bags underneath her eyes and she was a bit more subdued than normal  in general. Man, you really had spent way too long looking at any video of her you could find to notice things like that!

Then all of the sudden Misa let out a gasp. “I completely forgot I promised my neighbor I’d let in her daughter today. I need to leave right now to make it.”

You frowned at your teammate; it wasn’t like her to forget something as important as that. Was something more than her unhappiness with being stuck at Real bothering her? You made a mental note to ask Misa about it the next day, remind her that you were always there if she needed someone.

Misa’s departure didn’t really change anything in the dynamic, she hadn’t contributed much just like you. But then Lola got a phone call from her girlfriend who apparently needed your former teammate urgently. She looked at the two of you apologetically, however you could swear that there was some glee shimmering behind her regretful front.

“You girls should stay here and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Really I’m so sorry about this, don’t let it ruin your day,” Lola babbled, pressing a kiss to both your and Ana’s cheek before dashing out of the café.

You looked after her with confusion. The confusion however was short-lived, quickly drowned out by panic once you realized that you were now left alone with Ana. No more hiding behind other people, no more safety net. You weren’t ready. However leaving also wasn’t an option, there was no way you could do so without offending Ana, so you had to pull yourself together.

“I’m sorry about that,” Ana apologized, bringing your confusion back. As far as you were aware the Swiss woman had absolutely nothing to apologize for.

“They probably planned this because they think I need to be more social again. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jenni put them up to it, she’s been pretty worried,” the Swiss woman specified, leaving you reeling because you didn’t know how to deal with that much honesty.

“Oh,” you replied, praying that some more words would enter your brain. “Maybe they also did it for me. They think I’m pretty antisocial in general,” you finished, kicking yourself for making yourself look even more pathetic than you already did.

To your surprise Ana didn’t seem put off; on the contrary she chuckled and said, “Well we can be antisocial together then.”

The Swiss woman using the word ‘together’ in reference to the both of you made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, you could definitely get used to that.

In an attempt to take control of the situation and not end up blurting out something stupid if Ana asked you a question, you inquired how she was liking Madrid so far. It seemed like a normal thing to ask someone that had just moved to a new place.

However the Swiss woman didn’t answer right away, which was atypical for her who always seemed to have a reply ready. That combined with the guarded look in her eyes made you realize that this wasn’t a safe and easy topic for her. In your rush to make sure nothing that would be complicated for you came up, you had totally forgotten that Ana’s own move to Madrid had been anything but a happy occurence. Way to be selfish!

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Forget I said anything, that was such a stupid thing to say,” you apologized frantically

“No, don’t worry, it’s fine,” Ana quickly reassured you. “I just don’t really know what to say. Obviously I didn’t want to come here, I miss Barcelona. Both the city and the team. So I’m not having the best time to be completely honest. Then again I also haven’t given Madrid much of a chance yet. So…”

The Swiss woman’s openness left you stunned once again. This could never be you, sharing your thoughts and feelings so freely. At the same time you noticed with a surge of excitement and dread that Ana’s explanation gave you a good opening, not unlike your daydreams in fact.

Your fear of being annoying and overstepping was battling hard against your longing to get to spend more time with the blonde in the future. In the end you decided to go for it, maybe Ana would appreciate it and if she didn’t want to hang out again, she could just say so. Of course there was still the fear of rejection holding you back, but you shoved that to the back of your mind. If you didn’t ask the answer would always be no, right?

“If you want to I could show you around Madrid sometime. I’ve lived here all my life so I know the place like the back of my hand and know some nice places. Totally fine if you don’t of course, I’m sure there are many other people that could show you around.”

You spoke in record speed, making it hard for Ana to follow, which was why it took her a moment to answer. These few seconds were some of the most horrible ones in your life. If she said no now all your hopes would be shattered once and for all. Everyone always said it was important to know so you could move on, but honestly if the Swiss woman didn’t want to spend any time with you, you didn’t want to know.

“That sounds great, I’d love to,” Ana replied once she had enough time to process your jumble of words.

“Really?” You double checked, the words out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“Yeah, definitely,” the Swiss woman confirmed with a gentle smile. A smile that you returned happily. You hadn’t felt this excited in a while, it was a nice change from the bleakness that had become your constant companion.

The rest of your time together was spent chatting easily. You weren’t a great conversationalist, however with Ana it came much more natural. The blonde definitely did the heavy lifting, but you were happy with your own contributions. You even made her laugh a few times!

Later that day when you were back in your apartment you were much more critical, taking apart every single thing that you had said and coming to the conclusion that you must be the stupidest person on the planet. Thankfully you were going to get another chance in a few days and this time you would be better prepared. You would say interesting things and you would make sure Ana had a great time. The blonde deserved some joy and happiness and you would do your best to give her that.

Before your next meeting with Ana you actually made a plan; you would make a list of her interests and think of possible questions, some jokes and interesting facts you could mention. You spent one evening on it, working furiously and then you realized what you were doing, feeling very foolish all of the sudden. You scrunched up the piece of paper and threw it into the trash with some force.

