#and everyone other than me who saw fools paradise apparently

[iasip-enthusiast-2]

Seeing a negative review of my favourite pieces of media invokes an entirely new level of rage in me

[cherienymphe]

Gangsta’s Paradise (Michael Gray x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON BORDERLINE NON-CON, blackmail, loss of virginity, (for the sake of this fic let’s pretend that Finn Cole is taller than what he is okay)

! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: an agreement with the Peaky Blinders is almost a done deal...until you catch the eye of Michael Gray. You’re suddenly thrust into the equation, and your father must decide between losing everything or losing you.

~

Soft lips brushed over your bare shoulder, even softer hands guiding the strap of your slip down your arm, fingers dancing along your skin. Despite the cold weather outside, your room was sweltering, and you pinned it onto the man behind you...the man who was currently unwrapping you like a gift. With fear coursing through your frame, you realized that in a way, you were a gift. A pretty little gift given to the big bad gangster in exchange for resources and protection and whatever else your family needed.

Your eyes fell closed, and you thought back to the day where your father’s desperation had first begun. Desperation that you had ultimately underestimated.

You had been nervous as you tended to the dishes that day, glancing at the clock every now and then. Cleaning and tidying up was how you coped, how you attempted to calm yourself. It normally worked, but today was an exception. Looking around, you realized that there was nothing else to clean, and with a sigh, you leaned against the wall, biting your lip.

The rest of the family had gone to Birmingham. They’d gone to handle...business, and you being the only girl in the family since your mom died, you weren’t allowed to have a hand in the business. It had been a great deal of bitterness for you for years, ever since you were old enough to understand what was really going on, but now you had gradually accepted your father’s reasoning.

Your father and brother and uncles had left early, taking some of their best men with them. You knew they only did that for serious matters, and you had been worried ever since you saw them leave. You had scrubbed the house from top to bottom, and now you had nothing to do but wait. It was fortunate that you didn’t have to wait for much longer, hearing several cars come down the driveway.

No one greeted you when you opened the door, faces pinched and sullen, and you knew then that things didn’t go as expected. The only one to acknowledge you was your father, the older man pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before trudging inside with the rest. You swallowed, conflicted on whether or not you should say anything, but your worry got the best of you.

“How did it go?”

Before your father could answer, you heard your brother slam his hand into the wall, the pictures shaking from the force.

“Peaky fucking Blinders,” he spat, and your blood ran cold.

Your eyes met your father’s, and he gave you a look as if to say leave it alone, but you were in shock. You had never imagined that your family would start doing business with the likes of them. Everyone had heard of them, knew who they were and what they did, and the thought of your family being involved with them in any way was a terrifying one.

Everything those men touched turned to poison

“Father,” you had chided as soon as you walked into his office moments later.

From behind his desk, he held a hand up, the other pressed to his forehead as he sighed.

“Not now, Y/N,” he said, sounding tired.

“You promised that things would be different,” you whispered, ignoring his words. “You told me that we would start becoming legitimate, legal. That we’d start doing things right.”

“Y/N-.”

“You promised.”

He slammed his hand down onto the wood, making you wince.

“They’ve got their hand in every cookie jar that matters. Thomas Shelby is a political man, now-.”

You cut him off with a scoff, folding your arms over your chest.

“Only a fool would get mixed up with the likes of them.”

He shot you a scathing look, and you swallowed, looking away with a sigh.

“We need their influence, their resources...their allyship.”

Your eyes widened at this, realizing that your father intended for much more than a one time business deal.

“You can’t be serious,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond right away, simply heaving a sigh before turning his attention to the paperwork before him.

“I will do my best to keep you away from all this, but prepare yourself for seeing a lot more of them, eh?”

He didn’t say anything more, and when it became apparent that that was the end of the discussion, you turned and left. You could hear your brothers and uncles murmuring in the kitchen, going over the day’s events, no doubt, and you made your way upstairs. You never knew exactly what it was that your father sold, but you figured that drugs and alcohol was the gist of it. He’d been in the business for a long time, and he’d made a promise to you that he was going to put a stop to it. That he’d start making money the right way.

Getting mixed up with the Shelbys, the Peaky Blinders, was not the way to go about it.

You understood the appeal though. They had power, resources, influence. With them as an ally, people would think twice about screwing your family over...but was it worth it? Was it worth the increase in violence? Putting the family in the kind of danger you could never even imagine? Was it worth the devastation and death that seemed to follow them like a plague? The answer was simple.

No.

Your father didn’t seem to care about any of that though. Day in and day out, for weeks, you watched your family leave early in the day and return late in the evening, looking more irritated than they did the previous day. It was safe to say that negotiations with the Peaky Blinders was not going as expected. The frustration and annoyance was plain as day on your father’s features, and even though nary a word was uttered to you about anything, you could feel the tension mounting in the air.

The first time you actually met someone of the infamous family, it was a Wednesday. It was a rare day within the past few weeks in which your father was at the house. He had been holed up in his study all day when there was a knock on the door. You had blinked in confusion, trying to recall if your father had mentioned anything about company, but you had only just begun to move when you heard your father’s heavy footsteps traveling down the hallway.

“Stay back.”

Normally you would have argued against him, especially with a tone as harsh as his had been, but something in his voice made you listen. There was something in his eyes, something in the way he walked that made you understand the severity of the situation. You remained in the living room, listening as your father answered the door, unfamiliar voices eventually joining his.

Two men who you’d never seen before joined him in the hallway, standing between the kitchen and living room. You had slowly put your book down, story long forgotten at the sight of the strangers, and your movement caught their attention. Both of them were wearing hats and long coats, but you could still tell that their hair was dark. The lankier of the two was a bit taller, a mustache adorning his face while the other moved a toothpick around between his lips, a faint smirk crawling onto his face at the sight of you.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” the taller one greeted, and you quietly returned the greeting.

Your father cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

“Arthur, John...this is my daughter, Y/N. She likes to look after the house when I’m gone.”

It was the truth. After your mother’s death, the house was where you felt most comfortable, and you were more than happy to lock yourself in its walls. Especially while the rest of your family ventured out.

“Darling, this is John and Arthur Shelby. I’ve been doing some business with them, remember?”

You fought the urge to sneer at your father, keeping your gaze on the strangers in your home instead.

“Of course. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said with a tense smile.

Knowing you so well, your father could recognize the displeasure on your face, and if the other men before you noticed it too, they didn’t speak on it. You watched as they followed your father upstairs to his study, the younger of the two tipping his hat to you before departing. You remained there for a time before slowly exhaling, turning to make your way outside. You paid no mind to how long they stayed, spending the rest of your day away outside in your garden. Your mother always kept one, and you had done the same since she died.

