#She could still investigated as she did in the last three books
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azure-sorceress · 4 months ago
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I love Marasi so much for not joining the Ghostbloods. She met the cool and nice members of the Ghostbloods in Codenames, TwinSoul and Moonlight and not the creepy exploitative kind that Shallan meets, and still told them no. She still was able to see through them. Even if there were some good people on their side, ultimately their values did not align with hers.
"I won't keep secrets when the truth could save lifes". Exactly. They are more interested in keeping secrets than helping people when they can. They seek power, not making the cosmere a better place. And it would have gone against Marasi's whole character if she had accepted.
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number8bciate · 4 months ago
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I couldn't let myself forget you.
Set in season four, so spoilers ahead for that. This is based on episode five, I believe.
Cw: Lila and five in episode Five :P
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You and five hadn't known one another long, a few years at most, but in that short amount of time, he had found himself growing quite attached to you. He wouldn't admit it outloud. That's just the kind of man he was. He didn't need anyone, but no one could understand him. He couldn't explain it either because he would sound just as insane as the people he had been investigating, but then there was you.
You were too nieve for your own good, but part of him loved you for it. It meant that anything he told you in your head made sense.
"Wait- that was our stop." Lila and Five spoke at the same time, pressing their hands and cheek against the door of the train as they tried to manipulate the train into going back but the platform that they needed to be on just got smaller and smaller and smaller.
Year one
Five thought about you all the time. When he was getting shot at, he thought of how you might bandage his wounds if he got hit or how you would scold him because he was in a dangerous situation. He sat down in the train station, watching Lila as she ate, wondering if she had been having the same thoughts about his brother, or if maybe she was thinking of her kids. He hated the fact that the memory of you was the only thing that kept him going, that kept him trying to get back home, not his family, but you... to be honest, you felt like his family now.
Year Two
"What's that?" Lila asked, peering over the older boys shoulder as she cut his hair for him, trying to catch a glimpse of what had been occupying his thoughts for the last few weeks. He shielded the book from her view, smacking it shut to ensure that she wouldn't see the contents. "Come on, Five!" She pressed, leaning over his shoulder, trying to grab his book, she thought it was harmless, he did not.
"Lila!" He yelled at her, with a different kind of tone in his voice, he was desperate, clearly, he was grieving too and she knew that but she was only trying to lighten the mood a little.
Year Three
Five had now filled three separate books with something in them, Lila wasn't sure what it was, but every time she tried to ask, she got a response not too far off a rabid dog that was protecting it's property, she knew it was important, which was why she wanted to know, which was why she waited until he was dead asleep to try and find out what it was one last time.
She skimmed through the pages that were mostly filled with useless words that made no sense put together, but Five's handwriting had never been the best anyway. She flipped through each page. Only one thing was recurring, and it was a random drawing of someone she knew but didn't know from where.
Year Four
The both of them were growing tired. It was hard to keep running and running with no sight of the end. Five knew Lila was fed up. He understood why, but he couldn't give up, not when he knew that you were still out there waiting for him because he knew you would be.
Year Five
"Hey Five." Lila leaned onto Five, both of them trying to find some sort of warmth between them as the cold metal of the train station dug into their backs. He hummed softly, looking around the room, trying to see if there was something they had missed. He knew there wasn't, but he thought he'd try anyway. "You know that greenhouse, the one with the strawberries?" She started, leaning her head fully on his shoulder now. He nodded, not willing to speak because he knew what her next suggestion would be. "How about we stop there for a few days? I- I know we've - I know we need to get home, I'm just... tired." He understood. Of course he did. He had been through this before, but the time before, he was all alone.
"Sure." He said softly, turning to look at the stacks of books that he had filled, he thought of you, and realized you'd want him to take a break, you'd beg him to, and so he decided he would go, but only for a few weeks.
Year Six
Five walked into the green house, looking at Lila and then the berry bush she was tending to. She tossed one strawberry at him, then another, then another. "If you keep that up, we won't have any left for the winter." He smiled as she threw one more and turned to her as she began walking towards him. She tripped up in a few watering cans that had been discarded on the floor, and he caught her just before she was able to hit the floor.
"Oh- sorry." He noticed the blush on her face, then felt his cheeks begin to heat. His hand rested on her cheek, cupping them and rubbing his fingers over her soft flesh, then he looked to the strawberries on the floor and pulled away, running to the stack of books on the table and joting down a few notes. "What just happened?" She walked over to him, her arms crossing as she leaned against the wall.
"What do you mean?" He asks, slamming the book shut and poking it into his bag. He turned to her, noticing that she had a slight pout across her face.
"Whatever that was." He stared at her for a while, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away.
Year Seven
"I'm going out to look for some more scrap metal."
"What happened to the stuff we already had?" Lila asked curiously, looking the boy up and down. He rubbed his fingers over the braclet in his pocket, the one he had made.
"I have no clue." He walked out of the house and back to the train station. He grabbed a few wires, tugging on them before he slipped and dropped his flashlight down onto the tracks. He looked both ways, just to be safe and climbed down onto them. "What's that?" He thought out loud as he grabbed a book he had never seen before. He climbed back up onto the train platform and opened the book. "That's my handwriting." He pointed out to himself as he read what was throughout the pages, figuring out that it was their way home.
"What's that?" Lila asked, sitting down next to him.
"A way home." He said simply, flipping through more of the pages, everything inside of his head clicking together like it had been obvious the whole time. He shook his head in disappointment in himself.
"Wait, what?" Lila asked, chasing after him as he ran back to their house and packed up his bag. "Should we think about this first?" She suggested.
"Think about what?" He asked, stuffing the books into his bag as he changed into what he had been wearing the day they had left.
"That- Maybe this is a trap of some sort? Set by the older, uh? Younger? You." She followed him around the house, trying to keep his pace as he charged out the door.
"I'm willing to take the risk, why aren't you?" He turns around. She almost smashed right into him.
"I am. I just think we need to consider the fact that this could be a trap." He understood her concern. Some people would rather not take the risk, there was a chance that this was a trap, and that they would die.
"Stay here if you want, I'm going." He decided and made his way back to the train station, her following closely behind him.
When they returned, it had only been an hour or two, you were sitting in between Allison and Luther and bounced your leg nervously, wondering where Five could have gone. Lila, walked in through the door followed by Five who's eyes searched the room until they landed on you. You jumped up out of your seat and ran over to him, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close. He nearly cried, as much as he hated to admit it, his eyes welled with tears, feeling you pressed against him was something he didn't think he'd ever feel again. "I wasn't gone that long." His voice shook, but only slightly as you pulled away from him to check him for any injuries, because you knew how careless he could be.
"It was too long." You smiled though, no matter how pissed you were at him for not returning your calls or texts, you were just glad he was alright.
He looked around the room again and stuffed his hand onto his pocket, feeling the braclet that he had forgotten about. The two of you walked to the center of the room, you sat down where you had been and five remained standing, you glanced over to Lila who had a distant look in her eyes as she looked at her husband and then you looked back to five, who was now standing right infront of you, playing with something in his pocket.
Everyone's attention was brought to him as he cleared his throat, he knew it was sudden, and he knew he would jump off the side of a cliff if you happened to not reciprocate his feelings, but he dropped down onto one knee and pulled a bag out of his pocket. Allison, who was now sitting up straight with a face full of surprise gasped at the sight if her oldest brother on his knee.
"I- Jesus. Uhm." You looked to Lila who, unlike before, was now focused on Five, but it wasn't that unusual, right? Besides the fact that her face held signs of jealousy and sadness, it wasn't weird at all. Your heart fluttered when he held out his cupped hands towards you, his eyes pleading with you to take the bag that was in them. "Y/n.." He spoke carefully, as his cheeks began to redden as Allison's reaction threw him off the piller of confidence he was once standing on.
You nodded, ready to hear what he had to say, you hands grabbed the bag but remained in their place, trying to soothe the old man's nerves as he worked up the courage to speak. "Will you give me the honor of.. marrying me?" You squealed and jumped out of your seat, pulling Five to his feet and you kissed him. "Will you?" He whispered to you this time.
"Yes I will." You kissed him once more.
Once the excitement settled down, and the bracelet sat proudly on your wrist, you noticed the bag that your fiancé had brought in with him. "What's that?" You asked, pointing to the bag. He bit his lip nervously and pulled a few of the books he had filled up the bag. Revealing the contents to you. The words didn't make sense to you either, until you saw your face, the soft brush strokes that he used to draw your hair and your eyes, you had never looked so beautiful.
He kissed your cheek and whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against them. "I- I couldn't let myself forget you."
"You remembered I like strawberries." You pointed out, you ignored the way he flinched when you had mentioned it, but he ran his fingers over the words and nodded softly.
"Of course I did."
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heizenka · 6 months ago
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𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞
♖ Spencer Reid x f!reader
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
— content warnings: usual criminal minds violence, murder, death
— word count: 1.5k
inspired by: loml by Taylor Swift
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The BAU team had seen their fair share of gruesome crime scenes, but this one was particularly chilling. Y/N had been abducted three days ago, and now they found her body dumped in a remote warehouse on the outskirts of Quantico. Spencer Reid's heart sank as he approached the scene, his mind racing with a mix of dread and desperate hope.
Derek Morgan, his closest friend and confidant on the team, gripped Spencer's arm firmly as they neared the body. "Reid, stay focused," Derek murmured, his voice tinged with concern. "You can't go rushing in there. We have to assess the situation first."
Spencer nodded mechanically, his eyes fixed on Y/N's lifeless form lying amidst the cold concrete floor. Her face was pale, eyes closed as if in peaceful sleep, but the evidence of violence was stark—bruises on her wrists, a single gunshot wound to the chest. The scene was a tableau of horror, the silence broken only by the distant hum of police radios and the muffled voices of forensic technicians.
Hotch approached them with a grim expression. "We need to process the scene carefully," he stated, his tone clipped and professional. "Garcia is running the last known communications and surveillance footage. We might still catch a break."
Spencer nodded again, his mind racing with a flurry of thoughts and calculations. He was known for his intellect, his ability to piece together intricate patterns and profiles, but now all he could think about was Y/N—her smile, her laughter, the warmth of her presence that had become a constant anchor in his turbulent life.
Emily Prentiss, usually composed and stoic, placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder, her voice wavering soft with sympathy. "We're going to find who did this, Reid," she assured him, her own eyes betraying the weight of their collective grief. "And we'll make sure they pay for what they've done."
But Spencer was barely listening. His attention was fixed on Y/N, kneeling beside her as if in a trance. He reached out hesitantly, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "No," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "No, no, no. We can save her! We can save her! I can save her, please!"
Tears streamed down Spencer's face as he clutched Y/N's cold hand, his fingers trembling against her lifeless skin. The reality of her death crashed over him like a tidal wave, overwhelming and suffocating. He was supposed to be the one who solved puzzles, who found answers where others saw only chaos. But now, faced with the ultimate mystery—the senseless loss of someone he loved—he felt utterly helpless.
Derek knelt beside Spencer, pulling him gently away from Y/N's body. "Spence, she's gone," he said quietly, his voice filled with sorrow. "There's nothing more we can do here."
"No!" Spencer protested, his voice rising in desperation. "There has to be something! I can figure this out, I can find who did this!"
Hotch approached them, his expression grave. "Reid, we need you to focus," he said firmly. "We have a case to solve, and we need your mind clear."
But Spencer couldn't tear his gaze away from Y/N. Her face haunted him—her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about a new book she was reading, the warmth of her touch. They had shared late-night conversations, quiet moments of understanding in the chaos of their work. She had become his anchor, his reason for hope amidst the darkness they faced every day.
As the hours passed and the investigation progressed, Spencer retreated into himself. He answered questions mechanically, analyzed evidence with detached precision, but his mind kept returning to Y/N. The images of her lifeless body flashed before him, tormenting him with their finality.
That night, back at the BAU headquarters, Spencer found himself standing alone in Y/N's empty office. Her desk was cluttered with books and case files, a half-finished cup of coffee still sitting beside her computer. The room felt achingly silent, a stark reminder of her absence.
Derek found Spencer there, staring blankly at Y/N's desk. He approached cautiously, knowing that words alone couldn't ease his friend's grief. "Reid," Derek began gently, "I know this is hard. But blaming yourself won't bring her back."
Spencer turned to him, his eyes hollow with pain. "I should have been faster," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I should have figured it out sooner. Maybe... maybe she'd still be alive."
Derek shook his head, his own eyes filled with sorrow. "Spence, you did everything you could," he insisted, his voice firm yet compassionate. "No one blames you for this. We're a team, and we're going to find justice for her."
Spencer nodded silently, his throat tight with unshed tears. He knew Derek was right—that guilt was a burden he couldn't afford to carry. But the ache in his heart remained, a constant reminder of the life they had lost, of the future they would never share.
In the days that followed, the BAU worked tirelessly to track down Y/N's killer. Garcia sifted through mountains of data, and Emily coordinated with local law enforcement to canvas the area. But for Spencer, the investigation was more than just a case—it was a quest for closure, a way to honor Y/N's memory and the love they had shared.
As they pieced together the evidence, a pattern began to emerge. The unsub—a disturbed Jack Mconnell,  with a history of violence and obsession—had fixated on Y/N, seeing her as a symbol of everything he desired but could never possess. His delusions had driven him to commit unspeakable acts, until ultimately ending Y/N's life in a desperate bid to fulfill his twisted fantasies.
When the team finally identified the unsub and cornered him in a remote cabin, Spencer was among those who stormed in, his gun drawn and his heart pounding with a mix of rage and sorrow. The confrontation was brief but intense, ending with a single gunshot that brought Jack to justice. But for Spencer, the closure he sought remained elusive.
That night, standing alone on the balcony of his apartment, Spencer stared up at the stars. Their distant light seemed to mock him, reminding him of the vastness of the universe and the fragility of human life. He thought of Y/N—the way she had believed in him, the way she had made him feel seen and understood in ways he had never thought possible.
The tears finally came then, unchecked and unrestrained. He had always prided himself on his ability to analyze, to compartmentalize his emotions in the face of tragedy. But now, faced with the emptiness of Y/N's absence, he felt utterly and completely lost.
In the weeks and months that followed, Spencer struggled to find his footing. The BAU continued their work, chasing down new cases and unraveling the minds of criminals, but the team dynamics had shifted irreversibly. There was a void where Y/N had once been—a presence that had anchored them all, reminding them of the humanity they fought so hard to protect.
Garcia, ever perceptive and empathetic, made it her mission to check in on Spencer regularly. She brought him his favorite coffee, listened patiently as he rambled about obscure facts and theories, and offered quiet words of comfort when the weight of grief threatened to overwhelm him.
And Derek, unwavering in his support, stood by Spencer's side through it all. He didn't press for conversations or demand explanations. Instead, he simply remained present—a silent pillar of strength in Spencer's darkest moments.
One day, several months after Y/N's death, Spencer found himself standing at her grave. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the headstone engraved with her name. He placed a bouquet of flowers—a mix of lilies, her favorite—and knelt beside the grave, his fingers tracing the letters of her name.
"I miss you," Spencer whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "Every day, I miss you."
He stayed there until the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, his heart heavy with the weight of his grief. But amidst the pain, there was a glimmer of something else—a determination to honor Y/N's memory, to carry her with him in everything he did.
And as he stood to leave, he made a silent vow to never forget—the love they had shared, the moments they had cherished, and the promise of a future that had been stolen away.
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copyright 2021 heizenka, all rights reserved. I do not allow my creations to be published of translated anywhere else so please do not repost.
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ducktoo · 3 months ago
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Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]
8. New year, new man(ager)
Note: genuinely appreciate everyone who enjoyed Arc 1. Hope y’all will enjoy this incoming Arc 2 as well!
Masterlist here
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Y/n paced outside the practice room, glancing at his phone as he triple-checked the schedule for the day. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind after MAMA, but somewhere along the line, things had started to fall into place. He wasn’t the same flustered manager he had been when he first joined aespa’s team. He’d made enough mistakes to last a lifetime, but he had learned. And today, he was ready to prove it.
“Alright, time to give the pep talk,” he muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders back.
Inside, the girls were warming up, Karina and Giselle going over a particularly tricky move while Winter stretched near the mirrors. Ningning was being her usual energetic self, bouncing around between them.
“Okay, everyone! Time to focus up,” Y/n said, clapping his hands together as he walked in. The room fell into a mix of mock groans and smirks.
“You sound so official now,” Giselle teased, giving him a playful nudge as she passed. “Who are you, and what did you do with the Y/n who booked us in the wrong studio that one time?”
Y/n grinned, shaking his head. “He’s still here. Just... learning from his mistakes.”
Karina crossed her arms, watching him closely. There was something unreadable in her expression—like she was analysing him, comparing the person in front of her to the frazzled trainee-turned-manager she first met.
“Alright, before you all get back to dancing, I just want to say…” He hesitated, clearing his throat. “You’ve all been working really hard last year, and I see it. Even when things get tough, you push through, and it shows. Just remember, it’s not about being perfect—it’s about giving it your all. So let’s hit this practice hard, but don’t forget to have fun. Let’s end the year strong, lads!”
The girls exchanged glances before Winter, grinning, gave him a thumbs-up. “Look at you, giving motivational speeches now.”
“I’m impressed,” Karina added, finally speaking up. Her tone was thoughtful, not teasing. “You’ve come a long way.”
Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks, J” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I’m just trying to keep up with you guys.”
Karina stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Y/n could hear. “It’s more than that. You’ve grown into the role. Leadership doesn’t come easy, but you’ve figured out how to handle things, even when it’s chaotic. That’s what makes a difference.”
There was a sincerity in her words that Y/n hadn’t expected. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, realizing that maybe he wasn’t as lost as he had once thought.
“Thanks, Jimin. That means a lot coming from you,” he said, feeling the tension that had lingered between them start to ease.
Before he could dwell on the moment, Giselle’s voice rang out. “Look at you two, having a heart-to-heart! I give Y/n… hmm, about half-professional status now. What do you think, Ning?”
Ningning, grinning widely, chimed in. “Three-quarters. He still hasn’t learned the choreography.”
Y/n groaned, throwing his hands up. “Oh shut it. I’m not trying to learn the choreography! I’m just your manager!”
They all laughed, the teasing familiar and light-hearted. As practice kicked into gear, Y/n watched from the side, feeling more comfortable in his role than he ever had before.
-
In the midst of the busy practice schedule, Y/n had noticed something peculiar: the other managers who Y/n met and befriended seemed to be acting a little more attentive and excited than usual. During a quick break, he caught snippets of conversation from them.
“Did you get the wrapping paper?” one of them asked.
“Yeah, I’ve got it. And the card?”
“Just make sure Y/n doesn’t see us.”
Curious and slightly amused, Y/n decided to investigate. He wandered into the break room, where the other managers were gathered, each one busily working on something. The moment they saw him, they froze, their faces betraying a mix of guilt and excitement.
“Uh, what’s going on here?” Y/n asked, raising an eyebrow.
Before anyone could respond, Red Velvet's managers, Minji, cleared her throat. “Oh, Y/n! Perfect timing. We were just... preparing a little something for you and Winter.”
Y/n looked around, noticing the wrapped gifts and a small banner that read “Happy Birthday Y/n & Winter!” The sight made him pause.
“We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Minji continued, her tone earnest. “But we couldn’t let your birthday go unnoticed, especially since you’re new yet so integral to the team now.”