This was pointless and unnecessary and totally embarrassing! Maybe you weren’t the best at coming up with things to say on the spot, but rehearsing everything like this was a role in a play was stupid. The urge to do absolutely everything to get Ana to like you was huge, however is she only liked this carefully crafted version of you that wasn’t any better than her not liking you at all.

Also, you shouldn’t even attempt to get the Swiss woman to like you. Just like you should keep your own crush in check. Ana’s life was complicated enough at the moment, you didn’t need to add your infatuation into the mix.

Unfortunately your noble plan to ignore your crush failed miserably. Whenever you spent time with Ana you fell a little more for her. It was simply impossible not to when she was the kindest, funniest, most interesting and on top of that most beautiful person in the world.

Like when you were out and about on one of your strolls to the city and a young couple approached you, asking if you could take a picture of them. As was typical for you, you hesitated for a moment; not necessarily because you didn’t want to, but because your mind was already working in overdrive, supplying you with every possible negative outcome.

Ana on the other hand smiled at them. “Of course! Where do you want to take it?”

And then she proceeded to take several pictures of the two, showing them to the couple, and when they weren’t completely satisfied yet, she even offered her own suggestions on how they might turn out even better.

All the way you were just watching them, well mostly Ana, with a goofy smile. You loved how much she cared, how much effort she put into random people she didn’t even know. No wait, you didn’t love that, you liked that, admired it.

Or when Ana convinced you to go into a tiny café. A place you would have never frequented on your own because the intimacy of it freaked you out. Not the blonde though. Within seconds she began chatting with the owner, a middle-aged woman who was thrilled someone showed so much interest in her small establishment.

The cake you got was very tasty as was the coffee and the homemade ice tea. You were quick to admit that Ana had made a good decision by forcing you to go there.

However what really pulled at your heartstring was that the Swiss woman went up to the owner afterwards and asked if it was okay to post about this place on Instagram. The poor woman almost started crying out of happiness and thanked Ana profusely, while the blonde kept insisting that this was nothing and really it should be her thanking the owner.

So it was safe to say that you fell deeper and harder every time you saw Ana. But it was okay, you had a foolproof way to make sure that the blonde didn’t figure it out and therefore her life didn’t get disrupted because of you. Whenever you echoed a statement Ana had made about how much she liked hanging out with you or that she thought you were a great person, you always added ‘friend’ into the mix; “I enjoy hanging out with you too, you’re such a great friend.” and “Aw thank you. You’re one of the best people and friends I know too!”

Sometimes when you were feeling particularly hopeful you wondered if the lack of specification on Ana’s part meant that she liked you as more than a friend. You always discarded the idea quickly though. It was much more likely that the thought of being more than friends was so ludicrous to the blonde, something that had probbly never even grazed her mind, that she didn’t feel the need to explicitly state it.

Despite having to resign yourself to the fact that Ana didn’t like you like that, it still made you happy that she was usually in a good mood when you were hanging out. Something you were secretly very proud of. Still every once in a while her sadness shined through, for example when she heard someone speak Catalan or when she saw something that reminded her of Barcelona.

One time a group of fans came up to her. They were friendly and excited and the Swiss woman matched their energy effortlessly. But then one of them mentioned how sad they were that Ana wasn’t playing for Barça anymore. You were forced to watch the blonde deflate slightly after that thoughtless statement. She was good at pretending though, so the fans were none the wiser.

When they were gone you gathered all of your courage. Up until now you had stayed in the shallows of easy conversation so this was a first and once again you worried about overstepping. But when you saw Ana’s sad eyes and the forcefully pulled up corners of her mouth, you couldn’t stay silent.

“Do you want to talk about it? I mean your transfer from Barça? I know we haven’t really talked about that or othe serious things yet, but I’m always happy to listen. I’m actually pretty good at that.”

The Swiss woman sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

“That’s very sweet but honestly I’ve been talking so much about it lately. Sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing anyone wants to talk about anymore. So if it’s okay with you could we just continue like before? The distraction has been helping a lot.”

You had been helping! Happiness flowed through you and your smile was maybe a bit bigger than was warranted for a situation like this. However unless Ana was studying you as intently as you always studied her, you doubted that the blonde would notice.

“Yeah, of course. I’m happy to help in anyway.”

Ana and you kept seeing each other regularly and it was the undisputed highlight of your current life. Honestly it was a little worrying how few other things brought you any joy, but you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on that.

So when you were put into a situation where you had to cancel on Ana you were devastated. It wasn’t an appropriate reaction to something so small, but you had a ten minute crying session until you could even begin to function properly again. Calling the Swiss woman was out of the question though, you were still chocked up and sniffling.

Instead you texted her, apologizing multiple times and explaining that you were roped into doing all sorts of things last minute for your father’s birthday tomorrow. You could have slapped yourself for not seeing this coming. Sure, your parents had assured you time and time again that everything was taken care of, but you should have known better. Then you could have done it before today and weren’t forced to cancel on Ana.