That was the first of the few times you ran across Arthur and John Shelby. They were the only two that ever came by the house, greeting you with tipped hats and secretive smiles. You had grown somewhat used to their presence and faces, but not enough to be completely comfortable around them. You didn’t meet the rest of them, didn’t meet him, until weeks later.

“What?” you had breathed, staring at your father in disbelief. 

You watched as he rubbed his forehead, face pinched and eyes clouded over, telling you that he disliked this as much as you did.

“You’ll come to the next meeting with us,” he repeated, and you let out a sharp breath.

So you had heard him correctly.

“...why?” you eventually asked, sounding much calmer than you actually were.

“I know you hate them, but those Shelbys do have some morals about them. Things have been rather tense lately. It seems that we just can’t come to an agreement,” he sighed out, leaning against his desk. “...and I fear that things could become...rowdy.”

He didn’t continue, but you were smart enough to guess where this was going. When the realization hit you, your heart dropped, and you stared at your father like he was a stranger. The man you knew, the man your mother had married, would’ve wanted you as far away from any business dealings as possible. Somehow, the very same man was standing before you and suggesting…

“You think my presence at the meeting will make them behave...make them think twice about doing anything...violent,” you murmured, more to yourself than him.

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to, and you clenched your jaw.

“...and if it doesn’t-?”

“It will,” he argued.

“...but if it doesn’t…” you repeated with more force. “...then what? What will you do if they bring out the guns and razor blades right there? What will you do if they decide to use me to make you agree to their terms?”

Your father was silent, and you stepped towards him, eyes pleading.

“What will you do then?”

You watched as he straightened, standing to his full height as he looked down his nose at you. It was like you were looking at a completely different person, someone who wasn’t like your father at all. As you eyed him, you could see the stress on his face, the strain in his muscles, the conflict in his eyes. You’d had your suspicions that your family’s business with the Peaky Blinders was more serious than you could’ve imagined, but the toll it was clearly taking on your father confirmed it.

Even if you didn’t agree with what was going on, how your father went about getting what he so clearly needed and wanted, it was obvious that this was important to him. Since the death of your mother, very few things brought your father happiness. Very few things even halfway satisfied him, and hoping that this would, shoulders sagging with defeat, you agreed.

This was how you found yourself seated beside your father at none other than The Garrison. The pub was empty of any patrons or staff, only those important to the meeting present. Thomas Shelby, the man himself, was seated across from your father. He was as intimidating as you always believed he’d be, smooth voice having done nothing to calm you when he introduced himself.

John and Arthur, the two you were familiar with, were on his right while two more men by the name of Isaiah and Finn were on his left. They were one short in comparison to your father, his two brothers, your two brothers, and yourself, but an empty chair told you that one more was on their way. Seeing that the meeting had already begun, you deduced that their tardiness wasn’t a concern. Considering the nature of the meeting, a whole bunch of words that could be summed up into “who controls what”, you envied the mystery person’s absence. 

For minutes now, you had contributed nothing, but then again… That wasn’t your purpose. No, the purpose of your presence was to keep the men in line. Your entire purpose was to play on what few morals the men had, and you fought to hold in a laugh. With every member of your family being armed, you wondered if your father even believed this would work. Too busy stewing over how your father had purposely put you in harm’s way, you didn’t take notice of the pub door opening.

You were only pulled from your thoughts when the sound of footsteps finally registered. Considering that your back was to the door, you couldn’t see their face, and you didn’t want to appear nosey or unprofessional or draw attention to yourself in any way really by turning to look. You only glanced up when he finally came into your line of sight, and you observed him in the same manner that you did all the others.

Something about him reminded you of Thomas, but his features were much softer, not so harsh. However, that made him no less intimidating. He wasn’t sporting a hat, dark hair neatly pushed away from his face, and something about him was different from the rest. On his own, he didn’t look like he belonged with the rest of them, and as Thomas explained that he was their chief accountant, you got the feeling that that was purposely done. He introduced the man as Michael Gray, his cousin, and losing interest once again, you looked away.

You played with your fingers beneath the table, wanting to desperately be anywhere but here. You had a feeling that you’d get your wish very soon, taking note of the change in tone in your father’s voice. He sounded happier, relieved, and you glanced up at him, his relief contagious. As you did so, your eyes briefly connected with that of the newcomer, Michael, and you quickly looked away. Even still, you could feel the weight of his stare, and you reluctantly returned it.

He didn’t look the least bit ashamed at having been caught, bringing his cigarette up to his lips, a thick coil of smoke escaping them moments later. His face was hard to read, and you felt yourself frowning slightly. You blinked, eyes trailing to your brother on your father’s other side, but he seemed invested in the meeting. Everyone seemed to be...everyone but you and the man named Michael.

When your eyes met his again, it was just in time to watch him lean over, lips at his cousin’s ear as he whispered something to him. His gaze held yours the entire time. You glanced around again, feeling as if there was a meeting within a meeting going on, and you were the only one to notice. Brushing off the unease you felt, you sat back in your chair, eyes on the table. It was hard to ignore the heavy gaze that pinned you to your seat, but you fought to manage.

Especially since it seemed that an agreement was finally being made.

However, that sinking feeling in your chest traveled to your gut, settling there as you watched John move to whisper something to Thomas. The man, the leader of this great gang, paused for the briefest of moments. It happened so quickly, and John was back in his seat as if nothing had happened, and while Thomas’ words did not falter, the way his eyes briefly flickered to you had you straightening in your seat.

Your eyes fell onto the blue-eyed newcomer again, and he took another drag of his cigarette. Every single one of them wore smug expressions, from the first moment you’d been introduced to every individual man, you noticed that they all looked as if they owned the world. Michael Gray was no different, but the way he looked at you made you want to be as far away from here as possible. As more tendrils of smoke left his pink lips, you noted that he didn’t look at you like he just owned the world. He looked at you like he owned you too.

“Everything does seem to be in order, but...there is another matter I think we should discuss,” you heard Thomas Shelby say.

You looked to him, watching as he stood, his family following his lead and your family following theirs. You tightened your coat around you as Thomas gestured for your father to follow him into the back. His absence made you nervous, but you simply stepped closer to your brother as you watched him follow the other man.

“Let’s wait outside,” your brother said, and eager to be out of here, you hastily agreed.

Your other brother remained inside with your uncles while you followed Matthew, the middle child of you three, outside. 

“You alright?” he asked you as soon as you were in the fresh air. “You looked a bit tense in there.”

You watched him light a smoke, and you glanced away.

“The other one...the cousin, Michael… How much do you know about him?”

Matthew shrugged, exhaling.

“Not much. Doesn’t say much at the meetings, mostly handles the money,” he told you.

That did little to ease you.

“Why…?”

You were just about to tell him the reason for your curiosity when the door to The Garrison came flying open. You watched in shock as your father came storming out, your other brother and uncles hot on his tail.