“Yeah, and we figured it’d be a good way to show our appreciation,” added EXO's manager, Joon.
Y/n chuckled, touched by the gesture. “Awww thanks, guys. I had no idea you were planning this.”
As they chatted, Winter appeared, drawn by the noise. Her eyes widened as she saw the decorations and the pile of presents.
“What’s all this?” Winter asked, her voice tinged with surprise.
The managers exchanged knowing glances before Minji spoke up again. “Well we found out that both of you shared a birthday, so…."
Winter’s eyes widened even further. “Aw, that's nice of you guys. Thank you for caring about this idiot here.”
"Huh? You guys share the same birthday? Ningning popped by with Giselle and Karina, now seeing the commotion.
“Yep, that’s the one,” Minji confirmed with a grin. “So, we thought it’d be fun to celebrate together.”
Winter laughed, clearly delighted. “That’s amazing. I had no idea you all were so organized.”
“Well, we try,” Joon said with a wink. “And we thought it’d be a great surprise, considering how hard you both work.”
The other managers handed Y/n and Winter their gifts with cheerful smiles. “Hope you like them,” Joon said as they both took their presents.
Y/n and Winter exchanged amused glances before unwrapping their gifts. It turned out to be an assortment of practical and fun items—a mix of things they both appreciated. Winter found a beautifully designed journal, while Y/n received a high-quality travel mug with the graphic "Most Improving Baby".
“This is really thoughtful, guys,” Y/n said, genuinely touched. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, it’s the least we could do,” Winter added, smiling warmly at the managers. “We’re really grateful.”
Unbeknownst to the two soon-to-be Birthday babies, the other three adorned a mischievous grin.
-
The last few days of December flew by in a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and last-minute preparations for the new year’s celebrations. Y/n barely had time to think about his upcoming birthday—shared with Winter, no less—before the big day arrived.
The plan was simple: get Y/n and Winter to believe it was just another ordinary day while secretly setting up a surprise party at the dorm. Giselle had somehow convinced Winter that Y/n needed help with something, giving the rest of the group time to set everything up.
Y/n, on the other hand, had no idea what was going on. He spent the day like any other, running around managing their schedules, completely oblivious to the plot happening right under his nose.
At the dorm, balloons were being inflated, streamers were hung, and a cake—decorated with both Winter and Y/n's names—sat proudly on the kitchen counter. It was a perfect setup.
That was until Y/n, ever the punctual manager, arrived a little earlier than expected.
The door to the dorm swung open, and he walked in, tossing his bag on the couch. "Hey, you guys here? I thought we had that—"
He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening as he took in the half-decorated room. Karina was holding a balloon, frozen in place. Ningning was mid-streamer hanging, while Giselle had the cake knife in hand, looking like she’d just been caught robbing a bank.
They all stared at each other for a moment, time seemingly frozen.
“What the fu-” Y/n started.
"Abort mission!" Ningning yelled, throwing her hands in the air, and everyone scrambled to act like nothing was happening.
Karina hastily dropped the balloon and leaned casually against the wall. "Oh, Y/n, didn’t see you there. What’s up?"
Giselle, trying to shove the cake back into the fridge, smiled innocently. "Yeah, just, uh... normal day stuff."
Y/n blinked, looking around at the half-decorated chaos. "Suuure, normal day. Now tell me what exactly is going on here?"
Before anyone could make up an excuse, the door swung open again, and Winter appeared, looking confused. "What are you guys doing?"
Giselle groaned dramatically. "Well, there goes the plan."
Realizing the jig was up, Karina sighed and waved a hand. "Surprise, I guess?"
Y/n, despite being completely caught off guard, burst into laughter. "Wait, were you guys actually trying to throw a surprise party for us?"
"Yep," Ningning said, a little deflated. "But you had to show up early and ruin it."
“Yeah, screw you! Jung Y/n!” Karina pouted.
Winter, standing beside Y/n, grinned. "I guess it wouldn’t be our birthdays without some messes."
Despite the botched timing, the room quickly filled with laughter as everyone relaxed, the failed surprise only adding to the fun. Y/n and Winter shared a look before shaking their heads in unison.
Later, as the cake was brought out, the girls sang a loud, slightly off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
Just as Y/n and Winter blew out the candles, Giselle and Ningning smirked at each other.
“We got you guys some special presents,” Giselle said with a mischievous glint in her eye. She pulled out two neatly wrapped boxes, handing one to Y/n and the other to Winter.
“Special?” Y/n raised an eyebrow as he took the box. “What kind of special?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” Ningning said, barely holding in her laughter.
Winter, just as curious, began unwrapping her gift first. The second she opened the box, her eyes widened, and her face turned red as she pulled out a pair of fluffy, pink handcuffs.
“What the—” Winter started, but her voice was drowned out by the chorus of laughter from the other members.
Y/n, now dreading his own gift, slowly unwrapped his box. Inside, he found his own pair of handcuffs, except his were black and decorated with little hearts.
The girls erupted in laughter. Blackpink was truly in the area.
“I—what even is this?!” Y/n held the cuffs up, utterly flustered.
“Oh, come on, you guys have been living together now,” Giselle teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “We thought these might come in handy in case you two planned to be-”
"NOOOOOOO!" Winter looked mortified, covering her face with her hands. “You guys are the worst.”
Karina, trying to maintain a serious expression but failing miserably, added, “We figured it’d break the tension.”
Y/n shook his head, laughing despite himself. “You guys are unbelievable.”
Ningning, still in hysterics, managed to choke out, “You should’ve seen your faces!”
The room dissolved into laughter once more, the ridiculousness of the situation bringing everyone together. Even Winter, after recovering from her embarrassment, couldn’t help but join in.
As the laughter died down and they settled in to enjoy the cake, Y/n stood up and cleared his throat. “Well, since it’s both of our birthdays, I have something for you, too,” he said, handing Winter a small box.
Winter blinked, surprised. “You got me something? Is it a choker this time?”
"Minjeong, what th-" Y/n laughed out. "Stop being dirty-minded and open it, crybaby."
Winter carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing a simple yet elegant bracelet engraved with both their names. Her eyes softened, and she smiled. “Y/n, this is beautiful. Thank you.”
Y/n shrugged. “Figured we might as well embrace the fact that we share the same birthday. Continue the tradition since old days.”
Winter, her smile warm and genuine, reached into her bag and pulled out a small package. “Well, I got something for you, too.”
Y/n opened it to find a sleek, custom-made pen engraved with his initials. He chuckled. “You know, after all this time, I was expecting something like more handcuffs.”
Winter rolled her eyes playfully. “I did say a choker. But please don’t give them any more ideas.”
As the night went on, the room was filled with laughter, teasing, and warmth. It was a night of unexpected gifts, hilarious moments, and heartwarming memories—one that Y/n and Winter wouldn’t soon forget.
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short-honey-badger · 1 year ago
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Peppermint Tea 10
Late night post! Couldn't sleep! Have some tooth rotting fluff!
Masterlist
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The days dragged on, Mihawk actually busy for once with Navy orders to investigate a new emergence of rookie pirates at the edges of Doflamingo's territory. The world leaders knew that the pink moron would rather turn a blind eye to any criminal activity in his region. 
Even with his experience with much of the Grand Line and the New World, it still took Dracule a few days past a month for him to even return back to Gloom Island. He found that he missed you terribly, to the point that even Perona had pointed out his less than stellar mood. Not that he was ever really expressive anyway. Mihawk ignored her questions as he packed his ship once more for another week of travel. 
Perona floated after him, a scowl on her pretty face, “You just got back, and you're already leaving again? Why? What about me?” 
Hawkeye rolled his eyes, “I have a life outside of this castle, Perona,” he groused out and carefully stacked the books he had mentally chosen on his way back to Gloom Island. Last time he had seen you, you were particularly interested in the Blues. One of the thick tomes he'd picked would be a perfect gift for you. 
“You didn't three months ago,” She snapped back at him and crossed her arms in a pout. She hated being ignored! What was she supposed to do all alone in this dreary old castle? Zoro wasn't here to entertain her any longer. 
Dracule sighs, sweeping his hand through his hair and leveling the ghost girl a look, “It's rude to dig into other people's business. So stay out of mine,” He points out and then closes the bag full of books. Another smaller satchel rests at his feet, though that one is full of small trinkets from his foray into the New World. 
Usually, he strayed away from the market stalls and overpriced jewelry, but a small wind chime made of green sea glass had caught his eye. Dracule had paid for it without looking at the price and then continued on his way, unconsciously keeping a lookout for anything else that he thought you may like. 
The warlord may or may not have ended up with a few more than he had even meant to buy, but Mihawk thought about the look of joy that would cross your face at his gifts, and pushed the thought of how many he'd gotten away. 
“Well someone should be in your business! You've been so sneaky, Dracy! I want to know what you've been up to!” Perona demands again with a huff. She doesn't care that it's rude to butt into his business. He took care of her, let her stay on Gloom Island, and hadn't kicked her out like she knew he could. Perona would look after him, too! 
“Give it up, Perona,” Dracule grumbled, tone final as he picked up both bags and slung them over his shoulder. He fixed his hat with his free hand and then marched out of his study without a word to the floating pink girl. 
Mihawk wouldn't lie and say that he didn't feel at least the tiniest bit bad for lying to Perona. He did care for the girl, in a way like one would a stray cat. But she also had a big mouth, and Dracule had already slipped up once with Shanks. He couldn't do that again. 
The ghost girl pouted behind him as she followed the warlord all the way outside and to his ship. A frown took over her face when she noticed that he was packed as if he would be gone for a while. The ship looked more crowded than usual, and she wondered what Mihawk had stored away. 
“Well. How long will you be gone for?” Perona asks quietly and tries not to let it show how upset she actually was with Dracule leaving already. 
The older man sighs, stepping off his ship to trudge back inside the castle, “I won't be leaving until tomorrow. The trip takes around a week. I plan to stay for at least four days and then a week trip back,” Dracule says and makes sure to keep everything as vague as possible. He glances at the young girl and rolls his eyes when she still looks upset. 
“We will go shopping when I come back. Will that appease you?” Mihawk asks, and it's like a light switch. 
Perona grins in excitement. Shopping with Mihawk means getting whatever she wants. The warlord had more than enough berri to spend. 
“Fine! But I want to go to the best places, Mihawk! You owe me that,” She demands and crosses her arms in a huff, ready to argue her case if denied. 
“As long as it keeps you quiet,” Dracule says instead, and Perona just sticks her nose up in the air again as she floats away to her room. This wasn't over! She would find out what had suddenly taken all of Mihawk's attention. 
Dracule watches the pink girl leave with a fond sigh. He sits in his chair and reaches down to retrieve a bottle of wine from inside his desk. He pops it to let it air and then pours himself a careful glassful. Mihawk admires the red and thinks back on how this same brand of wine had stained your pretty lips. 
Now alone, the warlord allows his mind to drift without worry, eyes closing as he thinks back to the last time he was with you. His overly romantic thoughts have him sneering at himself, as if he were some prince come to sweep you off your feet. Dracule sips his wine. 
He likes to think that it's the other way around. For the most part, life had before a melancholy bore to Mihawk. Either following the government's orders to look for a good fight or nap the day away in his ship. Little caught and held his attention, but you? You are an entirely different story. 
Mihawk had never met someone so sheltered, only knowing of the world through waterlogged books and from the kindness of any pirate that may have washed up on your beach. From what Dracule has gathered, he has been one of the very few who hasn't tried to kill you. 
You were kind and intelligent. He loved the way that your eyes would light up whenever he spoke of what he knew, always excited to acquire more knowledge. Mihawk found that he wanted to teach to show you everything that he knew. 
He frowns suddenly and thinks back to the rather innocent question that had made anger and panic race through him. You wanted to know about him, not his knowledge, and it made him antsy. You didn't deserve to know the hardships and pain that he has gone through to get to where he is today. You did not need to be aware of the atrocities that he has committed over the years. Dracule Mihawk is not a kind man, and his past certainly reflects it. 
Mihawk would tell you more in time, but for now, Dracule wanted to be selfish. Wanted to hoard you away from the world and keep you safe like a dragon would its treasure. And maybe that is what you were to him. A pirate needed treasure, after all. 
The warlord finishes his glass and then stands, intending to fix himself and his ward dinner. He would leave at first light tomorrow morning, not later than that. 
~~~~~~~~~~
Hank whines at your feet, big puppy dog eyes catching your attention from where you sit slouched at your kitchen table. It's been a month and a half, and still, there has been no sign of Dracule. He had promised that he would be back, and the man didn't seem like the kind to break those, but it still made you worry for him. 
Was he okay? Did whatever business he had to attend go bad? Did a seaking attack him and somehow get the better of him? You have no idea, and your chest hurts at all the horrible possibilities that could befall your friend. 
Were you friends? Did that term apply to the two of you? The few romance books that you'd been able to cobble together didn't make it seem like the two of you were just friends. Was he your boyfriend? Partner? Lover? Again, another countless item that you did not know, however, you resolved to amend that when Dracule returned. Whenever that may be. 
“I know, Buddy. I'm sorry that I'm being such a sad sap,” You lament to your pooch and lean down to give the shaggy dog a scratch under his chin. 
Hank's woofs at, and you watch in suspicion when his ears suddenly snap back, and he wheels around to start barking at the front door. You frown as you get up and follow him, curious as to what got Hank's attention. 
That frown turns upside down when the door opens, and Dracule Mihawk strides in like he owns the place. He sets down several bags and pats Hank's head with a soft smirk before the mutt’s attention is caught by something outside. He bounds away, leaving you and Mihawk staring at one another. 
“Snow Angel,” He begins and takes a half step forward, but that's as far as he gets before you slam into him, Snow exploding around the two of you as you bury your face in his chest. You don't even care that his cross necklace is digging into your face. 
“You're back,” you cry. And when did that start? Oh, we'll. You pull away and wipe your eyes, though you can't help the tremble in your bottom lip, “I was worried that something might have happened to you.” 
Warm, calloused hands close around your freezing face, and Dracule leans in to rest his brow against your own. The feather on his hat tickles your face, but you ignore it, not taking your eyes away from the beautiful yellow ones that demand your attention. 
“There is little out there that could truly hurt me, Dear one,” Mihawk says in such a sure tone that you have no choice but to believe him. He strokes your cheeks, wiping away your tears with a soft smile meant only for you, “Though I do appreciate the thought that you worried for me so.” 
You sniff and send him a glare at his teasing. Damn this man and what he does to you. What you hardly understand. 
“You're really that strong?” You find yourself asking him, and lean back to observe his chiseled physique and the sword on his back. A funny feeling shoots through your stomach when you lay eyes on the cross guard, and you frown at the negativity of the emotion. 
You're so focused that you don't notice Dracule's hesitation, though you are quick to tune back in when he speaks. 
“I am. One of my proudest titles is the Greatest Swordsman in the world,” Mihawk admits, and you can't help but think that this is an important event for him, and you delight in knowing that he was finally giving you a peek inside of who he really is.
“It sounds like you've worked very hard for it,” you say softly and reach up to cup his hands with your own, thumbs swiping gently over his knuckles.  
“I did, still do. It is a title that I will happily defend,” Dracule murmurs and slips a hand free so that he can curl his arm around your waist. You shiver at the warmth he emits, and finally feel like you can breathe properly once again. Before you can comment further, Mihawk is twisting the two of you around and backing you up against the door, “Enough of that. Do kiss me, sweet thing. I have missed your taste.” 
Your back hits the door, and then his lips are upon your, closing over your own in a heated exchange that has one of your hands sliding into his hair and pulling him closer. You kiss him back like your life depends on it, opening up for him when Mihawk's tongue licks the seam of your lips. A choked moan leaves your throat when that hot muscle sweeps inside and curls around your tongue. 
Dracule slows, this kiss turning less frantic with need and more passionate, soft pecks of the lips that still leave your heart racing but in an entirely different way. He leaves one last lingering kiss to your cheek and then pulls away to tuck your head under his chin. You take advantage and cuddle close to him, arms dropping to wrap around his waist. You hum when his grip on you tightens. 
“I missed you,” you murmur quietly, and Dracule kisses the top of your head. 
“I know, dear. I longed for you as well,” he says, and your heart flutters at his words. Did he long for you? Did he pine like the men from your storybooks? 
“Wh-What are we?” You ask before you can stop the damming words coming out of your mouth. You flush and bury your face in the crook of his neck, “I know that we're friends, right? But I don't think friends kiss and, um, touch the way we do.” 
Dracule listens to you babble, finding it endearing that you wanted his opinion on this.
 “You can call what we have whatever you like,” He decides on and then catches your chin to lift your face and place a quick kiss to your lips, “But no matter what you choose, you are my treasure.” 
You can't find any kind of words to say to that, so you just reach for him to pepper his face with kisses, giggling when his facial hair tickles your face. Mihawk allows your fun for a whole before he puts a stop to it by flicking you in the forehead. 
“It's later than I intended to arrive, Darling,” Dracule scolds with a smirk and turns to the two of you around and gently pushes you to the kitchen, “You remember how I showed you to properly open a bottle of wine, right?” 
You laugh and dance into the kitchen, gathering the glasses that he had brought from last time and showing him that you did remember his instructions. You haven't touched the dangerous red liquid since that night, but you know that Dracule enjoys having a glass or four in the evening. 
The two of you settle in the living room afterwards, and Dracule sets his wine down long enough to retrieve the smaller bag. He opens it up, and you watch in growing panic as Mihawk pulls several boxes out of the drawstring. He hands over the largest of the parcels. 
“Open them, please,” Dracule instructs, and you set your own mug away to carefully tug at the delicate purple ribbon that holds the box shut. A gasp leaves you when you take the lid off, and you reverently pull out the beautiful green sea glass and delicate metal tubes attached to the fishing line. 
“What is it?” You ask and raise it up to better examine it in the setting sun that streams through your window. You gasp in delight when you hear the melodic echo at the slightest movement. 
“A wind chime. We can hang it wherever the wind blows most,” Dracule suggests, and you nod eagerly as you set the chimes back inside the box for safekeeping. Miahwk takes it away only to replace it with another. 
You end up with a fish bone comb that has been chiseled by masterful hands. A full sand dollar that you are extra careful with, and a large piece of red glass from a broken bottle that has been sanded and polished to a shine. Each item is handpicked just for you. 
Dracule looks like a smug cat, lips tugged up in a smirk as he watches you reverently put away your gifts. You agree to hang up the wind chime in the morning and open his arms for you to fall into. You gladly do, holding Mihawk close and not ever wanting to let go. 
It's quiet between two of you, a comfortable air that puts you at ease. At some point, Mihawk takes up the book, the one that you had read to him from, and begins to read. His soft timber is enough to send you into a light doze, and he slows to a stop, not wanting you to miss anything. 
“Darling, if you are so tired, let's get you to bed, yes?” Mihawk murmurs and rolls his eyes when all you do is give a sleepy nod. He shifts forward and then stands with you in his arms, tracing the now familiar path back to your bedroom. 
Dracule tucks you in, content to leave you for the night, but he doesn't get far before your pitiful voice rings out, “Stay here with me?” 
The warlord is already sitting on the bed and tugging his boot off. You watch with squinted eyes as Mihawk reaches for his belt, sliding it out of the loops and sliding his pants off. You admire his lean form dressed only in black men's underwear. He is radiant, and it makes you a little nervous to have him so undressed and in your bed no less. 