Only minutes after you had sent the text your phone started ringing with a call from the Swiss woman. With wide, panicked eyes you stared at the screen. In the end your desire to at least hear Ana’s voice if you couldn’t see her won out. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice anything.

 „Hey I just saw your text and wanted to ask if I can help out with anything.”

You smiled at your phone, your heart warmed by Ana’s kindness. There was no doubt in your mind that she would actually follow through on your offer. Not that you would ever take it.

“Aw thank you so much, Ana! But it’s okay really. Most things I have to do at my parents place anyway. You know help them clean and decorate. So I’ll be out most of the day, and then in the evening I’ll have to bake the cake. Who knows how that’s going to go.”

You chuckled, even if you were feeling slightly panicked at the idea of baking. Normally your mother was in charge of that, but she had broken her arm a few weeks ago, so that was out of the question. Moments like this made you wish that you had some siblings or some cousins for that matter, just anyone to help you out.

“Not to brag, but I’m actually a great baker. So if you want some help, I’m happy to come over in the evening and help,” the blonde offered.

It would be nice to have some help, and you always wanted to see Ana. Plus she had brought up the idea of her own accord, so surely it was okay, right?

“That would be great actually. Thank you so much,” you replied, not giving your mind any more opportunity to drive yourself crazy.

Ana and you quickly planned everything out before you hung up and left to do everything else. With the prospect of seeing the Swiss woman later today you were a lot more cheerful than before.

“What’s got you so happy?” Your mother asked you while she supervised the decorating process.

It was incredibly frustrating since she kept criticizing everything you did. Every few minutes you had to step away for a moment, take some deep breaths and visualize how your evening with Ana would be, full of laughter and fun conversation.

“Not this, that’s for sure,” you muttered, low enough so that your mothers whose hearing wasn’t the best anymore, couldn’t here you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you said louder, “I’m just in a good mood, I guess.”

There was no point in bringing up Ana. Nothing would ever happen between the two of you and even after knowing about it for almost ten years your parents still struggled with your sexuality. To avoid unnecessary conflict and awkwardness you never spoke about women you liked unless it was something serious. So never.

“You should focus on decorating and not smile so much. Maybe then we would get somewhere.”

You rolled your eyes, but kept your mouth shut. No point in pointing out that most parents would be happy if their child was happy. And it wasn’t like your mother wasn’t happy about it, she just wasn’t good at being pleasant around you. Somehow she always felt the need to criticize you.

Hours later you got into your car, quickly drove away and as soon as you were a decent distance from your parents’ house you let out a loud scream, releasing all of the built up frustration. Then you set your focus on the near future, on the fact that you would be meeting Ana in half an hour at your apartment. Baking wasn’t really your thing, but baking with the Swiss sounded like a lot of fun. Anything was fun with her really; just being around her made you so happy.

When you got to your apartment Ana was already waiting for you, leaning against her car. A big smile appeared on the blonde’s face when she saw you and she waved at you happily. It warmed your insides, swept away any remnant of frustration from the long day with your parents, seeing how excited Ana was to see you.

You got set up quickly, putting out all the ingredients and opening up the recipe you had settled on. Then you turned to the Swiss woman expectantly.

“So any baking pro tips from you before we start?” You asked teasingly.

Ana looked at you sheepishly.

“To be completely honest I don’t really know that much about baking. I usually only bake once a year to make some Christmas cookie,” the blonde admitted, scratching her nose.

You frowned at her in confusion. This didn’t really make any sense to you, but you didn’t want to make Ana feel bad about it.

“So why did you say you did?” You asked carefully. „I mean only if you want to tell me, it’s totally fine if you don’t. I’m sure you had your reasons.”

The Swiss woman blushed a little as she explained herself, “I really just wanted to spend some time with you today.”

Your heart started racing at this confession, your hopes going through the roof.  It didn’t take long for the logical part of your brain to bring you back to earth though. Surely this didn’t mean what you wanted it to mean. Most likely Ana was just struggling today and didn’t want to be alone.

“Oh I’m sorry you’re having a hard time today. You know you can always tell me that and if it’s possible at all I’ll always make time for you. You don’t have to make up reasons to hang out.”

Ana stared at you with a pained expression. It hurt your heart to see her in pain and it made you wonder if something had happened today, perhaps something that reminded her of Barcelona?

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked when the blonde stayed quiet, but then you thought better of it. “Wait no I’m sorry, you already said that you’re tired of talking about it before and that you prefer a distraction. So let’s bake!”

You put some extra excitement into your voice and made sure to keep up a stream of easy chatter as you got to work. For a while Ana remained a bit distant and quiet, but before too long her smile returned and she began talking and joking.

When the blonde laughed loudly at a joke you had made you felt very proud of yourself for giving Ana what she needed, a distraction. If you continued to be helpful she would keep wanting to hang out with you and that was also very much in your interest. Even if the knowledge that it meant something else to you hurt somewhat every time you thought of it.

However it was all worth it to get to spend time with Ana. Everything was worth that.