“What’s going on?” Matthew asked, just as alarmed as you were.

Instead of an answer, your father simply grabbed your arm, and yanked you along. You almost tripped over your feet, and you looked at your father like he’d lost his mind. His face was clouded over, eyes thunderous, and you wondered what had happened in such a short time.

“What-?”

“Quiet,” he hissed, sounding the angriest you’d ever heard him, and your eyes widened at this.

“...but-.”

“I said quiet! Get in the car,” he spat.

He didn’t give you a chance to listen, opting for shoving you inside himself. Your foot was barely inside when he slammed the door shut, and you stared at the window in shock. Matthew joined you and your father in the car while the rest piled into the other vehicle. Your confusion only grew as the car roared to life, and you glanced up then to rest your eyes on a familiar face.

He leaned against the door to the pub, a fresh cigarette held between his lips as he lit it. His blue eyes were focused entirely on you, even as the smoke clouded his view and your father began to drive off, he didn’t appear to be interested in anything else but your trembling frame.

You sat at the dining table in shock, listening to the muffled sound of your father’s angry voice that traveled from his study. He was in there with the rest of the family, and he’d been in there for hours. He had barely looked at you when you all came home, heading straight for his office as he ordered the rest of the family inside. There was an unspoken agreement that that did not include you.

Still, the uneasiness from the meeting remained. You could still feel the heated gaze of the blue-eyed man, smell the smoke that drifted from his lips, see the way he watched you as he whispered to John. You could see the way Thomas had looked at you as John whispered to him, and this was what made you press your ear to your father’s study door hours earlier. This was what drove your curiosity to discover just what happened when you and your brother left.

“He wants her,” your father had forced out, sounding like he was going to be sick.

There was a long pause, and you had frowned in confusion.

“Who?” your other brother, Nathaniel, had eventually asked.

“The Gray kid! Polly’s son,” he spat as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He wants her.”

You could hear your father’s heavy breaths, hear him pacing, and the confirmation that the discussion was about Michael Gray did nothing to quell your confusion. The silence that followed was loud and heavy, something unspoken in the air that you had yet to understand.

“...what?” you heard one of your uncles murmur.

Your father heaved a sigh, sounding much calmer now.

“They are...prepared to meet us more than halfway if we let him have her,” he slowly said. “Everything we’ve been working towards, everything we’ve been yearning for… It could be ours in a matter of hours if we let him have her.”

“No!”

Nathaniel’s voice could be heard before your father even finished.

“Absolutely not-.”

“Nathaniel…”

“You’re not considering this...are you? Father…”

“They’ve given us the day to think it over-.”

“What is there to think about? She’s our sister, your daughter, not some whore on the street,” Matthew interrupted, his words making you freeze.

Bile threatened to spill from your lips as you stared at the door, slowly backing away, their voices becoming less clear as you did so. Your back was pressed to the wall as the truth settled over you, and you suddenly felt foolish for failing to put it together sooner. Your stomach swirled, fear settling into your bones, and before you knew it, your head was in the commode, expelling everything you’d eaten that day. The tears had come shortly after, and that was how Matthew found you hours later, sitting at the table with tears in your eyes.

“I know you heard,” he said, sitting across from you.

You hesitantly looked up at him as he poured a glass of whiskey.

“You never could keep your nose out of things. Told you years ago to stop listening in on father’s conversations-.”

“Well, I’m glad I did this time,” you tearfully spat.

Matthew sighed, sliding the glass towards you.

“I think you deserve it tonight,” he said as you threw him an odd look.

Your shoulders sagged, and you gratefully accepted it, scrunching your face up at the strong taste that hit your tongue. The both of you sat there in silence for a while, listening to your father’s muffled voice, and you took another sip.

“What’s he going to do?”

Your fear must have been evident because his hand rested on yours on the table.

“Hey...he’s not going to agree, alright? He would never…”

You shook your head before he even finished, sniffling as you took another sip.

“I don’t know, Matthew. I don’t know,” you breathed.

Your eyes met his, and he frowned at you.

“These past few months or so… He’s been different, and you know it. He’s made deals before, but it’s different this time. Everything he’s ever wanted is so close. It’s different this time, and you know it, Matthew.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. You both knew that it was different this time, and you shuddered to think about what tomorrow would bring.

The next day came and went, much to your relief, and although you were glad that your father didn’t give into the Peaky Blinders, into what they wanted from you...what he wanted from you, it was still an unacknowledged elephant in the room. They still left the house for business, but you didn’t know if it was with the Blinders or not. You shuddered to think of how that conversation went when your father refused their offer. 

You got the feeling that they weren’t used to not getting their way.

It was three nights later, three nights since that fateful meeting in which you’d caught the eye of Michael Gray, that you left your room to get a glass of water. The house was dark and quiet, an unusual sight seeing as at least one brother was usually up late in the kitchen, drinking or having a smoke. That wasn’t the sight that greeted you.

The kitchen was empty of anyone else, and you drank your water slowly. You hoped that things would be better now. You recalled how relieved your father had looked over the past few days, how much softer his features looked, and you desperately hoped that it was because the family was finally on the right track. You made your way back into the hall, glass pressed to your lips, when you paused.

The only light in the living room came from the moon, it’s rays bleeding through the windows and onto the furniture. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take note of the shape that didn’t belong. The shape of a man. Light flooded the room, and all of your breath left you, glass shattering at your feet.

You stared at him in shock, taking in everything from his neat hair to his shiny dark shoes. He was dressed much like he was the first day you met him, a dark grey almost black looking suit hugging his frame. He leaned back in your father’s chair, nursing a glass of Brandy, and it was then that you realized he’d been here for a while.

“Father!”

It was instinctual now, how your father was the first person you ran to. He didn’t respond, and you called for him again, cutting yourself off when a smirk slowly danced along Michael’s lips. Your mind whirled, and dread filled you.

“What are you doing in my house? Where is my father?”

A small chuckle escaped him, eyes twinkling with mirth as he slowly pulled out a cigarette. 

“What do you think I’m doing here, love?”

Your entire body froze, the implication behind his words clear, and you shook your head. You called for Matthew...then Nathaniel...then your uncles and your father again. The only thing that met you was silence, and your throat felt incredibly thick all of a sudden. The weight of your predicament fully settled over you, and you slowly shook your head.

“No,” you breathed in disbelief. “...no.”

The man before you didn’t respond, simply pressing the cigarette between his lips, reaching in his pockets for a light, no doubt.

“I don’t believe you.”

That was what you said, what your lips formed, but your heart and your head didn’t agree. Something didn’t feel right from the moment you woke up, and a part of you that you desperately wished would shut up did believe him. 

“Do you really think your father would allow anyone into his home without his knowledge or permission?”