You toss back the blankets and Dracule slips in beside you. It's a little awkward at first, but then you can feel how much heat he is radiating and desperately wants to know how it feels to have so much of his exposed skin touching you. You roll over to face him, smiling in the dim light of the moon when you realize that he's been watching you the whole time. 
“I know you're cold,” Mihawk whispers, and you can hear that knowing, teasing tone that you have missed so much. “Come here, Snow Angel.” 
You don't have to be told twice, happily closing the distance and tossing your arm over his waist, head pillowed on his chest. You press your freezing feet against his legs and are treated with the rare sight of his eyes going wide and a hiss like a cat escaping his mouth. 
You snicker and get pinched in the side for your trouble, but you can't bring yourself to care. This night couldn't get any better. 
@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz
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porcelana-r0ta · 2 years ago
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The Curse of Sight
Summary: When Wes Weston meets Time Drake-Wayne, the dots start connecting. And those dots form a Bat. 
Word Count: 2690
Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44788813
[Part 2]
When Wes Weston's parents divorced, they decided that he should stay with his dad in Amity Park. After all, small town Amity is much safer than big city Gotham, where his mother was moving in order to accept a promotion with Wayne Enterprises. Wes, in order to still see his mom, would visit her in Gotham every summer and every other holiday.
Of course, Amity soon became more dangerous than Gotham could even dream of thanks to the hell portal in the Fenton's basement that killed and bore Phantom, but whatever. No one ever listened to Wes anyway, and he learned to shut his mouth when Sam Manson shoved him against the lockers and asked him what he thought would happen to Danny Fenton if the Ghost Investigation Ward ever believed his “crazy as shit imagination.”
She was still playing the "Wes is crazy" game, even when defending her boyfriend.
Still, she was right. Danny was safer without him trying to convince Amity's negligent populace that Danny was Phantom. (Even if it absolutely drove him mad that no one but him was capable of making the connection between Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom.) So he shut up. He deleted his conspiracy theory blog and even asked Tucker Foley to wipe all remnants of its existence from the internet, a request which his classmate happily obliged. He even said, "I'm glad you're moving on from this whole Fenton-Phantom obsession, Wes."
Professional gaslighters, the lot of them.
So yes, Wes had thoroughly given up on the superhero ID evidence schemes by the time he left to visit his mom after his freshman year of high school. He had made peace with it and settled back into reading mystery novels or movies and solving the case before the protagonists in place of proving Phantom’s ID.
When he came to Gotham, he had to get a new library card so he could keep up with his mystery novel hyperfixation. He happens to take just a little too long in the library, so by the time he has a nice stack of books to check out, it's dark outside.
Great, walking back to my mother's apartment in the dark in Gotham. Seems super safe.
Well, Gotham is no Amity, right?
So he marches on and tries not to be too resigned when he's inevitably yanked into an alleyway even though the apartment is only three blocks from the library.
Classic.
It's just a man with a gun, his face obscured with a hood and a red bandana. He's literally nothing compared to Pariah Dark or Undergrowth or Dr. Spectra or even the fucking Box Ghost.
"Let me guess," he says. "You want any cash I have, right?"
"Kid, shut the hell up and fork over your money," says the man, and Wes sighs. The mugger didn't even wave around his gun or give an impassioned speech about stealing someone's pelt.
"Original," Wes intones. "But I'm fifteen. And everyone knows young people don't carry cash anymore. I guess I could give you my mom's emergency credit card that she gave me, but she did say it was for emergencies only, so."
The man just stares at him. Wes shuffles uncomfortably.
"Oh! And I could just cancel the card before you use it," Wes adds into the silence.
"You don't consider being held at gunpoint an emergency?" the mugger finally asks, looking uncertain.
"Should I?" Wes wonders aloud. Sam had been much scarier when she threatened him.
"You said you're fifteen? And you don't have a Gothamite accent?" the man offers his reasoning, as if it's any kind of logical. He'd fit in well in Amity for that trait alone.
"Gothamites always think they're so superior." He has to roll his eyes. "Guns aren't that scary. You know what is scary? Your whole town being dragged into the dimension of death for three days. This is nothing. This city is nothing." You are nothing. He knows better than to say that last part, though;
"Christ, kid, you're crazy." The man shook his head and pulled the hammer of his gun back. "Just-- give me the watch you're wearing."
Wes sighs again, "Whatever, I'm not fighting for it." It was literally just a cheap Walmart watch. But just as he goes to unlatch the watch from his wrist, a caped vigilante swings down from the rooftops and kicks the mugger straight into the pavement.
The mugger doesn't get back up.
"Thanks, Red Robin," Wes dutifully says, even though he's pretty sure the man was A) not really that much of a threat, and B) going to have serious brain trauma now.
"It's no problem," the vigilante says. "You're a little young to be out this late, though."
Well, that's rude. It's only 7:00 pm. The only reason it's dark at all is thanks to Gotham's pollution problem. (Maybe they should let Poison Ivy just go fucking feral, like Sam suggests.)
Wes doesn't say that. Instead he says: "Didn't you start crime fighting when you were, like, twelve?"
Red Robin sputters, but Wes continues, "And the first Robin couldn't have been more than nine. I have never picked a fight with hardened criminals." Do ghosts count as criminals? Surely not. What right does Wes have to dictate the morals of being from a completely different dimension? "So I think I'm doing better than you in the safety department, no offense."
Well, doing better in Gotham. But the Justice League doesn't need to know about Amity Park, so he'll leave that part out.
"I-- just--" Red Robin struggles for a second, and then clears his throat. "Why don't I escort you home?"
"I'm two blocks away, but thanks. And thanks again for the---" he waves to the unconscious mugger. Definitely brain damaged.
"Yeah, no problem." And then he grapples away.
Phantom's much cooler. Not that he'll ever say that in front of Danny, Sam, or Tucker. Or anyone from Amity.
He makes it safely home, even if he does pretend to not notice the Bat stalking him from above. And of course, once he recounts his tale to his mother, she freaks out that he'd been nearly mugged, and tries to ban him from doing anything in Gotham at all.
"Mom, I can't just stay inside the house all day. I refuse to spend my whole summer on Netflix." He wants to at least go sightseeing.
Her mouth goes into a thin line and her eyes are as fiery as her red hair.
"Fine," she says. "Then you can get a job."
His stomach drops, "What?"
"A job. My floor needs a new intern, and I found just the perfect person."
"No, Mom, you can't," he pleads. "A Wayne Enterprises job? I'll be known as a nepo-baby for life!"
"Well, too bad. You should have thought of that before being mugged."
"Almost mugged, Mom! Almost! Red Robin was there!" When he sees that this point is getting him nowhere, he switches tactics, "Mom, the Waynes are held hostage, like, every other week! Do you really want me in closer proximity to them?"
She lifts her chin and sniffs, "I'll be there to watch out for you. And an intern won't have any reason to be next to a Wayne, anyway."
He groans, "Mom, please. It's my summer vacation!"
"And you're my son. Discussion over. You start in two days."
He groans again, "Do I at least get paid? Or is Brucie Wayne like every other rich white dude out there?"
"Wes, sweetie, you're white--"
"But not rich," he grumbles.
"But yes, you'll be paid. Every position with Wayne Enterprises is paid."
He crosses his arms, "At least there's that, I guess."
His mom walks to him to hug him and kiss his forehead.
"I'll handle the paperwork tomorrow. Don't worry, you'll love it there!"
Well, spoiler alert: he doesn't.
He's basically a go-fer, fetching paper or ink or photos or files and most usually, lunch from across the street or donuts or coffee. Especially coffee. And his mom's coworkers kinda suck because hey, the Wayne's executive PR manager just hired her own kid for a coveted Wayne internship. No one likes the idea of someone being here who doesn't deserve it. So he is really sent on the most stupid, tedious errands possible for an intern.
He called it: he's the resident nepo-baby, beaten only by Brucie Wayne's very own brood of nepo-babies.
Suddenly, just letting that mugger fill him with hot lead doesn't look so bad. Maybe he would have become a ghost! Haunting Danny would have been fun. Or Ember and the others of her nature make it look fun, anyway.
The Fenton thermos part would probably be uncomfortable, though.
"This sucks," Wes mutters to himself, balancing three carrying cartons of Batbucks (Gotham's stupid parody of Starbucks since they have to be special and not like other girls in every aspect possible) coffee with just two arms, staring helplessly at the elevator call button in front of him.
"Need an assist?" calls a familiar voice, though Wes can't place from where.
"Yes, please!" Wes says gratefully, looking up at a face with blue eyes, black hair, and a familiar jawline.
Wait a second.
"Here, I'll get that for you," says the man, who is really more like a teenager, since it's goddamn Timothy Drake-Wayne, co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises at just seventeen years old. "Going up, I assume?" he gives a charming laugh as he presses the up button, the kind one practices to perfection to ace media interviews and entertain the wealthy elite at galas.
"Yes, thank you, sir," Wes says, and takes the time to really study Drake-Wayne's eyes. And sure enough, he can recognize makeup covering up purple eyebags, just like he could on Fenton.
No. Please, Lord, I'll go back to church. Just don't let it be true.
"Yeah, no problem!" Drake-Wayne says, which really just seals the deal. Wes quietly dies inside, and also curses God. "I'm glad to be of service! Interns doing coffee runs really are doing God's work. And there's no need to call me sir. Tim will do just fine."
"Right... Tim," Wes says uncertainly. He kind of wants the elevator doors to open up and reveal a pitch black hole to drop into, but when the bell rings and the doors slide open, it's just the same ol' regular elevator it's always been. Damn.
So. The boss of this whole entire company is Red Robin. Makes sense, seems legit. He figured out that Plasmius was the mayor of Amity, too, didn't he? So why shouldn't all billionaires be playing dress up and fight crime or be the crime? What's stopping them all, really, when wealth is a superpower all on its own?
Wait, fuck. So. If Tim started out as a Robin when he was twelve-ish. And apparently billionaires are playing dress up. Then doesn't that mean...?
Oh, God. Couldn't he go one season without figuring out some superpowered person's secret identity? Is that too much to ask?
And of course, after figuring Tim and goddamn Brucie Wayne out, it's not so hard to see the correlations between the introduction of every other Wayne brat to the debut of each Robin.
He shakily steps into the elevator, "And how do you normally take your coffee?"
"With the maximum amount of espresso the barista can legally give me," is Tim's immediate answer.
Just like Danny.
And even worse, Tim steps into the elevator after him.
"What floor?" he asks, and Wes feels stupid. Obviously he was going to come in: why offer help at all if he wasn't going to push the floor button for Wes?"
"Uh, 73," Wes says.
Tim nods and presses the according number, and then takes one of the cartons from Wes as the doors closed.
Hopefully, any nerves that Wes is showing can be played off as the nerves an intern would get when they somehow get stuck with the Actual Big Boss™ , and then said Boss™ tries to take the shit they're carrying.
"Uh, you don't have to do that," Wes says nervously. "I can carry them all, really!"
"Don't be silly," the literal co-CEO of his workplace says, as if Wes is in some fucked up Wattpad fic. "Again, where would any of us be without the ones who bring us coffee?"
"In bed?" Wes offers nervously. "Sleeping?"
Tim laughs, but his smile looks more like a smirk, "I guess you're right!"
"But seriously, I can carry the coffee. It's my job. And it'll look weird to everyone if they see the CEO helping me do my job."
"It's no trouble!" Tim insists, and then emphasizes his point by stealing the second carton in Wes's hands. "See? And my employees will be glad to see that I value every employee and am always willing to help out!"
Haha yeah, thought Wes. Too bad they'll never know just how much you help out, right?
Finally, the elevator dings, and Wes is released from one prison to another.
Thanks to the normal chaos of working at Wayne Enterprises, no one immediately notices that the co-CEO is carrying the bulk of the load. Instead, they all hone in on the scent of coffee, and they lunge.
"Thanks, Weston!" the few who are clear-minded enough to remember manners manage to say, even as most of them take their orders from a black haired wunderkind instead of a redheaded conspiracy theorist with the curse of Cassandra.
"Of course," Wes says nervously, and then finally some recognition starts sparking in the coffee-hungry eyes of exhausted PR employees who are always trying to handle some wacky Wayne hijinks.
"You're Weston," says his mom's assistant, Jade, pointing at Wes, and then slowly pointing to Tim, "and you're.... Oh, Mr. Drake-Wayne! Here, let me get that for you!" She yanks the empty cartons out of Tim's hands and shoved them into Wes's. Luckily, his carrying carton had been emptied, too, so he doesn’t get coffee spilled all over him and the floor.  "Here, Weston, go dispose of these! Why were you making Mr. Drake-Wayne carry them? It's your job to get coffee, not our CEO's! He has better things to do. In fact, he probably needs to speak to Ms. Rolland."
Ms. Rolland as in his mother, who went back to her maiden name after the divorce.
"Now hold on," says Tim, his eyes alight with anger. "I offered to help Weston out, and I have no need to speak with Penny. I was just helping out one of my employees."
"Oh," says Jade, taking a step back. "Of- of course, sir! Weston, here, I'll take these cartons back. And sir, it's very kind of you to help out."
"I try," Tim says dryly. Wes notices he doesn't tell Jade to not call him sir. "You should probably get back to work."
"Of course, sir." And with the cartons in her hands, she scurries off in the direction of his mom's office, where she'll probably complain about how her kid made Jade look like a fool in front of the Actual Big Boss™.
"Uh, thanks," he tells Tim. "But you really didn't have to help me. It is my job, after all." Unwilling or not.
"It's no problem!" Tim repeats, and Wes wants to bang his head into a wall. "And hey, next time you do a coffee run, forget the others and just grab my order." His words are accompanied by a wink, and Wes is pretty sure it's supposed to be weird rich people humor, so he laughs, and pretends his heart isn’t beating into his ears.
"As much espresso as possible," he plays along, and Tim grins, pressing the call button for the elevator. It hasn't been summoned to another floor, so it opens right back up.
"Have a good day, Weston."
"It's just Wes, really," he corrects, and Tim smiles again.
"Wes," he says, and the elevator doors slide shut.
Cool cool cool. So now he just has to survive two months in Gotham while knowing the entire Batclan’s secret identities.
Cool cool cool cool cool cool....
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ghostieblr · 4 months ago
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<- Part 2 | Untitled
When he decides enough is enough, he also realizes he has no clue how to fix this. Research has always been Stiles' forte, and Derek is, admittedly, not the best with the internet.
But he does have a penchant for reading.
Determined, he makes his way towards the vault below the high school, with a quick detour to Wendy's to get something to eat. There, he goes through the drive-through, and valiantly ignores the fact that Stiles' blue jeep is sitting in the parking lot, and that he can hear him flirting with the waitress. Instead, he quickly vanishes under the cover of the night, and finds himself near the high school in minutes.
Demons aren't common. They don't appear out of nowhere, they're summoned — in this case by a bunch of kids, supposedly — that much he knows. But the summoning ritual itself, what it is and how it's done, and why, is a mystery to him. Someone in this town has been dabbling in things they shouldn't have, and now he — Stiles — is paying the price.
The books in the vault are old and dusty, as well as disorganized. It takes him a while to pick up three books on demons, and he decides he'll start with these and come back tomorrow for more.
Once back at the loft, he tries his best to not look anywhere that would remind him of Stiles as he eats in record seconds and starts on his research. Except, there's Stiles' red hoodie on the back of one of the dining chairs; his copy of Percy Jackson on Derek's bedside table; his favorite flavor of chips on top of the kitchen counters.
He reads. He reads and reads, and barely anything talks about the aftereffects of a deal with a demon. All three books warn of the consequences, but don't elaborate. It's half information to him, but it's still half more than he had before reading them, so he sighs and lays his head against the couch, trying to think what he should do next.
What Will Stiles Do Next?
The morning has dawned, sunlight splashing across his face as he sits sprawled on his couch, and he is no closer to a solution than he was last night. Perhaps he could start with investigating the summoners — He did get the scent of the kids there in that clearing, but finding them with just that isn't going to be easy. But it's a start, and hell if he isn't going to do everything in his power to fix Stiles.
Except does Stiles actually need fixing? Sure, he's turned vicious towards Derek, but he sounded like himself when Derek heard him flirting with that waitress. Carefree and genuine, with his dorky jokes and cascading laughter.
He'll investigate for the sake of his own heart, but if it turns out this is better for Stiles', then he'll leave it be. Rest this case. He's used to the cruelty of the universe, so what's one more time? What's another loved one lost to the hands of fate?
Sighing, he makes his way towards his bed — where Stiles was only hours ago — and manages to fall asleep after some of turning and tossing.
It's only been a meager few hours when there's a loud pounding against the door, and he slips out of bed, in his sleeped-in henley and jeans, to a harried looking Lydia Martin.
She smells of panic, and she looks so too, but in a sort of way that's still impeccable. If a stranger looked at her, they'd think she's alright; it's because he knows her that he knows that something is wrong.
"What's wrong?" He asks her as she brisks past into his home, and she doesn't move to say anything until her purse has been put on the coffee table. Except, her eyes catch on the books he'd brought from the vault, and her mouth snaps shut in shock for a moment.
"You read those?" She asks instead of answering him.
"Yes."
"They're in Archaic Latin," she says, like she didn't think he'll ever have a cause to know them. The surprise of it tilts into anger as she continues, "You know what's wrong! How long have you known? What did Stiles do this time, Derek?"
He feels his insides go cold. "This is about Stiles."
"Yes! And you know what's going on with him. We need to fix it."
She says it matter-of-fact. Of course Derek would help when it comes to Stiles, wouldn't he?
"Why didn't you go to Scott?" He can smell multiple people on her, like she'd been out in a mall or something, and yet the most prominent smell remains. Of course it's Stiles' scent; Now that he's woken up enough for his senses to work properly, he can conclude that she met him recently. It's what, around twelve at the moment? He glances at the clock to confirm — it's been three hours since he went to sleep. "He'll be better equipped to handle this."
Lydia's eye twitches at the statement, like it's fucking stupid. "You have to be kidding me right now," she hisses. "Scott might be an Alpha, but he is no way Stiles'. Never has been. He has no clue how to take care of his pack, and definitely none about solving problems like the one we currently have, without Stiles whispering solutions in his ear. Which would be difficult at the moment, considering Stiles is the problem we currently have."
"If he can't help, why do you think I can?" He can't help anyone.
Lydia takes a few menacing steps forward, her heels clicking like bullets. She's tiny, but her presence is huge, and it takes him a conscious effort to not move backwards. "You," her voice is crisp, clear, crystal fucking steel, "are the only one who can."
He looks at her, the determination and the concern. She's Stiles' friend, and she has a right to protect him. It takes him by surprise that she's come to him to protect Stiles, because who is he but the reason of Stiles' ruin? But she's also smart, and he'll follow her; the two of them have a common cause, after all, even if his stems from feelings he can't quite shake, and hers has grown from a mutual foundation of respect and genius that remains unmatched to anything Derek has ever seen before.
He asks, "What's the plan?" And, "What happened?"
Lydia's laugh is without any humor. "He was flirting," she says it with bewilderment, like it is unfathomable. "He was flirting with the cashier, the guy at the gas station, the damn librarian! And me."
The outburst breaks him as much as it perplexes him. "Lydia, he's a healthy 21 year old man."
Lydia doesn't seem to appreciate his honesty, and this time when she marches forward, he does take a step back. "Boys!" Her snarl is almost like a wolf's, a sound of frustration coming deep from her bones. "You are all so — Derek Hale, something is very, very wrong," she stops for a breath, and here, he intervenes.
"He is free from his shackles," he tells her. He's been thinking, in the little time he's been awake, and since he'd put the books down and not quite managed to sleep yet, that what had been missing in his interaction with Stiles since the deal was warmth. Affection.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn't it? With the heat there, he'd always disregarded it as part of his illusions; demoted the looks of longing and care towards a box labeled "unworthy" in his brain. And now that warmth has been sucked out with the teeth of a literal demon, and all he's felt since then has been the cold reality. That perhaps Stiles had felt the same for him as he does for Stiles, but it's all gone now, taken.
He misses Stiles from before, but had he really deserved the devotion? Of having been worthy to be included in the most precious things that the demon took from Stiles?
Lydia's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Derek, what happened?" When he doesn't answer, head down, she repeats forcefully, "What the hell happened on that perimeter run?"
He looks up, and all he sees is a concerned friend. Perhaps the demon took more than just the warmth for Derek — maybe it burned away the roots of care itself.
"I'll tell you, after you tell me what happened exactly."
Lydia swears, says, "Talking with you is like going in fucking circles," and then, "He's vicious."
"I'm not for everybody," it's his turn to chuckle without humor, and then his to be startled into silence when he gets the reply:
"No, but you are for Stiles." She takes a moment to read his expression, hardly hidden behind a mask at the moment. "Christ, men are dumb. Derek Hale, Stiles has been in love with you for ages, and whatever happened to him yesterday has taken away a primal part of him. Whatever happened, it has changed him, to the point that the person who wouldn't even look towards another person, no matter how much his type, or how hot, has started to flirt with everything that moves and keeps commenting that he'll sleep with me even if it's stupid. That he's so over this town and its hold on him. And that there's nothing tying him to this town, nothing."
"He has his dad here."
"And he has us, his pack. You know, he told me last week he's planning on joining the BHPD while he earns another Bachelor's online after his current one?"
Derek's lips part in surprise. "He's planning to stay. Or he was."
"Exactly my point. So, how many times more do I have to ask —"
"He made a deal with a demon."
Lydia's breaths come out sharper at his admission. She moves back, gives them both space. Paces the floor of his loft, click-click-click.
He gives in, admits further, "During the perimeter run, we came across an abandoned clearing. From the smell of it some high school kids had been staying there, but something had happened there. There were all these things for a ritual, and when Stiles tried to investigate, a demon appeared. We tried asking it where are the kids, but it won't give a clear cut answer to us, and then it asked Stiles to give his most precious thing to him as a trade. I tried to protect him but I never do anything right, do I?"
"This is not the time for your self-loathing, schedule that later."
Always so cynically to-the-point. Derek scoffs, continues, "He did it, he agreed, and then came here. He couldn't stay upright and fell face-first on my bed, didn't wake up for a couple of hours, and when he did he was... vicious. Cruel. Cold."
Lydia picks up the book on the top, the last one he was reading. She motions for him to continue, and he takes a deep breath.
She's already told him Stiles loves him. Maybe that is true in the ways he wants it to be, or it isn't, but in Lydia's mind his delusions are true. And anyways, what is vulnerability in the name of saving Stiles?
"At first I figured it was just me. That whatever he had sacrificed only skewed his feelings for me, but now... I don't think so."
"So what are you thinking now?" She points to the book, now open to the middle, her face somewhere between plain and panicked. Closer to the Lydia he's used to. "This says the demons are like the Fae, they twist their words to benefit themselves. According to me, the most precious thing he has in this world are his feelings for you."
Derek makes a noise of disagreement. "Not me. His dad is the most — " Lydia looks at him sharply.
"Not the time for you to hate yourself," she repeats, "You are. Another possibility could be his affection."
He gets it. He's been thinking this, rather than her ludicrous idea of �� of. "The demon took away his unending care for the people in his life."
Her eyes flick between the pages open in front of her and him. "Or both." She says at length. "We need to find those meddlesome kids."
"You sound like every villain in Scooby Doo," he says, and it strikes him as odd, that in the middle of all this, he's not thinking why did I say it? Instead he's stuck on Stiles would appreciate the joke.
"And you fucking wonder why you would be the person he cares for most," Lydia mutters under her breath, piling up all three books in her hand. "Come on, we need to get to work. I want to finish this today. What did the demon tell you?"
She's by the door before he takes a step towards the direction of it.
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Didn't it make a fucking deal with Stiles?"
"It also promised none other of his kind would come to our town," he says, and smiles sardonically as they both descend the stairs. "Which means that thing is still here and will probably only tell things to Stiles."
"He's the one it made a deal with," she agrees, and pulls out her keys from her purse. Derek takes a seat on the passenger seat without any protests, but he dreads what Lydia says next. "So we need him."
He'd deduced that much.
"He's under its influence," she says, but it sounds more like a reminder than a statement. As if she's trying to reassure the both of them.
"Where would he be now?" Normally, Derek would be aware of it, because Stiles texts him these things. It's a question he hasn't had to ask in a long time in regards to Stiles.
"Hopefully, still at the mall where I left him without a ride." He gives her a look as she turns on the engine and pulls out of the parking lot of his building. "What? I couldn't stand him."
"And you both had some shopping plans."
"It was not a fun experience," she states. "Not how it usually is."
"Alright." He takes a pause, and decides if he really wants to say what he's going to next or not. He goes along with it, because really, what's the harm? And at least he'll get to tell it to Stiles later — hopefully. So he says, "Let's solve this mystery," and imagines Stiles' raucous laughter instead of Lydia's side-glare at it.
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ladykailitha · 2 years ago
Text
Can Anybody See Me? Part 21
Executive dysfunction is a bitch and can go to hell. I had something I could have posted yesterday while I was working on this, but no...
I am starting to wonder if maybe I shot myself in the foot with my tag rant as engagement for the last Reconnect AU was WAY down. But oh well. I can only continue to move on and hope I find new people who like my stuff.
All righty, my lovelies. We have gotten to the part where I was going to end it originally before you absolute menaces said you wanted me to continue it through season 4.
But here’s the deal, this story has reached nearly novel length of 40k. So what I’ve decided to do is call this the end of book one. And then I will start up book two, which will be through to the end of the school year and probably through the events of season 3. And then book 3 should take us the rest of the way.
I hope that’s acceptable to all of you. I want to continue it, but I think from here on out the title doesn’t fit Steve anymore and he needs a new one.
Now if you’ve followed me long enough, you know that I don’t start putting out a story until it’s done (if it’s short enough) or if I’m three to four chapters deep. So hopefully by the end of the month (if not sooner) you should start seeing book two.
I will run a poll on how you think I should do the tag list for it. But thank you all for coming with me on this absolutely wild ride. And hope you’ll stick around for the next two parts.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20
***
Word had been handed down, Mindy Jones, Ollie Anderson, and Kyle Carver had been suspended with word that Kyle being the instigator might be expelled. For sure he wasn’t going to be able to walk in his cap and gown at graduation.
Steve felt a sense of relief and strangely justice too. Yes, all right suspension wasn’t getting expelled, but the kids had been punished. They didn’t try to hand wave it away.
Steve had heard that Mr Vinke, the math teacher, Mr Cole, Miss Lucy, and Chief Hopper had all gone to the principal and superintendent for all three of them to be expelled.
The suspension was a given, but the school district wanted to do their own investigation and then expulsions might be handed out after it was complete.
Steve didn’t have much hope.
Marty, Gethin, and Janice all sat with the Corroded Coffin boys at lunch, something they didn’t normally do.
“Fuck,” Janice swore. “Why I am more nervous about tonight than I have all week?”
Steve nodded, poking at his food. “I haven’t been this queasy since I took a plate to the head.”
Everyone winced and murmured sympathetic platitudes and other noises of sympathy.
“I think it’s because it’s your last performance,” Gethin murmured. “Your last chance to completely biff it on stage.” Steve and Janice looked at him in wide-eyed fear. He waved his hands placatingly. “Not that I think you will. Just that your brain thinks you will.”
Steve and Janice looked at each other and then nodded.
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “That tracks.”
Eddie slid his hand under the table and gripped Steve’s knee. Steve covered his hand with his own and gave it a squeeze of thank you.
*
Steve scanned the crowd the second night. He spotted Jeff and all his family, Gareth and Gethin and their parents, Brian and all of his younger siblings, and what looked like his dad. Wayne shuffled in his seat nervously, having never been to a musical before. But still no sign of his parents.
His mom promised that at least she would be there, even if his dad refused to come. And he held on to that. He managed to make it through the show and held it together.
He went out to be congratulated by his friends and their families. Wayne brought him flowers.
“You did good, boy,” he said gruffly, after giving him a hug. “I looked it up and flowers are the gift you give someone after a well-done performance.”
Steve looked down at the bouquet of wild flowers and smiled. “Thank you. I love them.”
Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. “They might be a tad wilted by the time we’re done, because we’re taking you out to eat in celebration.”
Steve teared up a bit. “Thanks, guys.”
Gareth smiled. “You deserve it, man. That was awesome!”
Gethin nudged his shoulder. “We’re just waiting for Janice and Eddie to get done.”
Steve nodded. Eddie had to reset the stage for tomorrow and Janice had to get out of a corset and that took some time.
“Yeah, no problem!” he enthused.
Eddie finished first and came out to meet them.
“Hey, Steve!” he said. “Feeling famous yet?”
Steve laughed. “I’m going to get fat if this keeps up. First ice cream last night and then dinner tonight.”
They all laughed. “It’s impossible for you to gain weight, man,” Brian huffed. “I’ve seen you eat a whole pizza and didn’t even get bloated.”
Steve laughed. “Playing three sports does that to you. Hell, I still life guard at the rec center every summer.”
Brian eyed his lean form skeptically. “I suppose so.”
“Swimming’s fun,” Steve said. “And it’s not just for us jock types.”
Janice finally came out. “Sorry to keep you waiting guys. Sharing with Tammy Thompson is hell let me tell you. I don’t know how someone so tiny can take up so much room.”
“At least you don’t have to share the choir room with twenty sweaty dudes that wouldn’t know deodorant if it bit them in the ass,” Steve grumped.
Gethin shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be used to that from sports?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “At least there are showers after basketball. Can’t say the same here.”
Gethin’s lips curled. “Fair.”
Wayne clapped his hands. “All right, I’ve got us a place reserved, so we need to hustle. Eddie and Steve are coming with me.”
Eddie and Steve filed out with the rest of them and followed Wayne out to his truck.
Steve slid into the middle between Eddie and Wayne.
“Thanks for this, Wayne,” he murmured. “And the flowers, too.”
“You’re welcome, Stevie,” he said. “I didn’t see your parents. Did they show up last night?”
Steve shared a glance with Eddie and then shook his head. “There’s still tomorrow.”
Wayne and Eddie shared a glance of concern over Steve’s head.
“I’m sure that’s the case,” Wayne agreed.
An uneasy silence settled on them as they drove to the restaurant. Wayne parked and turned to Steve.
He pulled him in for a great big hug and then opened the door. “It’ll be all right.”
Steve nodded and slid out after Eddie.
The dinner was just as ruckus as the ice cream parlor the night before. With just as many people. Steve looked around and smiled.
Yeah, 1985 was his year and it was just getting started.
*
Steve looked out to the audience and knew, even in the dimmed lights his parents weren’t there.
“Tell me, Mr Thomson, out of curiosity, do you stand with Mr Dickinson, or do you stand with me?” Vince asked.
Steve could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He held up the dispatch. “I stand with the General. Lately–I’ve had the oddest feeling that he’s been–writing to me…”
He slowly rose to his feet as he sang,
“I have been in expectation Of receiving a reply On the subject of my last fifteen dispatches. Is anybody there?”
His voice cracked with emotion as he stepped half out of the spotlight.
“Does anybody care? Does anybody care? Y’r humble & ob’d’t–”
The drum rolled and Steve looked up into the eagle’s nest where Eddie was doing the spotlight. A single tear ran down his cheek.
Steve looked down at the paper in his hand and then back up at Eddie. And then he exited the scene on cue.
Eddie swore he saw more tears in that moment then for ‘Mama Look Sharp’ that night.
But that performance of Steve’s brought out something in Vince in that moment. Vince’s John Adams bid Hancock good night, but then it changed. All the emotion and fear of not being seen or heard. The loneliness that Adams must have been feeling in that moment, borrowed from the loneliness of both Washington and Thomson.
“Is anybody there–”
Silence.
“Does anybody care–?”
Again, nothing.
“Does anybody see–what I see?”
And then Kenny came on and delivered the line with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.
“Yes, Mr Adams, I do.” As if to banish all the fears and insecurities that John was having in that moment.
And Steve could almost hear it as though it was coming from Eddie. As if it was coming from his friends. The party. Wayne.
Yes, his parents weren’t there. They never were. And probably never were going to be. But that didn’t mean that no one was listening to Steve. That no one cared.
They all cared. Every last one of the dozens of people that showed up the last two nights. They cared. They brought their families. Brought flowers. Thought he was worthy of celebrating. Worth treating.
For the boy with the bat.
The boy that never knew what love really was until he looked up from a god damned garbage can into those warm and friendly brown eyes. A warm hand on his back and a gentle ‘Are you okay?’
In that moment, Steve’s life had become changed. Different. Better. All because a teacher took pity on Steve and chose Eddie Munson of all people to be Steve’s protector.
And he looked up at Eddie in the rafters and though he couldn’t see him, he knew that Eddie was looking back at him. Smiling back at him. Loving him for all his worth.
And if you had asked Steve what his worth was back in December he would have told you nothing. He wasn’t worth anything but being the baby-sitter. But now?
Now Steve was a baby-sitter, chauffeur, groupie, actor, chef, swimmer, friend, brother, and most importantly boyfriend. And maybe if he was really lucky, someone’s son.
***
Fin.
Fuck, rereading this to add back in the formatting made me cry. My apologies if it makes you cry too.
Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @garden-of-gay @anaibis @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites   @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead  @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @lovelyscot @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @jinxjinn @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @estrellami-1 @dangdirtydemons @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread
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buckybarnesss · 10 months ago
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I'm thinking about how Eli is apparently living with Scott and an Argent. How Deaton moved to LA as well and Deaton never treated Derek that well.
It doesn't make sense that Scott would get custody over any of the living Hales or even Noah. How Derek supposedly never had any arrangements made up just in case. Especially since Derek lost his family when he was Eli's age.
there's no way in hell scott and allison have legal guardianship over eli. it's a laughable idea and it is the height of insult to even suggest that an argent should be involved with raising derek's son. derek and allison barely tolerated each other not to mention all the other history.
it begs the question why would he want to go with them anyway? if we're following what the movie was putting down than he doesn't know them. there is also no reason that eli should've been pushed to leave his home. his ancestral home at that. the place where so many hales had been born and died.
it also removes him from a stable environment with a support system after suffering a huge loss. the sheriff, malia and peter seem to have been around. noah stilinski was definitely heavily involved in eli's life plus he's the sheriff of the goddamned town. he'd be perfect for temporary guardianship at minimum.
malia and peter are directly related to him and are also shifters.
again, why the hell would eli go live with two people who aren't even remotely connected to him and he barely knows. he last met scott when he was three years old and allison has been dead his entire existence. these people are strangers.
it just gives you the idea that jeff wanted a "happy ending" for allison and scott while not addressing all the questions it brings up. like is scott even remotely prepared to take on a sixteen year old whose just gone through a very traumatic experience? what exactly is allison's mental status right now? she just came back from the dead. they want to handwave it away just like they did with malia's situation. homegirl was 17 when she died. wouldn't she want to like idk catch up on the world? spend time with her dad? her best friend lydia who really, deeply grieved her? figure things out before jumping into a relationship with her high school boyfriend who is now in his 30s? it's weird.
speaking of allison.
allison has been legally deceased for over a decade by the time of the movie.
even if they were to some how "lose" the investigation files surrounding her death and the autopsy report than they used isaac to do an off the books burial i'd imagine there's still a death certificate filed with the state. the social security administration would've been notified as well. there was also fbi presence in town on an active investigation at the time of her death and everyone in beacon hills knew she died.
this does bring up the matter of peter's legal status. is he considered legally dead too? i don't think so actually as everything was really shady about that situation and his nurse was in on the whole thing. i don't think he was declared missing let alone dead.
and also like the most obvious answer to all of this is cora hale. where the fuck is cora hale? she's derek's sister and eli's aunt. she would've stepped in. aggressively. the only answer is that jeff has her locked in the subplot basement.
you also can't convince me that derek hale wouldn't have his affairs in order.
not only did derek have the experience of going through the untimely death of his family at a young age but he also had to do it again with laura.
there's no way he didn't have a will and it'd likely have to go through the probate process so his estate could be executed. derek hale had assets.
the hales were loaded. they were rich. season 4 drove that point home. derek owned the building the loft was in. he also had a business at the time of his death too.
derek would've ensured eli's inheritance and stability in case something happened to him and none of it would've included scott mccall or an argent.
scott was never derek's alpha. derek was not part of the mccall pack.
this isn't to say scott couldn't mentor eli. that'd be fine. it'd bring things full circle in a way but it's dumb as hell for scott to take eli to LA and i do genuinely think it's out of character for scott. especially an adult scott but i've written about that somewhere on my blog i think.
jeff davis can meet me in hell is all i'm saying.
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theobsessedcookiefan · 10 months ago
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...early yay-
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Hypnotic..
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
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Part Three: Deal.
I tried to speak but only bubbles were coming out of my mouth, the cookie in front of me shook his head as he smiled. "You shouldn't waste your breath that fast or you'll lose consciousness and have no chance to save yourself." Save myself? Was there a chance? I raised an eyebrow at that which caused my companion to laugh. "Don't give me that expression, you knew about the dangers of following a mysterious voice." He said as he placed a hand on his chest. "I must say I'm a great actor, I've managed to lure thousands and thousands and thousands of stupid cookies into the trap, they usually give up and leave to die as they can't find their way home but you.. you're persistent aren't you? Even the danger of the water didn't stop you from trying to get there." That was good? I should be proud of myself? Wait... Shouldn't I have drowned by now?
I looked around me, noticing that the dark of the lake had changed, it now looked like something luminescent. It was strangely beautiful, before I could look any further he grabbed my chin to make me look him in the eyes, he looked annoyed now, a somewhat drastic change from the cheerful and somewhat creepy personality he showed before, maybe he was annoyed at not being the center of attention. "Don't get distracted, your eyes always on me, I'm offering to save your life." The luminescence of the lake allowed me to observe him better, his bluish mass and his hair... He wasn't exactly ugly... Especially those eyes of his, they were like two crystals of different shades, but still, they attracted me like a moth to a light.. Shit I got distracted again- I nodded quickly at the mention of "not dying" putting both hands together in an attempt to convince him, again that change in his expression, he looked happy again. "Good! Normally I would ask you for something in return but seeing that you made it this far I think it would be a shame if you died-" He tapped me on the forehead before continuing. "-that would definitely ruin the fun." I unwillingly closed my eyes and a moment later I woke up again, I was in the library again, what happened? The last thing I remember was being about to meet my maker and out of nowhere.... Did I dream it? Maybe. Still I couldn't get out of my head such a cheerful and playful voice... That intense blue color of two shades, I couldn't get it out of my mind.