You watched him pull a drag, smoke filling the air, and you stumbled back, running for the door. You didn’t hear him behind you, and for that you were relieved, but your relief was short lived. Upon swinging the door open, you were met with the sight of John and Arthur Shelby dawdling in your driveway. They appeared to be having a conversation when you opened the door, their voices abruptly cutting off at your appearance. John simply smirked at you from around the smoke in his mouth, Arthur tipping his hat towards you.

“‘Ello, sweetheart.”

With a shriek, you slammed the door shut in their faces, chest heaving with uneven breaths as the situation fully resonated with you. You stumbled back further into the hallway, and Michael was still in the same place as before, nursing a cigarette as you fought to figure out a way out of this.

“You can’t...you can’t do this,” you eventually murmured, glaring at him.

Michael simply fixed you with an even stare, smoke escaping from his nose, the cigarette dancing between his fingers.

“I’m a Peaky Blinder, love. I can do whatever I want.”

He said it with so much conviction that you knew he believed it, and the longer you stared at him, the more you believed it too. You warily glanced around, telling yourself that you might actually have to fight this man, might have to fight to protect what your father had wrongly given away. Even though part of you denied it, you slowly accepted that Michael was telling the truth. Despite the fact that your family’s business and even lives were at stake, your father had no right to trade away what didn’t belong to him.

Michael’s eyes never left you as you stood there, and you finally looked to him again when he cleared his throat. The cigarette rested between his lips as he slipped out of his jacket, and you swallowed at the dark look in his eyes. He took another drag.

“Before you do...whatever it is that you’re about to do…”

He parted his mouth, the smoke swirling in there for a bit before pressing his lips together, tendrils escaping his nose.

“You should know that I’ve shot men in the head with no hesitation. I drug my blade across a man’s throat once and reveled in the taste of his blood on my lips.”

You flinched, taking a step back.

“When Tommy first tried to scare me away, threaten to send me back to the village in which I grew up… I told him about a well there, that I’d blow it up with dynamite if he made me go back...didn’t care if my hands went with it.”

He finished his cigarette, putting the rest of it out, eyes boring into yours as he slowly exhaled the smoke he’d been holding in.

“I just knew it’d be worth it to see those pretty white bricks all over that pretty village green...and I meant every word of that.”

You didn’t respond, and his blue eyes slowly dragged over every part of you, taking you in from your hair all the way to your bare feet, lingering on the thin nightgown in between.

“It’s something about the violence, you see.”

His words unnerved you, and he continued.

“The violence, the blood...the fight...it does something to me. Gets me excited, all riled up, so please…”

He gestured towards you, eyes glinting with something that made your heart stop.

“Do fight back, hit me even… It’ll just make me want to fuck you that much harder.”

The tears finally skipped down your cheeks, and you stumbled back as he stood to his full height. With a shaky breath, you staggered up the stairs, running to the last room at the end of the hall, a guest room. You were quick to pull the window up, looking down below in worry. It was high up, that was for sure, but the alternative was worse.

Before you could even get a foot out, warm hands pressed into your stomach, pulling you back against a broad chest. A startled scream left your lips, and Michael’s hands traveled to your arms, fingers pressed into your skin as he held you tight. You leaned your head away from him as he pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in.

“Your father made a big mistake bringing you around us, eh?”

You couldn’t will your lips to move, too paralyzed with fear and nerves and anxiety for the unknown. The way he touched you was foreign, the scent that clung to him, a mix of cologne and expensive liquor and cigarettes, was foreign. The creeping sensation that blanketed your body was foreign. All of this was foreign, and more tears pooled within your eyes as the inevitable drew closer.

“He thought you’d keep us in line, keep us on leashes...but ever since I saw you, the only thing I wanted to do was take you like a fucking animal.”

You jerked in his hold, fighting to get away from him, but Michael tsk’d. 

“Let’s not spoil this, hmm? You seem like a good girl...if you catch my drift.”

More tears fell at his words, and he hummed.

“You do. You strike me as a well behaved lady of the house...and you girls like for this to be special, yeah? All gentle and loving,” he slowly mocked as he forced you towards the bed.

He shoved you onto it, knees pressing down on either side of you soon after, preventing you from going anywhere. Your tears soaked the sheet, and Michael’s fingers ghosted over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I want you to look at me as I fuck you.”

He gently turned you over onto your back, and you stared up at the man before you. Even in the darkness, you could see the blue of his eyes perfectly. They were bright and filled with a hunger that scared you, a hunger you had never been on the receiving end of before. Michael leaned over you, caging you beneath him as he pressed his forehead to yours, soon followed by his lips.

You’d kissed men before, but they were soft sweet nothings that could barely be called a kiss. You knew that if you wanted to marry well, contribute something of substance to your family, you had to be smart about your actions...your reputation. All of the men, realizing that you weren’t going to give them what they wanted, left. Accepting that your family and reputation came first, they always left, and it hurt every single time. 

But it will be worth it.

That’s what you constantly told yourself. After every heartbreak, every sneer, every harsh insult thrown your way about what a frigid bitch you were, you told yourself that it would be worth it. And yet...here you were...beneath a gangster, having your reputation ripped away from you by a man who stole and murdered and wasn’t decent in any way.

Life was funny.

After slipping out of his shirt, the flimsy material floating somewhere behind him, Michael guided your hands to his chest. Your trembling fingers danced along his taut skin, taking note of an imperfection. An old bullet wound, you deduced. The dark-haired man groaned into your mouth, pressing into you, and you could feel him hard beneath his trousers. The reality of what was about to happen seemed to slink around your neck like a noose, and you didn’t even realize that you’d started panting until Michael’s hand found your neck.

“I-I can’t- I can’t do this-.”

He shushed you, kissing you again.

“Behave...and I’ll be good to you. Breathe,” he urged.

You slowly did as he suggested, squeezing your eyes shut as his other hand pushed the smooth material of your nightgown up your legs. One hand was still on your throat as that same hand traveled to his pants, the sound of his zipper deafening in the quiet room. Your whole body went numb for a moment, ears ringing and vision blurring, and when you finally came back to earth, Michael’s hips were pressing against yours, nothing in between you.

He was speaking to you, you noted.

“...what?” you murmured.

“What’s your name, love?”

You swallowed, quickly darting your tongue out to swipe over your lips.

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, clearly liking the taste of it on his tongue. He nodded at you, drinking you in as he ran his eyes over your face, seemingly committing you to memory before sliding into you with one quick thrust. Your nails pressed into his skin, and he hissed, your own lips parting to let out a pained gasp. Michael held himself above you, a low groan escaping him as his forehead touched yours again.

“You feel fucking amazing,” he whispered, nose bumping against yours.