[Time skip]
Several days had already passed, I still couldn't stop thinking about that blue color that occupied my mind day and night, it wouldn't let me sleep, I had to find out where it was from, where I had seen it. I decided to visit the library again, looking through all the books for a clue as to where that hypnotic blue could be; I found something? Not really, but I did learn about the history of the kingdom, apparently there were five heroes who were falling into madness because of their own powers. It made me have a bad feeling, a very bad feeling...
Days of investigation yielded no information so I simply resigned myself to not knowing anything anymore.
That's what I would have thought if I was a pussy and easy to give up... which I am not! I started asking everyone about it, no one seemed to know anything until a neighbor told me that she had seen when I had gone out at night, she confessed to me that she thought the False Light had already claimed me for having disobeyed the Light of Truth.
"What? I never disobeyed it!" I replied, crossing my arms angrily, to which my neighbor; Red Berry Cookie sighed.
"Of course you did, if you had listened to her warning you wouldn't have gone out late at night into the clearing of the Silver Forest." Silver Forest? I had read about that place before in the library! That got my attention. "And what specifically is there?" I asked, moving closer to my neighbor who became nervous. "You know.. Trees and bushes, the usual stuff in a forest.." I didn't believe a word she said. "Please tell me the truth, I need to know, if for some miraculous reason I am still alive I want to know why." She looked like she wasn't going to tell me anything but sighed. "In the Silver Forest is the Seal that contains the beasts; The Great Silver Tree.... Unfortunately not all magic can be contained and the ancient wielder of the Light of Truth manages to lure helpless cookies into the lake in front of the tree.... Needless to say what happens to those cookies, almost none of them make it and die on the way, but he with every bit of Life Powder grows stronger and stronger, who knows if he will be able to break the seal soon." Wow... That was... Tetric- "And why didn't he kill me there? Because I'm still alive?" I asked, to which she shrugged. "Maybe you got so far and caught his attention and that's not good, you shouldn't leave the village anymore, not until the purification next month"
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
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maturemenoftvandfilms · 4 months ago
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My Top 10 list
Favorite Daddy Sex Scandals: Part III
Whether rumored or proven fact, these are a few of my favorite Daddy Sex Scandals.
10. Rex Ryan Foot Fetish
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Back in 2010 with the New York Jets are on the verge of making the playoffs, but the focus was off the field as coach Rex Ryan is being asked whether his wife, Michelle, posted foot-fetish videos on the Internet. Ryan never denied report that shows a number of videos of a woman who looks very much like his wife showing off her feet while a cameraman -- who sounds like Ryan -- talks to the woman. Years later, he would admit his love of feet.
Sure, this is mild compared to others on this list, but I like Rex. And I can respect a man who loves his wife… and feet.
9. Tampongate
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If there’s a scandal you think of in association with Charles, it’s probably this one. This situation involved Charles, a six-minute phone call and some racy banter between the then Prince of Wales and his mistress, in which he expressed a desire to be reincarnated as Camilla’s Tampax. While Charles was newly separated from Princess Diana at the time the story was published in 1992, the call was recorded five years earlier when he was still very much married, and Camilla was still Mrs. Andrew Parker Bowles. Tampongate tanked Charles’ popularity and Camilla a target for scathing press attention. It’s also thought to have accelerated his divorce.
This proves my theory, no matter what you say about Camilla's looks, her pussy is grrreat.
8. Seventh-term U.S. Congressman Caught Cheating
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Republican U.S. Rep. Jeff Duncan said he will not run for an eighth term in his solidly Republican South Carolina district. Probably because his reputation for conservative family values was diminished last year when his wife filed for divorce, saying the congressman left her and was having a sexual relationship with a lobbyist. She said he had been unfaithful before during their 35-year marriage. Apparently, Duncan plans to marry said DC DC lobbyist with whom he's currently living with. SCANDALOUS.
Well… he did look like he would/could be into fuckery.
I just wish it was with me.
7. Sweden’s Carl XVI Gustaf
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In 2010, a book on King Carl XVI Gustaf’s private life alleged he was a philanderer and a regular at sex clubs hosted by infamous Mafia boss, Mille Markovic in the earlier years of his reign having had numerous affairs with younger women. He had a secret love affair in the 1990s with Camilla Henemark, a Nigerian-Swedish pop singer and he visited exclusive strip clubs during foreign visits; in Atlanta during the 1996 Olympics (spending two hours in a room alone with a stripper) and in Slovakia in 2008. And after one big dinner ­celebrating a successful elk hunt, he is said to have enjoyed sex with two women at the same time. Claims he never denied.
OK, now I want to fuck him more.
6. Ex-Senator Accused of Sexual Misconduct
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David Boren was a governor, a three term United States Senator and the president of the University of Oklahoma. He resigned from his last post after a sexual-misconduct investigation. Even more accusations spanning decades, through Boren's time as a US Senator and Governor which describe he allegedly sexually harassed male aides during his time in Washington. During his campaign for Senate in 1978, he was accused of being gay. Boren denied this, swearing on a family Bible at a news conference that he was not gay or bisexual. He's married. But… where there's smoke, there's fire.
Now sexually harassing people is wrong, but if Boren was sexually harassing me. I’d think I’d hit the jackpot. What? I had a thing for him back when he was a senator. Don’t judge me.
5. Bobby Petrino Motorcycle Scandal
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Back in in 2011, the then-51-year-old, Arkansas Razorbacks head coach, Bobby Petrino, a married father of four, had maintained an inappropriate relationship with Dorrell, who was 25 years old at the time, for a "significant" period of time. At one point, Long said, Petrino had given Dorrell a $20,000 gift. All this came out after his now-infamous motorcycle crash in 2011, amid the scandal that led to his firing as the Razorbacks’ head coach. Sadly, the only way I’d catch his interest is if I was woman, blonde, a former volleyball player and into riding motorcycles.
Wait a minute, I can dye my hair, I did play volleyball recreationally and I did ride a motorcycle a few times. Now lets see if I can get him to like dick.
WHAT. I can dream.
4. The Prince and The Sex Offender
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Accusations including the association with convicted sex offenders Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell, the groping of a woman’s breast and underage sex with a then 17 year old Virginia Giuffre. Throw in he’s an entitled, arrogant asshole and the 72 teddy bears on the bed thing. He had to be stripped of his military and royal titles, resigned from public duties and is living in recluse with his ex Fergie. Andrew has denied any wrongdoing, including in his settlement with Giuffre in 2022. It was a fall from grace for the 64-year-old, who was once second in line to the throne.
3. Bonneville Pegged
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Downton Abbey star Hugh Bonneville allegedly hired renowned prostitute and ex-Big Brother star Helen Wood and took out a court injunction to keep it a secret. But Wood broke the cardinal rule of prostitution when she outed Bonneville back in 2012. She also said he was an was a disgusting kisser. He kissed like a virgin and told how she asked the man if he wanted her to use a sex toy on him and that he “eagerly agreed”.
After hearing this, I'll never look at Hugh or his ass in the same way again.
2. The Kraft Day Spa Scandal
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In February 2019, Robert Kraft, the billionaire owner of the New England Patriots was charged with soliciting a prostitute. Kraft proves a theory of mine that if a man who was married for a long time (over 45 years) and loses his wife by divorce or in this case, death. Would go crazy for some new strange. He’s fucking a twenty something model/wanna be actress, getting hand jobs at cheap massage parlors and hanging around rappers. Strippers/groupies anyone. And included in all that, I bet he experimenting in man on man sex. You can’t tell me he hasn’t had his dick sucked by a man. By now he's settled down in his marriage to new wife, 32 years his junior.
I ain't mad at him. I'm just mad they didn't release the tape of him in the massage parlors.
1. The King and The Servant
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Not to be confused with 'Cash for Titles' scandals, but both involve His Majesty and his former palace valet, Michael Fawcett, one of his closest advisers. Charles has been dogged by gay rumors for decades ever since his marriage to Princess Diana hit the rocks. It’s well known that throughout his 15-year marriage to Di, Charles was carrying on with the wife of one of his close friends, Camilla Parker-Bowles, whom he ultimately wed in 2005. But allegedly, a former palace servant claimed to have seen then Prince Charles and Fawcett having sex when he brought the monarch his breakfast. Hell, even Di had her doubts about the Prince’s sexuality when she heard about the allegations.
Looks like all the proof to these claims has disappeared (lost tape recording of these claims) or died (the servant and Diana ). Do I think it's true. Lets just say, Charles looks the type to experiment.
Why is it #1? It has spawned many a fanfiction featuring His Majesty.
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fic--writer · 5 months ago
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Butter cookies
A collection of notes and letters from Rolan to Tav, whith plot. No warnings, it's just cute fluff. SFW
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Part 1/2, Part 2/2
№ 1
Tav, I know you're a legend and all. But I've agreed to give you a job in the shop and put you in the tower. And I expect you to follow a few rules. Please be careful with the books. Customers are complaining about greasy marks on the pages with a cookie smell. I investigated and found out that YOU are the only one in the whole tower who eats stupid butter cookies.
№ 3
On Thursday, don't forget to alphabetize the scrolls from the shelf by the west exit. In strict alphabetical order, Tav.
If you forget the alphabet, ask Tolna for a ABC-book.
№ 5
No, it's not another lecture. In fact, I wouldn't waste so much of my valuable time on you if you would at least pretend to be a responsible employee. So what did I want to say?
Oh yeah, it's an invitation to our family dinner at 8:00 p.m.
Lia says to tell you that attendance is mandatory.
№ 7
At the end of the month your salary will be paid. I warn you that if you take another one of these "sick days" next month, the same ones where you took Lia shopping and came back with happy faces and the signs of any illness disappeared without a trace, then the next month's "sick days" will not be paid.
№ 10
Crumbs. From. Cursed. Butter. Cookies. Right. On. The. Counter!!!
№ 15
Several customers have returned the books. Guess why? You're fined a day's pay.
№ 17
Tav, do you really think putting "loud laughing potion" in Tolna's coffee is funny?
It's not!
№ 21
Dinner is at 8:00 p.m.
№ 22
I found your thoughts at dinner about improving the tower's security to be very interesting and feasible, we'll have to discuss it more later. Request: could you dress more modestly for the table?
I'm worried about Cal's eyes.
№ 25
Tav, I've had your last month's pay for three days now. Pick it up when you're free.
№ 33
It seems we have a loyal customer base thanks to you. Those high-born ladies in tasteless pink hats praised you and your sense of humor.
I don’t understand this, but I gave you a bonus. And finally, please, take your money.
№ 38
Is it just me, or have you been staring at me from behind the bookshelves today? Tav, if you need something, say it, if you can't say it, write it. I'm not in the mood for a guessing game. I have no idea what you mean.
№ 43
Arabella will occasionally borrow a set of beginner's magic books. Don't charge her for them. She will read them, return them, and request the next list. Please take control of this.
But if you meet Mattis or Mol, then on the contrary, don’t give them anything! Don't trust their promises! Drive them away by any means necessary!
№ 56
Order black ink.
№ 62
Tav, what happened the day before is not permissible, unacceptable, and will not be allowed to happen again under any circumstances. Yes, we are increasing the number of customers and improving the security of the tower every day, by your efforts too. But! It's not okay for you to lounge around in MY book throne in front of strangers! I am still the Archmage and your boss!!!
At least not in front of strangers?!
№ 63
Am I grumpy?
I wouldn't be grumpy if you were a little more civilized.
№ 64
Thanks for the bottle of wine you slipped under my door as a, uh, apology?
Apology not accepted.
№ 67
I'm sorry I yelled at you. You'll find the two months' salary you never took in your dresser drawer.
The disgusting drawings I found there... Zurgan, Tav! I don't have to tell you how revolting they are, do I?! I burned them.
№ 69
I couldn't get those drawings out of my head. I mean... I mean, I couldn't get that horrible, distorted Tiefling anatomy out of my head. I left the scientific works on Tiefling physiology right under your door.
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sebastianswallows · 5 months ago
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The English Client — Thirty-eight
— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader
— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.
— WARNINGS: fluff, angst
— WORDCOUNT: 2.2k
— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir @thiefofthecrowns
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I
She told him everything while they travelled together to the street they shared, and he didn’t need any Legilimency to verify it. Tom had realised he trusted her just because of the way she spoke, the things she said, and the soothing and alternatively desperate sound of her voice. He knew it as plainly as he knew that she was beautiful, and it was as sweet as the revelation of her body was.
The muggle police were no more subtle than the Aurors, it seemed. They might have had it in mind to pit them against each other and see who gave in first. The secrecy surrounding the auction did not help matters but the inspector seemed set to bully his way to a resolution on this case, if only because the dead man was an aristocrat. The simultaneous disappearance of the secretary seemed not to cross his mind, or perhaps he was saving her as a last resort in case no other suitable suspects were found.
Tom looked at his companion, walking in the same slow stride as he. The cold seemed to no longer touch her, she’d stopped shivering. Or perhaps she was holding it all in.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“What do you mean? I’ll stay here, help with the investigation —”
“You can not help your own accusers. Such self-sabotage is beneath you. I forbid it.”
“Fred says he knows a good lawyer.”
Tom rolled his eyes.
“And besides, there’s nothing they can do to me. I’m innocent.”
“Do you honestly think that would stop them?”
“Well… They have no way of proving I did it,” she insisted rather desperately.
Tom looked into her eyes in silence. She could not read minds, he knew, but in choice moments like these, he almost thought her capable of it, because she smiled in exactly that sweet and vulnerable way he liked best and said:
“Don’t worry, Tom. You don’t need me, you can leave whenever you like. I’ve already decided to forgive you for it. And they’ll certainly get no reason to suspect you from anything I say.”
Tom smiled back. “I know.”
“And besides, it… it might even help. Who knows?” she chuckled.
“Why?” he said with a sharp narrowing of the eyes. “Did Fred say that?” That rat had been sitting far too close to her at the restaurant for Tom’s liking.
“No,” she said, laughing but sounding a little defensive. “Why are you so mean to him?”
“Why would it help?” he insisted.
“Well… They asked if we were… seeing each other, you know.”
“So wha— Oh.”
If Tom left, it would make the Carabinieri think they never had a relationship, whatever it was. If it ever was.
II
She didn’t ask him if he loved her, because she was afraid of what he’d say. She’d been more quiet lately too, more distant, and she couldn’t help but feel it was what he’d wanted all along. It wasn’t easy, giving him what he wanted, but she told herself it made him happy if she gave him space. And now that he had that cursed book, he no longer needed to pretend… Pretend that she meant something to him, pretend that he wanted her, pretend to love her. She was used to feeling like a burden so the realisation hurt her less than she’d expected.
But she still had enough pride in her to want things for herself, and she so badly wanted him… Even cold and heartless as he was.
She only had to ask Tom once for him to agree to spend the night. “For old time’s sake,” she said. He pretended to believe that’s all it was.
They spent the whole night cuddling, just laying side by side in bed, breathing the same air, sharing the scant warmth beneath the covers. She couldn’t help but think how much she’d miss this once the inspector gathered enough evidence to build a case against her. She was the most likely suspect even if she didn’t do it, and she was too much of a fool to accuse Tom even if he did do it. All the courage she had, she used up that night by asking him to stay.
“You feel so much warmer now,” she whispered, her face nuzzled in his neck.
“It just seems so to you,” he said with a smile in his voice, “compared to the winds outside.”
She wrapped her arm around his waist and felt him hold her too, his long elegant fingers sliding down her back to keep her close while their legs entangled. There was such a quiet comfort in laying on his chest… As if the mere feeling of him breathing, heart beating, blood heating up was enough to make her happy. The world had him in it, and that was enough.
“I’ll miss you so much…”
“You don’t even know if I’m leaving, silly girl.”
“I know you are.”
“I can come back for you, you know.”
“You can. But you won’t.”
She felt nothing saying it, and that frightened her. All the energy and passion from their last meeting was used up by now. With a groan, she buried her face deeper into his chest, saddened by her own indifference. There was a time when she had an almost physical reaction at the thought of Tom abandoning her but something had happened since that night, since the arson… Since she knew him for who he really was.
As if through a dream she felt Tom’s fingers threading through her hair. He brushed it clumsily in something that he must’ve meant to be a soothing manner. He wasn’t very good at it... She’d never noticed it before, she’d been too far in love, but all his attempts at tenderness were gauche, learned a little too late in life.
She clung to him, holding onto him as if she were adrift at sea, as if she were hanging off a cliff, as if she were being buried alive and only he could lift her. Tom didn’t seem to mind. His grasp of her was calm, relaxed, but in his own way, he encircled her whole body. It was one of those times when she was certain he could read her mind and knew just what she was feeling. Perhaps he really could, since he was a wizard. And it occurred to her that if it was so, he’d never really used what he found in her thoughts against her… She smiled in spite of herself and reached up to kiss him. He kissed her back, fingers brushing down her cheek in gentle strokes more suited for a kitten. She couldn’t get enough of the taste of his mouth — dark chocolate, green tea, and whispers.
III
She was dreaming of herself on a wooden executioner’s block when she heard his voice again, trying to earn her a pardon, and she was just thinking how impressive it was that they brought one of those old guillotines from France just for her. Then she heard Tom’s voice more clearly as if he was about to lose his head with her, and she finally opened her eyes.
He wasn’t next to her. He was talking on the phone. She winced quietly when she noticed her neck hurt — probably from sleeping in that strained position on his chest the whole night through.
“Well, surely you can tell when he’ll be in,” he said, speaking quietly. “I’m not asking for any confidential information here…”
She couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, but they seemed to be keeping calm in the face of Tom’s acerbic tone. Oddly enough though, it was only his voice which seemed a little harsh. His face was looking bored, even gentle, and his body was relaxed.
“No, I can’t leave a message. Tell him to call me once he gets back. What number? Wait. Alright, write this down…”
It was then she remembered about the tap on her phone from the Carabinieri. If they found out Tom had spent the night there, all their attempts at pretending they were merely colleagues would go up in smoke.
“Tom!” she said, getting out of bed in a flurry of energy.
But it was too late, he’d already hung up. “Good morning to you too. Were you eavesdropping, you little sneak?” he smirked.
“What are you doing? They can’t know you were here…”
“You mean that wire?” he said, holding up a severed piece of equipment that looked like a tiny microphone.
“How did you find it…?”
“Well, I just took the phone apart.”
She gasped in shock and looked at the phone again. It had cost quite a lot, after all… But it seemed to be intact. “And how did you repair it?” she frowned.
“Magic.”
“Tom.”
“I’m serious.”
She groaned and fell on the bed again, her tiredness and the ache in her neck coming back to her. Too distracted by the confirmation that they had been spying on her, she didn’t even bother asking who Tom had been speaking to. Those bastards, she thought. Treating me like a common criminal, like a…
He went into the kitchen to get her a cup of coffee. His clothes were a rumpled mess from the night before but he moved as smoothly in them as in anything else. He barely handed her the cup when there was a thunderous knocking at the door.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “I knew it! They found out you’re here.”
“Stop fretting,” Tom said. He moved to sit in the armchair in the corner of the room and took a sip of coffee. “Go show him in.”
“But —”
“Just do it.”