He held himself there for a long time, just feeling you. You weren’t naïve enough to think he did it for your sake, and you got the feeling that he wanted to drag this out for as long as possible. When he did finally move, your chest arched upwards, unable to handle the unfamiliar feeling. His hand was still on your neck, and you wrapped your hand around his wrist.

The feel of him inside of you was strange. You couldn’t describe it, but you felt full...you felt stretched...and in a way, it felt unnatural, but the heat that festered deep within your stomach said otherwise. One of Michael’s hands was pressed into the bed beside your head, holding himself up so that he could look at you. You remembered his words, and too terrified to disobey, you fought to keep your eyes on him.

His face was strained with concentration, eyes flickering between your face and down to where the two of you connected. The hand that was on your neck slid down to your chest, thumb brushing over a heaving breast before resting on your stomach, pinning you down as he snapped his hips into yours. It was too much for you, too much at once, and your lashes fluttered. 

“Look at me,” he roughly breathed.

“I can’t...I can’t,” you panted, head twisting from side to side.

You could hardly focus on anything other than the way he was thrusting into you, taking you to heights you never knew existed. He called your name then, and you reluctantly met his eyes, the hunger in them making you shudder.

“That’s right. Eyes on me, love. Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you,” he murmured.

The smugness in his voice and face made you frown, a spark of anger in you.

“Do you fuck all of your girls like this? Huh?”

He didn’t respond, pink lips simply curving upwards into a humorous smirk.

“...or am I special because you get to ruin my life and go on with yours?” you shakily spat.

Michael slammed into you then, forcing a choked gasp from you.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. You just focus on milking my cock, hmm?”

You wanted to hit him, spit at him, do anything other than lay there and take his unrelenting thrusts, but your body seized before you could do any of that. Your toes curled and your stomach clenched and your body shook as stars exploded behind your eyes. You hadn’t even realized what a moaning mess you had become until Michael paused just to listen to you, just taking you in with something akin to awe on his face.

You didn't have time to catch your breath before he was chasing his own high, hands pressed into your waist so hard you were sure you’d bruise. Your nails dug into his wrists, choked moans tumbling from your mouth as you clenched around him again, just in time for him to spill into you, releasing a long breath as he did so. You clung to him, tears catching in your lashes as you laid there, mind whirling at what you’d just done.

You flinched, shrinking in on yourself when his lips brushed the corner of your mouth just before pulling out of you. You winced at the action, staring up at the ceiling as you heard him moving about. You turned your head when you heard the strike of a match and watched as he lit himself another cigarette, pants just barely settling on his waist.

“So what happens now?” you finally asked, voice low in the dark room. 

Would your father and brothers come through that door tomorrow, pretending that they hadn’t sold you out? Would they be able to even look at you? Stomach the sight of you? Fresh tears kissed your eyes just as Michael spoke.

“Well…”

He took a pull, exhaling the smoke through his nose as he neared you.

“...I’m going to fuck you at least three more times before the night is over.”

You sat up at this, paying no mind to the pain in between your legs as you stared at him with wide eyes. Without realizing it, you gripped the end of your nightgown, pulling it to your knees as if somehow trying to prevent that very thing from happening.

“What-?”

“...and then I want you to pack a bag. Just some things that’ll last you a few days. I’ll be buying you a whole new lot of clothes anyway.”

“Michael-.”

“You’re my girl, now,” he quietly said, voice firm as he stood over you, free hand playing with the strap of your gown as the other held his cigarette to his lips.

You shook your head, staring up at him in disbelief.

“I...no. My family...they-.”

“Sold you away without a second thought.”

Your heart clenched as he threw that in your face, and you turned away as he reached for you. His fingers pinched your chin, jerking you to face him, and you swallowed. He bent down, staring into your eyes.

“You won’t have to worry about that with us...with me.”

He took one more pull of his cigarette before placing it on the nightstand, tendrils of smoke escaping his nose and mouth just before he pressed his lips to yours, fingers pressing into your skin as he settled between your legs.

~

tags: @cocoamoonmalfoy @trinittyy @ziamslarry-blog @a531a​ @s-u-t​ @sunshinechim-98​ @callmechannel​ @lil-hungryy​ @oneoftheprettynerds​ @scissorkidscult​  @madamerubrum  

[titularkilljoy]

sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

[s-brant]

Cherry Bowl (3/8)

(gif: @kiekiecarrera) (PART TWO) (PART FOUR) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: When Kie cancels their plans together, Y/N asks JJ on a date to the Cherry Bowl Drive-In. Unsure of how to navigate his first ever date, JJ seeks out advice. Unfortunately, the night doesn’t go as planned, and both parties are left shaken by miscommunication.

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Smut, public sex/exhibitionism, sexual choking, angst, depictions of mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, and implied/referenced abuse.

A/N: Welcome back to Tokens! Slight trouble in paradise is brewing for these two lovers, so buckle up and read because it’s gonna be a rollercoster for a little while after what happens in this chapter. I hope you all like it, and if you did, feedback is very appreciated. Have fun!

"I'm just saying that oatmeal raisin is superior to chocolate chip, why is that such an egregious crime, Kie?"

The lunch room is filled to the brim with students going to town on questionably cooked frozen foods, soggy tater tots, and sugary drinks from the vending machines despite the Obama-era posters on the walls advocating for healthier school lunches that never seemed to make their way to Kildare County High. The extent of their healthy lunches extended to a serving of overcooked canned green beans served with the worst slice of doughy pizza known to human kind, so it was sort of contradictory.

Y/N sits across the table from Pope and JJ, the latter of which being the one who launched into a full-fledged debate with Kiara about which type of cookie was better.

The clear cling wrap sits, unfolded, on the table with one of her stickers neatly placed on the back of it. As consolation for his epic loss yesterday at the beach, she paid an extra .75 cents to get him it when she arrived first to their shared lunch period—one of only two class periods they have together, the other being gym. He was still in line when she peeled a surfboard sticker off of her sheet and placed it at the center of the wrapped up cookie as if to remind him of her triumph over him in the waves.

"Thanks, hot stuff," he said, voice somewhat quieter despite the fact that hardly anyone was in the cafeteria with them. Then his smile dropped into an deadpan expression as soon as he saw her choice of sticker and looked back up at her. "You're never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

"Never in a million years. I'll be gloating about it until I'm elderly."

"That's my girl."

The sound of the constant chatter surrounding them from at least two hundred other people drowns out the memories of yesterday that threaten to haunt her when she watches him debate with Kie. The mere recollection of their night in the back of the van has her reaching to pull the collar of her cropped tee up to assure that the hickeys remain hidden on instinct, and he catches the action out of the corner of his eye. It has him fighting a smile.

Kie quips, "Maybe on another planet, but, here, I think we can all agree chocolate chip is better, right Y/N?"