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and ambled to the hallway, hand still clutching at her warm cup. Perhaps she could chuck it at the inspector and run…
She brushed a hand through her sleep-messed hair and slowly opened the door. The inspector was on the other side, just as she suspected. After all, nobody else came to ever see her except Tom.
“Buongiorno, miss,” he said, hat already in his hands. “I hope you forgive the early hour.”
“T-that’s fine…”
He didn’t wait for her to invite him in. As she closed the door behind him, she noticed that he was alone this time.
“C-can I help you?”
By the time she turned around, he had already stepped into the bedroom. She followed him in a panic only to find that Tom had disappeared, but a gentle thread of smoke rose from the armchair, a thing so faint she could mistake it for a trick of the light.
“I wanted to catch you before you went to work,” he said, looking around.
“C-catch me?”
“For a conversation.”
“Right…”
He looked at her telephone, fixating on it for a few moments, but said nothing. The microphone they’d planted in it was out of sight, probably still in Tom’s pocket.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Que? Oh, yes. About your work…”
“What about it?” she asked, still clutching her undrunk coffee to her chest.
“I advise you do not go to work today. We will investigate it as a crime scene.”
“A what?!”
“It is just our procedure. Property of the deceased person, et cetera.”
She felt strongly that this was certainly not procedure. The Baron hadn’t been there in weeks.
“We have a lot of rare and valuable books there. I can’t just let your men rummage through!”
“I promise we will be very careful,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But we can not have a third party there when we —”
“Fine, fine,” she sighed, frustrated by how powerless she felt. “Just… try not to break anything.”
“Do not worry. My men are profess—”
“When can I return, then?”
“If we find nothing, on Wednesday.”
She sighed and bit her finger, nodding. “Fine, if you have to…”
“We do.”
He observed her for a few moments longer, and when the awkward silence got too much he put his hat back on and smiled.
“Thank you for your time. Er, have a nice day.”
He saw himself out but she followed him to the door anyway, ambling in her loose pyjamas.
“A proposito. Do you know where I can find Mr. Riddle?”
“No,” she answered stiffly. “Why?”
“So he does not work with you anymore?”
“N-no. His employment ended.”
“I see… Well, thank you again. Good day.”
“Yes, yes, good day,” she said and shut the door behind him.
She returned to the bedroom to find Tom right where she’d left him in the armchair as if he’d never left.
“How did you…”
“I should leave,” he said, getting up and downing the coffee in one gulp.
“Oh… Alright.”
He kissed her in passing on the forehead as he dipped to pick up his tie and jacket — discarded in a pile with hers across the armchair — and before she could make sense of things, he was halfway out the door.
“Are you sure it’s not —”
Then the door closed, and she was alone again.
She had never felt more repulsive…
What part of her conversation with the inspector caused Tom to run from her like that? Was it that he had clearly guessed they’d taken the wire out of her phone? Was it their investigation of the shop? Was it that she’d said Tom no longer worked there?
She was left with nothing but her guilt and loneliness as the questions ate away her morning.
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fablesrose · 8 months ago
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Ch 17 - The Three Strikes Job
Series Rewrite Masterlist 
Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader
Description: When Lieutenant Bonanno gets shot, the team goes after a corrupt mayor to get justice.
Words: 4682
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So, is he going to be okay?” Parker asked.
Nate had just come in and explained the situation. Lieutenant Bonanno from the State Police was in the hospital after a shooting. It was pretty serious and while it was likely he would pull through, it wasn’t a guarantee. He was still in a coma and there were no current suspects.
“They don’t know,” Nate said, pacing the front of the room, clearly upset and drunk. 
“Okay, this guy’s a cop,” Tara pointed out. “You’re thieves-”
“I’m not a thief!” Nate declared, but then sat down. “Bonanno, is the cop we tip off when we need to put the cuffs on a mark.”
“You do realize we’re gonna be covering the same ground as the state cops on this one,” Hardison asked. “Hundreds of angry, highly motivated state cops.”
“By the way guys,” Eliot piped up, “whoever shot him up, was using military grade weaponry.”
“Well you know what, I don’t care!” Nate yelled. I flinched back, not expecting him to raise his voice so suddenly. He continued, his voice still raised, “I don’t care about that. This guy dedicated his life to doing the right thing! And this is his payback? I mean, his family’s pain is what he deserves? If we don’t settle the score on this, why do we do this? Do you understand?”
I curled myself into the corner of the couch. I could feel my eyes tearing up, both at the visualization of him and his family suffering and the fact that I didn’t like when people yelled. As far as I could remember there had never been a reason for the discomfort, maybe it’s something natural. And though Nate or my dad very rarely yelled when I was growing up, when they did, it was understandable if not deserved like when I did something stupidly dangerous and it did scare me enough so I never did it again. 
There was an ever stretching silence before Eliot leaned forward in the chair next to me and asked Hardison, “What are Bonanno’s active files?”
It didn’t take long at all for Hardison to pull them up on the screen, “According to the State Police database, Bonanno had half a dozen open cases. The most recent one was a protection racket out of Arcadia, but the cops were focusing on an auto theft ring out of Waynesboro. Let’s just say if you’ve jacked a car in Massachusetts in the last year, your head’s gonna be bouncing off a cruiser by dinner time.”
Nate stared at one case on the screen in particular, “What’s that one?”
“That’s public corruption,” Hardison answered, “there’s practically no files on that thing.”
“That’s it,” I blurted out before I could even process the thought. There was something about that case that just felt right. Or more accurately, it felt wrong in a way that mattered in this scenario. A public corruption case with no files on it was fishy on its own, but the fact that it was one of Bonanno’s cases, a guy who seemed to live for justice and from what Nate said, ‘doing the right thing?’ It pushed it over the edge of deniability. 
“What? No, no, y/n-” Hardison insisted, “These other two files, they involve violent criminals. This one? It, its-”
“No no no,” Nate cut Hardison off, “she’s right, that’s it. Just… check the shooting, put up the scene.”
Hardison quickly threw the crime scene photos up on the screen. All concrete and blood splatters. 
“Okay, so Bonanno goes to a remote location,” Nate talks it out, “alone, no backup. That means he knows his attackers and he’s not expecting any trouble. What did you just say?” He asked Hardison, “No files on it?”
Hardison shook his head. 
“So,” Nate continued, “Bonanno, was keeping this investigation, off the books.”
“It explains the secret meeting,” Tara relented. “Off hours, away from any witnesses.”
“Cops are looking in the wrong place,” Eliot said. He then leaned towards me and whispered, “Nice job, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t help the shiver that I felt flow through me at his praise. I smiled softly at him with a nod before turning my attention back to Nate who was pacing in front of the room. 
“Absolutely, so,” he muttered, “That leaves, I mean, that leaves us.”
“So who’s the bad guy?” Parker asked. 
Hardison looked it up quickly and when it seemed he had the answer, he proposed an alternative, “or, or or, and I’m just spitballing here, we could just let the state cops handle this one. Call in an anonymous tip.”
“Come on Hardison,” Nate said. “How bad could this be?” It didn’t seem like he believed the statement, and looking around, none of us were convinced either. 
Our skepticism was warranted when it was revealed that Bonanno was investigating the mayor of Bellbridge, Massachusetts, Brad Culpepper the third. Someone who was surrounded by security, the press, and probably had half of the local cops on his personal payroll. No wonder Bonanno was keeping it off the books. 
Nate and Tara attended Culpepper’s re-election fundraiser posing as a real estate developer and a PR rep to gain some insight on him, maybe even getting an in. Parker was casing the mayor’s office, and the rest of us, Hardison, Eliot, and I went over to the Bonannos’ house to see if we could find anything there. One problem, there was a police officer watching the house for the family. 
Hardison dug through his box of different jackets, tossing out ones that said FBI, DEA, and others until he grabbed the ones he was looking for: Crime Lab. 
“You spend your weekends making these things, don’t ya,” Eliot asked distastefully. 
“Yes I do,” Hardison replied, “and does anyone appreciate that?”
“I do,” Parker said on comms. “I like the costumes.”
“I actually helped make these ones,” I said as I shrugged a jacket on. When Eliot gave me a puzzled, unimpressed look I said, “What? You have cooking, I’m still exploring creative, ‘making things’ outlets.”
Eliot muttered something but I couldn’t hear it over Parker saying, “I wish I was there.”
“Parker, we need someone to sweep the mayor’s office while he’s here at the fundraiser,” Nate explained. 
“Fine, but I never get to do anything fun,” she reiterated before she jumped off a roof, something I knew she enjoyed an unnecessary amount. 
As we approached the house, I had to jog to keep up with the boys’ swift pace. When we got up the front porch where the officer was sitting, Hardison cleared his throat.
“Is this Lieutenant Patrick Bonanno’s place of residence?” he asked the officer. Once he affirmed Hardison continued, “Alright, we’re from the crime lab. Here to collect evidence from the crime scene.”
“Oh, this isn’t a crime scene. We’re just watching th-” the officer tried to say before Eliot cut him off. 
“Wait a minute, I’m sorry, he just said this wasn’t a crime scene.”
I stayed on the front step as Eliot and Hardison opened the front door to look in the house.
“I’m just house sitting,” the officer insisted. 
“Oh no, he’s right, this isn’t a crime scene,” Hardison said. “Cuz he done walked all over it!”
“I smell soup,” Eliot said seriously. “You smell soup?”
Hardison and I sniffed the air. While Hardison said “I do,” I said, “I’d say tomato and beef, yes.”
ELiot gave me a slightly amused look, lifting the corner of his mouth and an eyebrow before passing Hardison to go into the house. 
“What happened, Goldilocks?” Hardison asked the officer. “Get a little hungry and decide to make some lunch in the middle of an active crime scene?” 
“I would never do that,” he said, lifting his iced tea in the process, looking between the two of us before lowering his hand, realizing his mistake. 
“Eh, uh, mm- Let’s see what you would do, move,” Hardison said. 
To the officer’s credit, when he looked at me and saw that I was carrying a camera case he offered to take it in for me. I adopted the boys’ stern demeanor though, scolding him, saying it was delicate equipment and ushered him into the house. 
Hardison dropped some yellow crime scene numbers around the living room, next to toys and what not and got the officer started looking for suspicious fibers in the carpet. He instructed us to search the rest of the house for evidence and DNA. 
I was searching odd rooms here and there, taking odd pictures mostly for the noise, ones I planned on deleting later. Eliot passed by a doorway where I was when I was taking one of these pictures, fiddling and experimenting with settings. 
“That another one of your ‘creative outlets?’” Eliot asked. 
 “Knowing a little bit of photography was helpful in freelancing every once in a while,” I said offhandedly.“Besides, it’s nice to have good pictures sometimes.” I looked up at him and saw that sunlight was reflecting on him from somewhere I couldn’t quite determine. It seemed to be hitting him just right, he had a slight smile on his face that I wasn’t sure was conscious. It was a moment I wanted to capture. I lifted my camera and was pleased to see that he paused for just enough time for me to take a picture. I looked it over on the screen and then looked up at him in the doorway, “it’s perfect.”
He shook his head, “Come on, you’re gonna delete that right?”
I hugged the camera to my chest when I passed him, walking into the next room, “Never.”
As we searched, Tara coached Parker through convincing the mayor’s secretary that she was pregnant with his baby from a one night stand to avoid her getting kicked out for searching his office. I struggled not to cringe at the awkwardness coming through in waves through the comms. I could only imagine what that secretary was thinking, but I had a pretty good idea. 
Eventually Eliot found Bonanno’s investigation notes taped to the bottom of one of his office drawers. The officer proudly came in with a twig from the carpet, delaying us from looking through them until Hardison praised his efforts and encouraged him to keep looking. 
“Looks like he was investigating a company called Kirsch Industries,” Eliot said, reading the notebook. 
“Seems like Bonanno found out that for the past couple of years, Kirsch industries has been buying up property on the waterfront,” Hardison said. 
“Found a file in the mayor’s office for Kirsch Industries,” Parker said. “It’s incorporated in the Cayman Islands.”
“The only industry in the Caymans is scuba diving and tax evasion,” Hardison said. 
“It’s a front company for the mayor,” Eliot concluded. 
“The mayor did say he wanted to build a park on the waterfront,” Hardison realized. 
“So,” I chipped in, “Mayor buys land from his own company with city money, free cash.”
The boys nodded with me before asking Parker what else she had from the mayor’s office. 
“Yeah, I mean, there could be a safe in here, but I don’t have time to move all the balls and bats out of here. He could start a baseball team with all the crap he has in his office,” she complained. 
We listened as Nate cut off his and Tara’s conversation with Culpepper and told us, “Alright guys, wrap it up. We’re gonna go on a little field trip.”
The three of us shared a look and went to start packing up our stuff. Before we got too far I stopped the boys, “Wait, since I have my camera out, let me take a picture.”
Hardison instantly wrapped his arm around Eliot’s shoulder with a comically large smile and pointed at the evidence in Eliot’s hand. Eliot gave one of the biggest eyerolls I had seen. I quickly took a picture of them like this and smiled at the results. 
“Alright, let’s get out of here.”
Turns out our little field trip was to the local minor league ballpark. We were some of the few people in the stands as the team was just practicing in the field. 
“I don’t know,” Tara said, looking over the field and then at us, “Culpepper doesn’t strike me aa the type to order a hit. Especially on something like a graft case.What’s the big deal, you know? You get caught, you go on TV with your wife, you cry, you get re-elected.”
“Yeah, it’s the American way,” Parker agreed. 
“Exactly.”
“Naw, this guy’s been caught in the middle of a dozen corruption cases,” Hardison said. “Each time he’s walked away and somebody else took the fall. This guy does not get caught.”
“Don’t know, still doesn’t feel right,” Tara insisted quietly. She looked over at Eliot, “What’s that?”
“It’s a page I found out of Bonanno’s notebook,” he replied as he stared at the writing on it. 
“The Maltese Falcon,” Tara read. “The book or the movie?”
“It means something,” Eliot insisted. “I just…”
“Okay,” Nate said as he finally joined us. “This is how we’re gonna take down the mayor,” he gestured to the stadium.
“Baseball?” Hardison asked. 
“Yeah, we’re gonna steal this ballpark,” Nate nodded happily and started to walk away before he stepped back to us adding, “And the team. Not necessarily in that order.”
Nate and Tara posed on the waterfront to get Culpepper’s attention. The plan was to convince Culpepper that we were gonna build a ballpark there and try to get him to get in on the action with some bribes from his re-election campaign. A federal offense. But first, we needed a team to play in the ballpark. 
Eliot snuck into the team, posing as a transfer and a spy for the owner. He started spreading rumors that the team we were just watching practice was going to be moving to our new stadium. 
“There’s only one problem,” Eliot said after Hardison explained his fabricated baseball history, including a catchy Japanese energy drink commercial. “I don’t like baseball.”
“What? Everyone likes baseball,” Hardison insisted. 
“I don’t like baseball, man,” Eliot reiterated, “Alright? I don’t like sports where you can’t score on defense. Football, hockey, even basketball. But baseball?”
Hardison turned to where I was sitting on the couch, “Back me up here, y/n.”
I glanced up at him from where I was examining my nails, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it's fun going to a game with your friends on a sunny day, getting to see some home runs…”
“But?” Eliot egged me on.
I dropped my hands to my lap and made full eye contact with them, “It can get boring sometimes, especially on TV. I only watch if I can go to the game.”
Hardison shook his head at the two of us, “I’m not even talking to you.” He then walked away. 
Eliot repeated me under his breath, “yeah, it’s boring.” Before Hardison was completely gone he did ask for him to put on the commercial again, to which he obliged. 
Later that day, Hardison, Parker, and I were calling into radio stations with different voices and accents, further spreading the rumor that the Beavers baseball team was leaving their town. Hardison and I were equally surprised when Parker angrily burst into Spanish on her call.
“You speak Spanish?” Hardison asked. 
Parker just looked between the two of us, “Si.”
On the plus side, the rumors bumped ticket sales to the Beavers’ games by a hefty margin. Once Nate and Tara let Culpepper swipe their fake baseball plans, he was hooked. Luckily, it was game day, so we all went to the baseball game. Hardison, Parker, and I started a protest outside the gates to keep the Beavers from moving, dressing up and making signs. Nate and Tara were meeting with the owner, giving Culpepper the impression that the move was actually happening, and Eliot was playing catcher in the game. 
Once the protest was well underway, I set my poster to the side and headed into the stadium to watch the game. Hardison was able to get us seats behind home plate if we wanted them and I happily decided to take advantage of the opportunity. 
The game was pretty exciting, quite a few hits and runs by both teams. When the other team got a particularly good hit, the runner was looking to score, but Eliot threw his helmet to the side to catch the ball from second base and body slammed him, getting him out. I could see the smile Eliot had from the stands, clearly being won over. He shook out his hair with some of the most beautiful curls I’d seen before heading to the dugout. 
It wasn’t too long before Eliot was up to bat.
“Meet me outside,” Nate said over comms after his brief meeting and agreement with Culpepper. It seemed we had this in the bag. 
“What?” Eliot said in disbelief, “I’m three for four. This guy’s throwing great, I’m not going anywhere.”
I whined too, “Nate, I’m sure it can wait until after the game, let me just watch. It’s been ages, and this is a great game.”
Right then Eliot hit a great ball, he’d at least get to second or third base, if not a home run. 
“Alright, good news, bad news,” Nate said to the others though I could still hear him through comms. 
“Good news?” Tara asked.
“The mayor’s hooked, we’re in the pinch.”
“Bad news?”
“I think we lost Eliot and y/n til the playoffs.”
“Please, Nate,” I replied, “it’s one game. Relax. Not sure about Eliot though.”
Like I had said before, it could have waited until after the game was over. Once Eliot and I got back to McRory’s the team was sitting there still discussing the logistics of framing the mayor. Eliot jumped right into how great the game was and his performance. 
“Excuse your rudeness,” Hardison said, “I’m explaining the con. It’s very complicated.”
“Really?” Eliot asked, “the mayor gives us a check and you deposit it in some company and you connect it back to him. Looks like he’s embezzling from his campaign funds.” He then made a shocked face that made me laugh. 
“At least you can’t say he isn’t picking up what you do and how all this usually works, Hardison,” I said. 
Hardison gave me a bitter nod before cutting Eliot off again when he started gushing again, “but that’s not all there is, alright? There’s the Bonanno thing.”
“What? We give Bonanno’s notes to the newspaper, man? They named a sandwich after me ad T.J. Philbin’s!” Eliot would not be stopped. 
The rest of the team was finally very impressed. 
“I’ll give it to you, man, the sandwich thing’s pretty cool,” Hardison finally relented. The two of them shared a fancy little handshake in excitement. 
Nate’s phone rang, “I’m sorry, this is the mayor, is this an okay time to take the call or…”
Eliot gave him permission and Nate stepped to the side with a “congrats on the sandwich.”
Eliot finally sat down with the rest of us, still excitedly telling the team how the game went and his last time at bat. I couldn’t help but just watch him. His excitement was infectious. I only tore my eyes away when I thought I felt eyes on me. I turned my head slightly to see that Tara was looking at me with a slightly tilted head. I tilted my own back at her in question but was denied an answer when Nate came back over to the table with an address written down, asking Hardison to look it up. 
“The address is right in the middle of the Bellbridge waterfront,” Hardison answered. 