Y/N's eyes widen around a forkful of mushy "green beans" at the sound of her name being said bringing her from the depths of her memories.

Usually, she's quick to jump in and give her two cents on whatever stupid back and forth they're all having, but her mind was elsewhere. Unbeknownst to Kie and Pope, she was mentally reliving every second of getting fucked in the van last night, so her attention to detail when it comes to the Chocolate Chip vs Oatmeal Raisin case isn't all too sharp.

"Uhhh," she stops for a second, looking at the half eaten chocolate chip cookie in Kie's hand, "If I say chocolate chip is better, can I get a piece of it?"

Kie's face lights up at her words, and she's already pulling off a generous chunk of the baked good to hand off to her. The sound of a certain someone whose lap Y/N's legs are outstretched onto from beneath the table scoffing distracts her from the first bite.

"I know you prefer oatmeal raisin, you traitor," JJ says.

Their brunette friend's brows scrunch.

"Why is she a traitor?"

They try to keep from making any faces or giving anything away, but Y/N has to stifle the sound of her choking on her mouthful of cookie at the question. You'd think one of them came out and asked if they were dating or something with how she reacts, and she feels JJ squeeze her ankle in a non-verbal way of telling her to hold it together. It was her idea in the first place, yet he's a lot smoother with keeping it under the radar.

Under it all, the aspect of keeping it a secret does unnerve him to a degree. He doesn't think he'd be brave enough to communicate it, especially not when their relationship remains undefined, but the darker side of his mind wonders...

He shrugs, saying, "Cause we were friends first. Duh. Other than John B, I've known her the longest."

None of them stop to acknowledge the identical aches in their hearts at the mentioning of his name. They skip right over it like it never happened. After the funeral a few days ago, they've filled their quota on mushy-gushy sad talk for the next week and a half.

The real reason is something far more complicated than him having a claim staked on her loyalty through having the longest friendship. It's something tied up in days of slowly getting pulled into one another's worlds like the tug of gravity itself, in how he has to refrain from slipping his arm around her waist in the hallway or kissing her goodbye after a sleepover at the Chateau. But until she gives him the go-ahead, he won't let it slip to anyone.

Pope speaks up from beside him, "You literally met her twenty minutes before we did."

"Still counts. Technically, I did meet her first, so her betraying Team Oatmeal Raisin is enough to be tried for treason in Pogue Court."

"Pogue Court isn't a thing."

He crosses his arms after he pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

"It is now. You can be tried for treason for breaking the rules. Rule number one is that all Pogues have to admit oatmeal raisin is superior."

He's about to ball up the cling wrap to throw away later when the surfboard sticker catches his attention again. It's the same color as his board, which he'd like to think is a result of her being an evil mastermind that went out to get this sticker sheet for the sole purpose of teasing him, but he's the one who got her the sheet as a gift for her birthday, so he knows it was pure coincidence.

Last second, he peels the sticker away from the cling wrap and looks down to place it over the top of her yellow converse that were once a vibrant, paler color when Big John got them for her, but have since turned into an ugly mustard/dirt-dusted color they heckle her over.

"What are the other rules?" Y/N asks.

One of the hands holding onto where her feet are casually planted in his lap, something that they've done long enough that their friends won't see it as anything odd, slides down to caress the stretch of skin beneath the frayed hem of her dark jeans. Something she didn't know about him before whatever it is they have together started was that he constantly needs to be touching her. She can't say she doesn't love it though.

Pope answers, "The oatmeal raisin rule is not official"—a pointed glance at JJ—"But I'd assume the rest of the rules of Pogue Court would be no lying and no macking."

"So, basically you two break almost every rule except the oatmeal raisin one, and I lie," JJ says and turns to look at her, "How does it feel to be better than everyone, Y/N?"

"Pretty good, not gonna lie."

He keeps caressing little circles and tracing up and down her skin beneath the flared out pant leg of her jeans while he swipes his phone off of the table top without attracting the attention of their friends, who continue on to a new topic. She isn't too focused on what it is. She only picks up that it has something to do with a class they're in that's more advanced that hers, so she promptly checks out of the conversation.

Ever since John B died, she hasn't been performing too well in school. She tries, truly tries, but her mind outright refuses to absorb any of the information. When she reads her assigned reading, she hovers over the same paragraphs over and over until she shuts the book in a huff and hides it in her backpack again. Losing someone you love has a surprising amount of side effects.

Her phone buzzing in her hand brings her away from the impending cloud of doom that often accompanies any thoughts of John B, and when she taps in her passcode, her brother's birthday, a message bubble appears with a banner displaying JJ's contact name.

JJ (Derogatory) ur a good liar. prob could've fooled me if i weren't the one macking on u

Their eyes meet for a second across the table, then he watches her thumbs move to type a response.

Kief Princess Little do they know I break every rule now that I've switched sides on the cookie debate. Kinda impressive ngl.

JJ (Derogatory) triple threat, baby

JJ (Derogatory) thanks for the cookie btw

She smiles to herself, so wrapped up in their own world that she doesn't notice everyone in the room starting to pack up their stuff in anticipation of the bell that is due to ring any second now.

Kief Princess Had to repay you for last night somehow ;)

When she glances up to see his reaction, she watches his chest rise with a particularly large inhale, and he chews on the inside of his lip in thought.

JJ (Derogatory) strategically bringing up last night so i'm turned on in physics? ur an evil mastermind

Kief Princess I try.

Kief Princess Apparently whooping your sorry ass at surfing isn't the only thing I'm good at.

She hears him scoff.

JJ (Derogatory) first of all, ouch. second, u barely beat me

Kief Princess I'm happy to challenge you to a rematch. I have plans with Kie tonight, so I can't till this weekend. All it'll prove is that I am the rightful winner, but we knew that already.

JJ (Derogatory) what r the stakes this time

Kief Princess No sexual favors. If you beat me (fat chance) I'll formally rejoin team oatmeal raisin.

JJ (Derogatory) :( sex makes it more fun but i still accept those conditions

JJ (Derogatory) team oatmeal raisin needs u, even if ur a traitor

Kief Princess Why bet sexual favors if you're just gonna fuck me after anyway?

JJ (Derogatory) good point

The sound of the bell ringing echoes through the cafeteria, and they both pop their heads up from their phone screens to see everyone, including Pope and Kie, already packed up and raising from their seats to scurry off in the direction of their next classes. Meanwhile, their stuff is all bestrewn across the table, particularly JJ's belongings.

The sight of Kie walking away makes Y/N ask after her, "We're still on for tonight, right?

She stops with Pope's hand interwoven in hers. The look on her face when she turns would make you think she got caught doing something she wasn't meant to. Something like forgetting about the plans they made last week to watch Fear Street together. The Cherry Bowl Drive-In is premiering the first two movies as a double feature for the horror movie buffs of Kildare, so they decided to get tickets. Kiara shares a fondness of horror movies with her. Since gory movies make the boys squirm, though JJ pretends they don't, it's their own thing.

"Actually, Pope and I were gonna go to the beach. I'm sorry."

JJ knows she's more upset about it than she lets on, but Y/N simply gives the pair a smile that doesn't reach the eyes.

The sound of JJ behind her makes them laugh on their way out, diffusing the minor tension lingering in the air from the awkward encounter, "Use protection!"

After their friends offer them a goodbye, they gather their stuff quite leisurely, not really caring about being late.

It's something they've talked about before here or there: her feelings surrounding Kiara and Pope's sudden relationship. It's not as if she harbors any ill feelings for them, she doesn't, but the ripple effects of their pairing on the group, and more importantly the girls' own friendship, couldn't be clearer from her perspective. Between the missed hangouts, forgotten plans, and the convenient way she never seems to have time to hang out with her and JJ unless Pope is there too, it's been building up for a month now.

What makes it sting the most is how close her and Kie used to be. They didn't hit it off immediately the way she and JJ did as children until her thirteenth birthday when no one she invited showed up to the party Big John helped her set up in the yard of the Chateau.

She was the one who rallied the boys together to walk to ask their school friends from the year above to come hang out for an hour or two, promising a slice of the wonky-looking but delicious strawberry cake her and John B spent the morning crafting together. She can remember the sound of their high-pitched laughs and the cloud of flour that hung in the kitchen when they high-fived over the finished product like it was yesterday. In her heart, it was yesterday.

That night was when she fell in love with her friends, and that was when she first knew Kiara was her best friend. They wove friendship bracelets on each other that night and wore them for years until they withered away. No one had ever done something like that for her before. Not even JJ.

"You okay?"

Feeling his hand on her arm, slipping down to take her hand for a moment in the seclusion of the empty cafeteria, makes her glance up at him with a distinct sorrow washed over her features.

You know what? Screw this. Why should she be torn up over Kie and let it ruin her excitement for the double feature tonight? There's no way in hell she's letting her best friend ditching her for her boyfriend get in the way of her plans.

"Do you wanna go on a date tonight?" she asks him abruptly, then adds, "To the Cherry Bowl with me instead of Kie?"

The question sparks a pause in his mind, a halt of hesitation in which he worries about her avoiding having to answer what he asked, but he attempts to play it cool and not fuss over her outwardly. There have been times where being treated like that has made her feel suffocated, so he doesn't want to risk it. When she's ready, she'll talk about it, and if she takes too long and buries her feelings, then he'll intervene. For now, he tries to keep his face neutral despite the frown tempting his lips at her disappointment.

JJ looks around once more before throwing his arm around her shoulder to walk her out.

"You bet your ass I do."

What is a person supposed to act like on their first date that's not actually a date cause everything between them is the same, but kinda is a date because they called it one? If you ever find out, please find JJ and tell him because he has no clue.

Pope wasn't too much help in the Instagram group chat he made for it seeing as his and Kie's relationship is too fresh, John B isn't even alive, so he's out of service for advice unless there's Ouija Board he can borrow, and, thankfully, Kiara was his savior.

Their phones began blowing up as soon as he reached his class after lunch period ended. He couldn't under any circumstances let it be known that this mystery girl he had a date with was their friend, but thankfully Y/N already had the alibi of going to the Drive-In alone. All he had to do was make up a fake date scenario and get basic advice.

danknugstickiestickies added kiara-c and popeheyward to the groupchat

danknugstickiestickies named the group HELP ME

danknugstickiestickies i have a date with this chick i met on the beach when i was out with y/n last week. i need ur advice

His phone screen lit up with the notification that both of his friends were typing, signified with the three dot symbol bouncing in the bottom left corner as he thought it through. They couldn't possibly figure it out, right? They'd been careful, he'd been respectful of her wishes, and they'd been too busy together to notice anything new with them. He figured it would work. It was a risk, sure, but it was worth it to him. He didn't want to fuck this up with her.

Knowing her, she probably wouldn’t even treat it differently than any of their other hang outs. It's not like they haven't been romantic or sexual with each other. They've done everything but go out on an actual date, so why was he nervous?

kiara-c ummmm

popeheyward Yeah, I'm gonna need you to ELABORATE!!

kiara-c did hell freeze over? since when does jj maybank go out on dates??

danknugstickiestickies renamed the group hell froze over

kiara-c very funny, I'm laughing so hard 😐

popeheyward Do we know her?

danknugstickiestickies don't think u do. she moved here last week and hasn't enrolled in school yet. her name's steph

popeheyward What about Y/N though?

kiara-c ^^

JJ's chest muscles tightened with the question prompting a rush of anxiety that made his breathing feel slightly harder. He glanced up at his Physics teacher, who was essentially dozing off behind his desk with his hand in a bag of chips and an educational video on the projector as an excuse to not teach, and looked back down at his phone without the added stress of possibly getting his phone confiscated.

Pope's message might as well have been a sucker punch. Forget butterflies, he set a wasp’s nest loose inside of his stomach to tie it into knots and flip it every which way. His neglected textbook served as a prop for his phone to lean on as he set it down to think.

Did they know? As far as he was aware, they were getting away with it. No evidence, concrete or circumstantial, was there to prove it. At least the stress of the situation killed any chance of him being turned on by her reminder of last night in their messages. This shit was boner repellant of the highest degree.

He played stupid. Better to let them volunteer whatever information they had before he went in saying anything incriminating that they didn't already know. If anything would sour the experience of their first date, it would be him accidentally making their strange in-between relationship public behind her back.

danknugstickiestickies ?? what do u mean

Three dots bounced in the bottom left corner of his slightly cracked phone screen.

popeheyward ...

kiara-c I mean, you don't see it?

danknugstickiestickies see what

popeheyward I guess we were wrong, but all of us always thought you two had some feelings going on.

"You don't say?" JJ murmured sarcastically to himself under his breath. "Never crossed my mind, Pope."

danknugstickiestickies bro that's jb's little sister

kiara-c so?

danknugstickiestickies forbidden fruit? making john b roll over in his grave? do those ring a bell or am i speaking in tongues

He was already a proficient liar in real life, but, fuck, it was easy in text messages. There's no chance at deciphering facial expression or tone, just a plain message with no room to budge. Thank God he didn't do this in person with them. He could've survived, but it wouldn't have been as quick and painless as the group chat was.

kiara-c jeez, sorry

Pope didn't voice it, but he noticed something.

He looked up from his phone and stared off at the wall in thought in his AP European History class. It piqued his interest that JJ simply said she was off limits, forbidden fruit as he put it, but did not outright deny having feelings for her. In fact, he didn't even address the question. He made excuses for why he shouldn't have feelings for her, but he never said he didn't have feelings for her.