“It’s a walk away,” Eliot said simply. 
“Look, this is even better,” Nate insisted, “because he has partners, so this is our chance to bring them down too.”
“But if the bribe is in cash, the con doesn’t work,” Parker pointed out. 
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash we’re gonna get? It had to have come from somewhere. Hardison can track it.”
“Uh, no Hardison can not,” Hardison corrected. 
Nate was not giving up, “Look, you kept saying you don’t think the mayor’s the kind of guy to kill a cop, right?” He asked Tara. 
“So let’s go meet the kind of guys who kill cops on the waterfront,” Tara repeated condescendingly, “That’s a solid plan.”
“I’m sorry,” Eliot said, “Where are these partners coming from, huh? And why did they just show up?”
“This is such a bad idea,” I said to myself. 
“And the Maltese Falcon thing, it’s just weird,” Parker pointed out. 
“Okay, enough!” Nate blurted out. “We are talking about bringing down a corrupt mayor and cleaning up a city. I mean, it’s huge. It’s probably the biggest thing we’ve ever done.”
“They’re not handing out trophies for this,” Eliot retorted. 
“Why does it matter that it would be the biggest thing we’ve ever done, Nate?” I asked him seriously. “I don’t know if we should put our lives on the line, we don’t know how far this corruption goes!”
“We don’t always win, man,” Hardison said. 
“But we never quit,” Nate emphasized. 
“Maybe we should,” I said before I could stop myself. 
Everyone looked at me, no one agreeing or disagreeing with me. 
Nate gave me a hard look, “I never asked you to join the team, y/n. I love you, but you don’t have to be here.”
He waited for me to say something, to stand up and walk away. I didn’t though. I stared him down with a clenched jaw. I wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how manipulative he was going to be. This was my team, if not my family. Whether Nate or anyone else wanted me here or not, I was staying.
“Okay,” Nate said once he saw I wasn’t leaving, “you guys check out security,” he said, gesturing to Eliot and Hardison. He then turned back to me and Parker, “you two do the perimeter, yeah? And we’ll be on the inside,” he finished with himself and Tara. “Look, we’re gonna do this, we can do it. We’re gonna bring this guy down.”
There was no acknowledgement from the rest of us at the table as he walked away. This was dangerous.
We all loaded into Hardison’s van to go to the waterfront. Hardison and Eliot posed as the Department of Homeland Security to “check out anti terrorism security measures” as a facade to bug the security. What they found instead was no security at all, meaning that the $20 million in federal funds to install high end equipment went missing. 
Nate and Tara walked into the suspicious looking warehouse to meet with the mayor and his partners while Parker and I split up to check the perimeter. Parker went under the dock and discovered guys with guns guarding boxes labeled soybeans. The boxes were filled with guns and hand grenades. Probably where that $20 million went. Everything was quiet on my end of the area until six or so black sedans came careening around the corner towards the warehouse where Nate and Tara were with the mayor. They were discussing where the mayor’s partners were when I spoke up to warn them.
Before I could do so, a wicked amount of feedback came through the comms causing me to cringe. 
“Someone’s transmitting on our frequency,” Hardison explained. 
“Yeah, well, Nate and Tara, you have company from out here, six cars just pulled up surrounding the building,” I rushed out, hoping to give them some time. 
“It’s FBI,” Eliot said, “and more than six are coming!” 
I looked across the water front to where they were and saw more suvs pull up with sirens blazing. I had already ducked out of sight when the first cars came, but now I started making my way around to the others, staying low. Once I got back to the van, I saw that the others were already there, pulling on FBI jackets with Hardison doing stuff on his computer. 
“So the guy who put out a hit on a police detective is an FBI snitch?” Parker asked. “That’s not fair.”
“Of course he’s a snitch,” I sighed in resignation as Eliot handed me a jacket to pull on. 
Hardison was able to identify a nearby federal ID cell phone and called it, “you come in and we kill all the hostages. … Oh you thought the mayor was the only one? No, we got a whole Sunday school up in here, we got old folks, we got nuns, and we have explosives. You come in and you make headlines.” He hung up before the agent could respond, back to working on his laptop. 
“Scary, but effective,” I commented as I watched the warehouse, the agents not moving in. 
“Well now we know why he didn’t go down for any of the corruption cases, cuz he’s a snitch,” Tara said angrily. 
“Well, you know, it’s possible that he doesn’t know anything about Bonanno getting shot,” Nate thought out loud. 
The mayor in fact did know about it. Nate got as angry as I’d ever heard him, yelling about Bonanno’s family and how he almost died. 
“Nate I bought you some time,” Hardison said, “but about now we’ve got a whole army of five-O coming down on us… It’s a big day, big big day for us.”
“You have to let him go,” I heard Tara say. 
“No!” Nate said.
“Then kill him now, we have to get out of here!”
“Shit,” I whispered to myself, this was getting worse by the second. 
There was a large crash, but it sounded like the mayor was still alive.
“Alright, we’ll deal with him later,” Nate said. He then relayed a plan, a dumb plan, to get him and Tara out of the warehouse. It involved them all walking out of the warehouse as hostages, a sign of good will, releasing one hostage. What would really happen would be that one hostage would come out of the three doors of the warehouse, one for Nate, Tara, and Culpepper. 
“No, Nate, man, are you kidding me? That is the worst plan I’ve ever heard!” Hardison said. 
“Look, he needs a distraction,” Eliot said. 
“I mean, we did just find a box of ammo and explosives,” Parker pointed out. “Boom, I’m just saying.”
“The problem is in the delivery,” Eliot said. 
“And the detonator,” Hardison added. 
The rest of us looked at the van with some hope and an idea. Hardison was not happy to say the least. He nearly cried when we started to unload the gear to prep it. 
“Sorry Hardison, it’s all we got right now. We can get you a new van, I can’t get another uncle Nate,” I said as I pulled one more box out. 
“Are you sure you want one?” Eliot asked me. 
“Still deciding.”
We got the van rigged up with boxes of grenades and got to work. Right as everyone exited the warehouse, Hardison drove the van via remote control towards the building, and caused it to explode, causing confusion and panic. 
Eliot, Parker and I nabbed one of the agent’s cars to use as a getaway vehicle. Eliot was driving, I slid into the passenger seat and was relieved to see that the front had a middle seat so it would fit all of us somewhat comfortably. Eliot picked up Nate first, who shoved me into that newly discovered front middle seat and Tara slid into the back seat easily when we pulled around the building. We finally had to persuade Hardison to get in. He was upset that Nate didn’t listen to us when we said it was a bad idea and the fact it led to ‘Lucielle’s’ death. We peeled out of there once Hardison took the last seat in the back. 
What a nightmare. I had a feeling this wasn’t over yet.
A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! Thank you for reading!
Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13 @plasticbottleholder @mushycore
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bravevulnerability · 1 year ago
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Hi! Huge fan of your writing. I come back to fics repeatedly when I need a pick-me-up or the urge to re-read a certain one. Believing Is Seeing is one of my top faves..I was wondering if you'd consider ever doing a fic in which Kate is the disabled one with a service dog. After getting injured on the job (not relating to her mom's case cause that'd be awful) she's depressed and the dog helps heal her spirit & give life back. Maybe AU meeting or he runs into them after he left for some reason.
A/N: I’m not quite sure if this is what you’re hoping for, anon. But I really hope you’re able to enjoy it. :)
-
It’s his scent that hits her first. 
Kate’s fingers stutter over the page of the book she’s trying to read. Granted, she tells herself, there are probably tons of men scattered throughout this city with the same cologne, the same aftershave, but… there’s something mixed in with the scent that has always been only him. 
Dovah rustles at her feet, squirming from beneath the cafe table to investigate the approaching figure. But her dog’s lack of growl, lack of tension, and the soft touch of the coffee cup to the table in front of her only confirms it.
“Grande skim latte, two pumps of sugar-free vanilla still your order?”
After three months of not hearing it, his voice is like a tidal wave to her senses. Deep, rich, devastating.
She clears her throat, closes the book she’s been attempting to get through for the last week. Her braille has improved magnificently in the past few months, but reading for the sake of pleasure has yet to become pleasurable again. 
Dovah whimpers, an affectionate sound of greeting she typically reserves only for Kate. 
And one other person.
“Dovah,” Castle says warmly. She catches the dip in his voice, the likely lowering to his haunches to greet the dog, and feels Dovah rush forward into Rick’s waiting arms. With anyone else, her dog would be skittish, skeptical, ready to snap at the smallest hint of danger or discomfort aimed at Kate. But she’d never turn on Rick. 
He’s the one who got her the damn dog in the first place.
“Castle,” she murmurs, gingerly reaching forward to skim her fingertips along the travel cup he’s placed on the table. 
Her hearing is better than before, far more honed since the loss of what she once considered her most vital sense. She catches the shallow intake of his breath with ease, listens to the thick swallow that trembles down his throat. 
“Kate.” He rises slowly, releasing the air held hostage in his lungs. “You look good.”
She remembers his face, never forgot it. She remembers the defined angles of his jaw, his cheeks and the apples that formed in them when he smiled, the harsh slope of his nose, and those ocean eyes. God, she hates how much she misses looking at him, wishes she did more of it when she had the chance. He was beautiful.
“Wish I could say the same.”
He chokes on a startled noise, a horrified hint of laughter that has her lips cracking a smile that’s been non-existent since… since she made him leave. 
The smile falls clean off her face. 
“How long have you been in here?”
She wonders if he’s doing that ‘boy caught in the act’ kind of shrug she was once quite fond of. 
“Maybe ten minutes,” he estimates, but it sounds like a lie. “Can I sit with you?”
She refrains from biting her lip, knowing it’ll give her away. Instead, her fingers curl around the travel cup’s sleeve, guiding it to her lips.
“Just until I finish my coffee.”
-
Dovah drapes herself across their feet, her body pressed against Rick’s shin, her head on Kate’s boots. It’s a habit she remembers forming back when he first brought the dog home. Well, to Kate’s home. 
“How is Alexis? She messaged me about the application process for Stanford a few weeks ago,” she reveals softly, knowing he’s rooting for Alexis to choose a New York - or at least an East Coast - school for college. 
“Ah, yeah, she let me know she was going to reach out to you,” he murmurs. She can hear his knuckles cracking lightly, the slight inhale of his breath. “I told her that I hoped she had better luck than me.”
Her lips purse. 
“But otherwise, she’s great. How’s your summer been, Kate?” The bitterness is quiet, but threaded like poison through his words, stinging her.
Miserable, she wants to blurt, but takes a long sip of her coffee instead. 
“I’ve just been getting accustomed to my new job,” she admits, brushing her thumb back and forth along the sleeve of her cup. “Can’t live off savings forever.”
“How’s transcription work going in the courts?” he asks her, his voice lowering to a perfect tenor. 
Her hearing has felt enhanced since she’s lost what was initially her main sense of identification, and he always knew it sometimes felt too loud in the world now. 
“I saw the guys recently,” he adds by way of explanation.
Kate releases a shaky breath, traces the plastic rim of her coffee cup. “I hate it.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the apology so earnest, overlapping his irritation. It has her chest aching. 
After the accident, Castle stepped up for her, became her source of comfort, her listening ear, her… everything. More than he was before somehow. 
She hasn’t been able to open up to anyone else, not like she did with him. Not even her therapist. 
“I told you, you could’ve been a trophy wife.”
She laughs despite herself. “Yeah, I’m sure that would have worked out great.”
“What about editing? You could be my editor!”
Her eyes roll. “Castle.”
“C’mon, you’re a total grammar snob. I could have it printed in braille. We still have that special printer at the house!” he recalls, the excitement building slow but true in his voice. “All you’d have to do is go over it for me and tell me where all the wrong commas and run-on sentences are.”
Reluctantly, Kate removes her hand from her coffee, reaches across the table space between them until her fingers knock against his. With a shallow breath, she hooks her pinky around his, squeezes gently.
“Thank you, but I don’t think the literary world is for me.” She sighs and begins to let go, but he gingerly flips his hand under hers, encompasses her fingers in his palm. “Don’t worry about me, Castle.”
He scoffs at her. 
“Kate, that’s not something I can just turn off.”
She swallows hard and pulls her hand back. 
“It was really good to… sit with you again,” she finishes lamely, clicking her tongue once and feeling Dovah rise to attention beneath the table. 
“Kate.”
She ignores him, fixing the leash around her wrist and rising from the chair. 
“Please tell Alexis and Martha hi for me,” she adds softly, brushing her knuckles to his shoulder. “Dovah, home.” 
Dovah leads her to the door, out into the growing chill of the city. The coffee shop she frequents is only a couple of blocks from her apartment, a safe place where she can pretend to be normal for a little while, and an easy venture for Dovah to guide her through.
It only takes her a few minutes of walking down the sidewalk to huff in irritation. 
“If you think I can’t feel you right there-”
“It’s so creepy how you do that,” Castle curses, but then his hand is curling delicately along her inner arm. It’s a warm, familiar touch that penetrates the layers of her clothing. A touch that has her chest tightening. “Just listen to me, then I’ll leave. I haven’t seen you in three months, you owe me this.”
Kate exhales through her nose. “Fine.”
“You know I love you-“
“Castle,” she breathes, her heart constricting inside her sternum, arteries tangling into knots.
“And I know it must have scared you, that you probably have some weird idea in your head that it’s all some pity crush I developed after you lost your sight, but Kate… I was done for from the moment you crashed my book party and you know it,” he murmurs, his voice low but so matter of fact. “Working with you for the past year leading up to the explosion… Beckett, you have to have known.”
She chews on her lip until she tastes the spill of copper on her tongue. 
“When that asshole blew up your apartment, I ran for my life to get to you, because that’s what you had become-”
“Rick, please-”
“You, my daughter, my mother… you’re my life. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to lose so much - your sight, your home, your job. I would give anything to trade places with you, to give it all back-”
That has her jerking to a stop. “No.”
“I just-”
“Are we on a crowded sidewalk?” 
Usually she would know the answer without help, but the blood is rushing in her ears. 
“No, we’re on Franklin street, at the crosswalk before your apartment,” he relays patiently. “There’s some traffic, but nothing too severe.”
“Good, then listen to me,” she mutters, turning her face towards him. “Even knowing what I know now, I would endure it all again if it meant saving you this fate, okay? You running into a burning building for me was bad enough.”
“I would do it again-”
“That is the problem!” she growls, jerking her arm from him and clicking her tongue twice.
Dovah trots forward. She knows Castle is at her back, following her home. 
“Ms. Beckett, Mr. Castle,” the doorman greets, confirming her suspicion.
The elevator doors slide closed, trapping the two of them in the lift, Dovah sitting patiently between them.
“You have a brilliant daughter, a wonderful mother, and amazing talent, Castle. All I gave you,” she murmurs, reaching forward, taking those beautiful hands in hers, cradling the scorched skin, the uneven patches of flesh. He ran into a burning building for her when Scott Dunn set her apartment aflame, he picked through searing debris to pull her charred body from the ashes. The door that landed on her actually shielded her from the worst of the fire, but his hands are covered in second and third degree burns that will take years to fully heal. “Is pain.”
“Wounds heal, Kate.”
“You lost feeling you’ll never get back in some areas,” she whispers, her thumb skirting along the edge of his wrist, the outer bone of his index finger - spots she’s memorized. “You can barely write.”
“You think I didn’t know the risks?” He draws his hands back from hers. “We’ve had this conversation, you’re just too damn stubborn to listen.” His hands touch her cheeks, palms cradling her jaw. “I wanted you more.”
The elevator chimes and she steps out of his grasp, taking the well-memorized path to her apartment, snagging the keys from inside her coat.
“So is that it?” he questions at her back, voice raising. She walks in, leaves the door open, and unhooks Dovah from the leash. “We spend months together, healing, being… happy and you just - you get scared and we’re done?”
Kate shrugs the coat from her shoulders, tosses it on the couch. She doesn’t want to think about the months that followed the explosion - the months spent in the loft with him and his family once they were both released from the hospital. Agent Shaw successfully arrested Scott Dunn, but she could barely find the will to care, to feel any sort of victory. 
The doctors told her she was blind - temporary or permanent, it was too soon to know, but the blunt force trauma from the blast had her head slamming hard against the floor, a random piece of furniture, a wall - no one knew - and she woke up unable to see. The last thing she remembers is a blurry image of Castle, stripping off his coat and wrapping her battered body in his arms, carrying her to safety. 
The first month was nothing but grief for her. Grieving her sight and the domino effect of loss that came with it - her career, her apartment, her… her purpose, her mom’s murder. All of it was out of reach now, gone. 
Castle was the only thing to remain in the darkness. 
He snuck into her hospital room every night, listening intently to her confess her fears, her anger, her pain. The first time he crawled into the hospital bed beside her, she let him hold her, bandaged hands at her back. 
“I’m never going to see you again,” she rasped into his throat, tears finally falling. “Castle, I can’t see you.”
She buried sobs into his neck, fell asleep against his chest. 
He didn’t let her argue about where she would stay once they were released. They moved what little possessions she still owned into his bedroom. He refused to make her walk upstairs until she was more familiar with her surroundings and her blindness. She refused to let him stay in the guest room.
Their routine from the hospital carried on into the new normal of her life. They would spend mornings in the same buildings, in different areas of burn units and physical therapy clinics, and then he would take her on a walk through the calmer parts of the city - his favorite parks, the length of the High Line, along the Hudson on the west side of Manhattan. He couldn’t hold her hand, so she gripped tightly to the arm of his sweater, trusting him with her life as he led her through a city she once thought she could navigate with her eyes closed. They would return to the loft eventually, the two of them figuring out how to make dinner together (“I’m literally blind and you can’t use your hands, this will be great,” she muttered the first time, making him choke on a laugh) and spending evenings with his mother and daughter. 
Alexis threw herself into learning braille, rushing in after school and meeting Kate in the dining room with a stack of books tucked under her arms. Together, they would pour over materials, memorizing a new alphabet, talking through the hardest parts.
She still misses her study partner. 
At the end of the night, Rick would touch her shoulder and lead her to his bedroom. She would shower and he would wait outside the bathroom to ensure she maneuvered through the process safely. Once dressed, she would help cover his fingers in the cooling, antibiotic salve the doctors prescribed him. 
“They’re feeling a little better,” she would examine, the varying terrains of his skin like a map to her fingers. The broken skin and cracked flesh ranged from the tips of multiple fingers to the edges of his wrists, luckily going no further. The doctor had personally promised her that Castle would heal fine, but the assurances failed to assuage her guilt. 
“They’re looking better each day,” he would confirm, gingerly sweeping his thumb along hers. “They definitely hurt less.”
After wrapping his hands, washing hers, she would crawl into bed beside him, sinking into the warmth of his mattress and the safety of his body next to hers. 
The routine instilled a level of trust in him she never thought she was capable of, but he proved worthy of it. No longer was he the playboy wannabe she had begun to doubt was an act all along; instead, she was met with a man who would stay up all night with her when she couldn’t sleep, who swore to her with fierce reassurance that she would be okay, that she would reclaim her life, and that he would be there for her every step of the way. 
He was the man who - exactly a month after the accident - got her a dog straight out of the best academy of guide dogs for the blind that he could find. 
“Her name is Dovah. She’s eighteen months old, a german shepherd mix, has bright blue eyes, brown and white fur, and she’s very happy to meet you,” he murmured, barely contained joy in his voice as she listened to him set the dog on the bed with her that morning. 
Kate reached out hesitantly and immediately felt the dog’s head come up under her palm. 
“Her handlers said she was strong, dedicated, and extremely protective. Reminded me of you.”
The smile had tugged on her lips and they had spent the morning practicing commands with a dog that became a lifeline for her. 
Castle helped her find her new apartment shortly after, swearing it was exactly her style, and enjoying every moment of helping her shop for and furnish the place. 
“It’ll be weird without you,” she confessed to him that first night she moved into the new building in Tribeca. 
They were standing together in a bedroom she couldn’t see, but apparently, he had outfitted her bed with purple sheets and put pictures of her parents on the nightstand. Her appliances were all fitted with braille instruction, Dovah was set up in the living room, Alexis had even made her a map to be sure she wouldn’t get lost in the new place - she had everything she could need. 
He reached for her hand with still healing fingers, drew hers to his cheek so she could “see” his expression while he spoke. 
“I’m just a phone call away. Less than ten minutes from here, five if I make a run for it,” he promised her, but her fingers trailed along his cheek, traveling the planes of his face. 
Her thumb skimmed the paper thin skin beneath his eyes, following the soft wrinkles expanding from the edge of his lashes to his temple. 
“What if I don’t want you to go?”
His breath was uneven, but he kissed her palm. “Then I won’t.”
Her fingers curled, as if she could trap his kiss there. But instead, she lowered them to his chin, steadied her hand there as she stepped closer. 
“Castle?”
His hands were touching her waist, steadying her, guiding her near. “Yes?”
She tipped her head up, pretended she could still see the ocean blue of his eyes on her. Their noses bumped, the heat of his breath skittering across her lips, and she lowered her fingers to his neck, felt the race of his pulse beneath the skin. 
“Will you kiss me?” 
It took only a moment for him to close the distance, kissing her gentle and slow and wonderful. She learned then that when Richard Castle kissed her, she could see the stars again. 
She hummed into his kiss, gently shut the bedroom door so not to startle Dovah, already dozing on her new couch. 
“Stay.” His mouth curved into a smile against hers. “Stay with me, Rick.”
“Yes,” he whispered, pressing her into the new bed. 
For months more, she forgot to feel afraid. She let herself enjoy the days leading up to the summer, let herself exist in the bubble of her new life with Castle and Dovah and his family. 
Until he told her he loved her, lying in his bed on a Tuesday night after a game of special braille scrabble with his daughter and a long shower together in his bathroom.
“I love you,” he murmured in the quiet of the night, the scars of his hands scraping along her cheekbone. The returning words were already swollen in her throat, how much she loved him back, but… all she could see behind her eyes was how much Castle loved her. What he did for those he loved.
Bursting into burning buildings, ruining his body, turning his life upside down. All for her. 
She couldn’t say it back, so she kissed him, hoped he felt it, hoped he knew. Because the next day, she took Dovah, went home, and asked him for space. 
“If it’s because of what I said-”
“No,” she told him over the phone, her face buried in her pillow, Dovah curled into her chest as if she could keep Kate’s heart from further fracturing. “No, Castle. I just - we’ve been through a lot these last few months and I need some time.”
“Okay, how much time?”
“I don’t know, I’ll - I’ll call you,” she lied, fisting her fingers in Dovah’s thick fur. 
She didn’t call. She forced herself not to call and she hated herself for it, for how much she knew it had to hurt. But he didn’t deserve the life she could give him, the sad world of leading around a blind woman who would always be mourning the past. 
She didn’t call because she loved him back, and she wanted better for him. 
The press of his chest at her back jerks her to the present. His palms are warm over her shoulders, his hips a bracket around hers, and she can’t help it, she leans into him.
“I miss you, Kate,” he mumbles into her hair. “My kid misses you, my mother. I’ve missed you so much the last three months. Just tell me how to fix whatever I did-”
“No,” she rasps, digging the heel of her hand into one of her useless eyes. “Rick, it isn’t you. It was never you. I’m damaged goods and I wanted more for you. I want to be more-”
“What are you talking about?” She’s shaking, her chest quivering with tears she’s been holding in for months. His arms are around her now, holding her together, and she scrambles to find his hands, to layer her palms over his scarred knuckles. “What the hell are you talking about and why weren’t we talking about this sooner? Why did you disappear on me?”
“Because I love you too,” she chokes out, shifting in his arms to face him, to lift trembling hands to his face, feel the downturned curve of his mouth, the ache in his eyes that radiates to his cheeks. “I love you and it scares me. It scares me to love someone like this, to let you love me, to - to risk losing it all. And god, Castle, I just - I didn’t want you stuck with me. I didn’t want you to think you had to love me because I’m so - so broken-”
His lips quiet her, sealing over her words and stealing her breath. Kate groans, fanning her fingers at his cheek to feel the work of his jaw, fisting her other hand in the worn fabric of a flannel she’s felt before. Her back bumps into the door and then her world is nothing but the sensation of Castle kissing her again, his body flush with hers, hands in her hair, angling her face upwards so he can kiss her deeper. 
“You are not broken,” he growls into her mouth, nipping on her bottom lip. “You are the same woman I knew before the explosion. You are strong, you are caring, and you are hot.”
Her lips crack into a watery smile beneath his. 
“And everything in between, Kate Beckett. You are everything I want. Always have been. Living together, healing together - it just made me fall in love with you faster,” he murmurs, dusting his lips to the corner of her mouth, the bone of her cheek, the lid of a closed eye. “But don’t think for a second that we wouldn’t have ended up here sooner or later, no matter what.”
His forehead drops against hers. 
“God, you’re so damn stubborn and I am so angry with you right now,” he mutters into her cheek, the words vibrating against her skin. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?”
“I panicked,” she admits, caressing the lines of his jaw with exploratory fingertips, the frown on his lips, the crease of his brow. “I thought - I was scared and I wanted to be selfless. I figured you would see how much I took from your life once I was gone.”
“Stupid,” he corrects, earning a huff, but he only nuzzles closer to her. “Stupid sometimes, but still extraordinary. That never changed, Kate.”
She cranes her neck, finds the corner of his mouth with her lips. “I’m so sorry, Castle.” He turns into the kiss, lets her have the work of his mouth for a long moment before he bumps his nose against hers. “I understand if you need time to-”
“No,” he gruffs, fingers bruising against her hips. “I gave you time, space. No more.”
She sighs, trails her fingers down his throat, caressing collarbones. 
“No,” she agrees, staining another apology along his chin. “I don’t want any more space either. I just want you.”
His arms wrap around her, damaged hands splaying firm at her spine. 
“Come back home,” he mumbles into her lips. “I’m not asking you to move in yet, just come watch movies on my couch, play scrabble with my kid, share my bed with me three to four nights a week.”
A quiet laugh echoes between them, she ignores the little flip of her heart at his yet, and nods. 
“Yes, but can we… can I have you to myself tonight, Castle?” she whispers, feeling his adam’s apple bob beneath the flutter of her fingertips. “These last three months… I ruined our summer and I want to make it up to you, but I want to talk this through. I need to be better about talking.”
Rick’s lips brush the skin between her brows, a pleased little quirk of his mouth against her skin. “Of course. Let me just text Alexis, let her know what’s going on so she doesn’t worry.”
“If she’s not okay with it-”
“She missed you, Kate, was a little confused and disappointed when you stopped seeing me, but I don’t think she’s upset with you,” he reassures her.
“I’ll talk to her tomorrow, take her for coffee or something,” she murmurs aloud, chewing on her bottom lip.
“I’m sure she’ll love that.”
“I’ll bring Dovah, I know that’s who you guys really missed.”
She hears the click of her dog’s nails on the hardwood floor across the room, likely coming in from the kitchen that houses her food and water bowls. 
“I mean, she was certainly an added benefit to your presence,” Castle sighs, drawing her from the door, fingers sliding down her arms to find her hands. 
She laces her fingers through his. 
“Where are we going?” she asks, even though she already has an idea.
“To your room, to talk, maybe do some packing,” he chirps, guiding her along after him, but she can hear the grin in his voice, the mischief that lies there. 
“That all?”
“Well, if we can squeeze it in, I was planning on showing you how much I missed you, maybe punishing you a little bit for making me miss you that much for the whole summer,” he muses, one of his arms jerking with what she assumes is a shrug. “But only if we have the time. It’s still early, there’s always tonight.”
“No,” she murmurs, covering the space between them when he slows. Her chest touches his and she swears she can feel the acceleration of his heart against hers. “We have longer.”
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tomtenadia · 1 year ago
Text
Detours to You - 18
Hello all,
I have a surprise for you with chapter 18. It has some fluff and Maya has a really great day.
MASTERLIST
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The following morning Aelin went to work with the biggest smile on her face. The previous night with Rowan had felt like a massive milestone in their evolving relationship. Nothing had happened yet, although her body screamed for him. The constant ache for him was driving her insane but she knew Rowan was not fully ready yet and even if their kisses had definitely passed the PG stage, Aelin was going to wait for him. They had been apart five years, surely she could tell her hormones to wait a bit longer.
When she walked into the shop Aelin found a cheery Lysandra preparing the bookstore for opening. 
“Look at you all happy, miss engaged woman.”
Lysandra walked towards her waving a book “and look at your big smile, were you naughty with Rowan last night? Did you have hot steamy sex with him?”
Aelin paused “No, we had our date in his office. He had to stay behind to deal with the aftermath of the fire at the waterfront.”
Silence. 
“I read the news.”
“Yeah, he lost three firefighters and there is a whole massive investigation because the captain messed up.”
Lysandra gave her a hug “How is he?”
“He has Maya for the day and he is taking her to his old firehouse. I think he needs it.”
“Elide said that Lorcan was in a bad mood too.”
As if summoned, Elide arrived a few minutes later and she had the same strained expression that Aelin had. 
“Good morning to you too, El.”
The woman dumped the bag on the floor “Good shitty morning to all of you.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Can we have a nice day in the shop and have fun?”
Lysandra hugged them both “we need an event.”
Aelin nodded “I agree, it’s after the holidays and we all need cheering up.”
“Good then, let’s open up and start planning.”
*
Rowan was in his pickup truck with Maya happily chatting at the back.
She had asked him to see a firehouse and on her last day of winter school holidays he had promised to take her with him. He had to visit station 15 anyway for reports from the day before and it was also a good excuse to have Maya with him for the morning.
“Dad can I sit on the truck?”
Rowan chuckled “we can ask the guys at the station to let you climb on.”
“Yes!”
They arrived ten minutes later and Rowan parked against the wall just outside the apron in a place not in the way of the vehicles. He freed Maya and hand in hand they walked in.
As they walked in the apparatus floor he watched her expression morph in amazement when she noticed engine and truck parked up.
“Dada they are big.” Her voice dreamy.
“Morning chief.” Asterin’s voice, the resident paramedic, reached them “Hi Maya, remember me?” asked the woman as she kneeled.
“Yes you helped me and mama after the fire.”
Rowan chuckled. Ach well, at least it wasn’t a total negative memory.
As if alerted by the voices, the rest of the firehouse filed in and Rowan turned towards the group of people and lifted Maya in his arms while the girl waved happily. 
“Station 15, this morning we will have a guest of honour. My daughter Maya goes back to school tomorrow but she asked to visit a real firehouse so she is tagging along.”
Brullo stepped up and went to him “Good morning muffin, do you remember me?”
“Yes.” Rowan happily passed his daughter to the man while he took it as an opportunity to talk to Lorcan“How are you holding up?”
“Besides the fact that I am pissed? That Perrington’s irresponsibility lead to three of us dying? And the man still thinks he was right.” The dark-haired man growled “He punched me when I told him he had fucked up. He benched Borte when she challenged him. I tried to take over before you arrived on the scene but he claimed that his unit had arrived before us so it was his scene.” His hand carded in his long hair “he sent people in without a plan, without knowing where the active fire was, how many people. He just sent them in randomly.”
“I know, Lorcan. I have a pile of reports on my desk and I will have the investigation launched as soon as I can. He will likely be fired from the TFD.”
Lorcan exhaled “The bastard should not have been a firefighter in the first place, you remember him at the academy, right?”
Rowan growled “He was a joke. And the old chief promoting him to captain was a bigger joke.”
The two men remained in silence and Rowan took the opportunity to watch his daughter being passed on from firefighter to the other and having the time of her life.
He looked at his daughter having fun with Fenrys “She is having fun.”
“Elide and I are trying.” Confessed Lorcan almost embarrassed. 
Rowan turned at his friend “look at you. Elide really did a job on you.”
Fenrys had taken Maya for her official tour with Brullo and Ansel and Maya had been fascinated at seeing a woman firefighter. 
“Do you want to see the truck?”
“Yes!”
Fenrys placed her on his shoulder and they walked around the vehicle, opened all the compartment and showed her all the tools. Brullo then opened the driver’s doors “wanna sit on it?”
The girl smiled and he climbed on the vehicle while Fenrys passed her to him.
She sat happily behind the wheel and pretended to drive “Dada look, I am driving.”
Rowan joined them and took a picture of his daughter, then grabbed a bunker jacket that was hanging on the door and placed on her shoulders, looking gigantic on her.
Soon after Ansel stole the little girl and carried her to the engine “Engine is more fun.” Added the woman while climbing with the little girl on top of the vehicle and sitting on all the hoses. 
Ansel placed a plastic helmet on the girl’s head and then passed her the nozzle of a hose and together they pretended to fight a fire “Dad look, I am a firefighter!”
Rowan looked up and saw Maya on top of the engine laughing happily with Ansel. He had no doubts that the two would get along well.
Rowan filled his phone with his daughter’s pictures until Asterin came to claim the girl “My turn,” said Asterin, taking the girl’s hand “want to see the ambulance?”
“Yes!”
Asterin took Maya to her vehicle and opened the back “I am a paramedic, and in the ambulance we treat people.”
“Like you did with mama and me at the fire.”
“Yes, we look after people.”
“I want to be a pamamedic.”
Asterin laughed “I am sure your dad will be happy to hear it.”
However the morning fun got cut short when dispatch alarm went off and they all had to scramble.
Rowan quickly ran to Asterin and picked up Maya and as they stepped aside he explained her what was happening and Maya waved them goodbye.
“Dada that was so cool.”
“It was.”
“I want to be a pamamedic, dad.”
Rowan smiled “Do you?”
“Yes, I want to help people.”
He lifted Maya high up and then kissed her on her cheeks “That is a beautiful idea, my love.”
Rowan collected the reports from Lorcan’s office and then took Maya back to Aelin.
At the shop he found Aelin and the other two ladies busy with customers “Looks like mum is really busy today.”
Maya wiggled free from her dad and ran to the children’s section. Lysandra intercepted the girl and Elide walked to him.
“Having a busy day?”
“Yes, it’s good and we are planning an event too.”
“That is brilliant.”
Elide smiled “Did she have fun at the firehouse?”
“She had a blast and now she wants to be a paramedic.”
“That is great.”
He nodded “yes, I was terrified that she might want to be a firefighter,” he paused “not that I would stop her from doing something she loves but I am relieved. Being a paramedic is at least safer.”
Elide brushed her hand on his arm “I know. Lorcan’s job terrifies me. Yesterday I was watching the news and…” a ragged breath left her lungs “until he answered his phone I felt as if I was suffocating.”
Rowan pulled the woman to his side to offer comfort “Lorcan was amazing last night. He got punched to stop a man who almost risked his entire company.”
“I am proud of him.”
Aelin reached them a moment later “Morning,” Rowan stooped and gave her a gentle kiss “Maya had a great morning.”
“I heard, she was telling Lys that she wants to be a paramedic now.”
Rowan smiled “Yes, Asterin gave her a tour of the ambulance and she loved it.”
In that instant Rowan’s radio became alive “I need to go.”
Aelin kissed him “stay safe, please.”
He waved at Maya and Lysandra and rushed out of the shop.
“So nothing happened last night, eh?”
She smiled “I think we are getting there.”
“You might be the next couple who gets married.”
Aelin smiled “Not yet, El. For now I am taking him not being mad at me anymore. For now I am happy that he allows me in his life and lets me love him back.” A sigh “we are being given a second chance and I am not rushing him.”
“You seem so much happier, though. And Maya…” they both turned to the little girl “she is thriving.”
Aelin nodded. She had been right to fear how Maya would react at having a dad. It could have gone either way and apart from a moment during which she suffered because her and Rowan kept fighting, now she was happy again.
“So? How’s the baby making business going?” She changed the subject quickly.
Elide laughed “Oh it has its perks.”
“Oh I can totally imagine how cumbersome must be to have nightly sex with your hot husband.”
“I had no idea how hard it actually was to try and have a kid. The tracking and  planning and all.”
Aelin chuckled “Sometimes all you need to do is to forget the condom and just go for it.”
She remembered the night that lead to Maya’s conception. She and Rowan had gone out to dinner and then a classical concert. She had worn a dress that had been driving Rowan insane the whole night. They had barely kept their cool in the car, and as soon they had crossed the threshold of their flat it had been crazy passion. 
“Is that the Whitethorn-Galathynius way?”
“All I am saying, less planning and just have fun?”
Elide nodded “we can surely try.”
“Good.”
They joined Lysandra and Maya and Aelin and her daughter decided to revamp the fantasy section.
*
Rowan drove back to his work and prepared himself for another day of reports and to work on the investigation. On his floor he entered his office hall and saw Lyria sitting at her desk. 
“Morning, Chief.” Her tone cold. She passed him a few folders “you had a few phone calls, I noted down the names.”
“Thank you.”
“So, is the wife coming to disrupt your work today?”
Rowan’s head turned abruptly “excuse me?”
“Chief, she bursts in your office unannounced and never with an appointment. This is a workplace and she has no respect.”
“Aelin can come and visit whenever she wants unless I am in a meeting. She is…” he paused “She is allowed in and I do not want to hear any other complaints.”
“Fine, chief.” His secretary almost growled and slammed some documents on the desk “fine. Be happy with your perfect wife and perfect daughter.”
He stepped closer “Lyria, my personal life is none of your business. We are colleagues. If I ever gave you any indication of anything else, I am sorry, but I am in love with another woman.” He took another step closer “You are a great secretary and I am grateful for all your help, but colleagues is all we are.”
The woman nodded “It’s okay, chief,” a pause “I am sorry how I reacted, I had no place for being jealous.”
“It’s fine, as long as we are clear on this.”
“Copy that, chief.”
He nodded and disappeared in his office where a pile of reports was awaiting him. He dumped the other one he got from Lorcan and started to work on the fire of the previous day. He had also organise the funeral for the three firefighters. It was one of the worst aspects of his job. In his long career he had seen far too many firefighters die in the line of duty but nothing hurt as much as seeing three of them be killed because of incompetence. It was not fair. Any of them knew of the risks when signed up for the job. But not for this. Not that meaningless waste of life. He knew station three was a problem, he had been working on it since day two on the job. The previous chief had ignored all the complaints that had come from the lieutenant because she was a woman. One who had proved herself to be a fantastic firefighter. Perrington had so many complaints against him that he should have been dismissed a very long time ago and not put in a position of harming people. Appointing Borte as captain was one of the first things he was going to do as soon as he had filed all of his reports. Borte was a respected firefighter and had the support of the team.
The TFD needed change and it was his job to push for it.
To make sure that no one else would die because of negligence.
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