Kie did not notice. Not because she wasn't smart enough to either, but because she was too busy hiding her phone behind her backpack to think too deeply about it. Her teacher was one of those teachers that would flip shit if they saw a cell phone turned off and faced down on the desk, let alone being used by a student during a lesson.

In his classroom across the hallway, JJ bounced his leg up and down beneath his desk in an absentminded urge to release the built up energy the anxiety produced in an over abundance.

popeheyward Our bad then. Even John B thought y'all were sus lmao.

Since when was that a known fact? Could he tell? Did he talk to Pope about him and Y/N before he died? Either way, it wasn't the time to pry about it.

kiara-c yeah you guys honestly could've fooled me if you wanted to

danknugstickiestickies well thank u, glad ur invested in our friendship but

danknugstickiestickies please help, i have no fucking clue how to act on a date and this girl is too cool for me to screw this up

That was when they finally dropped the interrogation session and started offering up tips. The best ones came from Kie, which made sense to him since women are more likely to know what other women like than two dudes who share one collective brain cell and never had real relationships.

Rule One: Be ready to pick her up five minutes early.

He wasn't ready to pick her up five minutes early. His bike broke down by the time he made it halfway down his street, so he had to push it back up the road and into the yard before setting off on foot to reach the Chateau quickly enough. And by quickly enough, it means he got there five minutes late, not early.

Rule Two: Compliment her after you get in the car.

She tossed him the keys to the Twinkie from across the hood, not giving him the chance to open the door for her, and it wasn't until they were setting off down the road that he remembered the next piece of advice he was given.

Side-eyeing her in his peripheral vision, he tried to find something to compliment her on specifically rather than the general compliments about her being pretty that she never fully believes when he says them. He was intending to say something about the skirt she had on, but when he chanced a glance over at her, she caught him and asked—

"What is it?"

Sent into panic mode, JJ blurted out instead, "I like your shoes."

He could've bashed his face against the steering wheel twenty times right then and there at the utter absence of reaction on her part for the next few uncomfortable seconds. It wasn't that it was a bad compliment. She appreciates any compliments at all...but her shoes were hidden from his view. Not to mention, they were the dirty, mustard yellow converse that the Pogues bash on a daily basis.

She laughed, lifting her leg to expose the sneaker on her right foot, and asked, "These? Dude, you roast me for these all the time. You and John B said they look like Big Bird shit on them."

The skin on the apples of his cheeks scorched hot with embarrassment, and he was never so glad that the overhead lights in the van were burnt out until that moment. He would've died on the spot if she saw him blush like that, face flushed pinker than sunburn. All he could do to save himself was murmur something about the color growing on him and keep driving in the direction of the theater with his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel he fantasized about banging his face into.

Rule Three: Insist on picking up the check.

In this case, it meant insist on buying the popcorn and drinks, and he miraculously managed to drop his wallet somewhere along the way when he ran over to the Chateau, so when he stepped up to the makeshift concession stand with her standing at his side, he felt around for his wallet in his jeans to no avail.

His thoughts echoed back to him, You gotta be fucking kidding me. Seriously? Is this actually happening right now?

"JJ, it's honestly fine," she said softly as he leaned over to search back of the Twinkie for the wallet. "We can look for it on your street right now if you want. It has your ID and stuff, you don't want a stranger to have that. We don't need to stay—"

It took all of his control to not shout it in reaction when he said, "No way. You've been waiting for this, and Kie ditched you, so I ain't ditching you too. We're staying."

His wallet could go kick rocks.

He came too far to be dragged down by the old leathery piece of shit anyway. Would he go out and search for it tirelessly the second the date ended? Hell yeah, that fucker had twenty dollars and his debit card in it, but he couldn't bear the thought of abandoning her or ruining her anticipated movie night by taking her out to search the streets with their phone flashlights for a wallet they might not find. He'd wait till the movies ended, take her home, then haul ass around the Cut searching for it after.

Thankfully, he found a couple bucks crumbled up in his front pocket while she scavenged for coins in the glove compartment, and they came up with enough to buy a water bottle and small popcorn to share together.

Rule Four: Don't have sex on the first date.

And it may sound easy enough to not act like a complete Neanderthal for the length of two movies, but the girl makes it pretty damn difficult if he's to say so himself.

That's what led him here, laying in the back of the sideways-parked Twinkie in the farthest corner of the outdoor theater with her practically on top of him. In any other instance, he wouldn't be opposed in the slightest, but with the cursed fourth rule in mind, he isn't too thrilled with the feeling of her hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

It isn't even meant to be sexual. They're constantly touching one another this way. She'll even slip her hands up under his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin or when he asks her if she can get an itch on a part of his back he can't reach, but for some reason his brain is short circuiting right now.

The thing is, when Kie and Pope said he shouldn't do it on the first date, they meant it for his and Steph's made up circumstances, not his and Y/N's full-blown relationship without labels. When you've had sex with someone as many times as they have with each other, the hesitancy on the "first date" is nonexistent. It doesn't matter. But JJ, trying to follow the advice given to him to the letter for the sake of being the date she deserves, doesn't think about it that way.

It shouldn't be this nerve-wracking. They've been best friends since they were children, they've been flirting since they found out what basic attraction was in the first place, and they've been forming this relationship ever since John B died. Why can't he relax? Why is this so different compared to how easy it felt between them yesterday on the beach or today at lunch?

Rule Five: Be yourself.

It takes him another few moments of laying here with her before he realizes quite abruptly what went wrong in a quick flash of a thought that brings the fifth rule back to him. The problem wasn't the bike, or the weird compliment about her Big Bird sneakers, or the lost wallet.

The problem is him. The problem is that he's trying way too hard to make this something it isn't. The part about them that he adores so dearly is how they never have to try when they're together. With any other girl or guy, they'd have to fake something or act a certain way, yet when they're together, they can simply exist and everything is runs smoothly. That's not to say they don't disagree or bump heads, they do, but short of those outlier moments, it's easier than anything else they do in life.

His eyes flicker away from the screen for the first time since the movie began, which, by the way, is gruesome enough at times that he had to divert his eyes to prevent himself from seeing it happen. They land on where she lays, completely content with the night in spite of its mishaps, with her head propped up on the pillows they brought from the Chateau.

He wonders if she can tell he's acting differently. Surely she must notice. She's the type of person that typically never misses a thing, perfect for the gold hunt they went on in the summer with picking up the clues and helping her brother unravel the mystery, so maybe she noticed how flustered this date has him. Does it bother her? Does he bother her?

With a confirming glance back up at the movie to see nothing important happening, he can't fight the urge to speak anymore.

"Can I tell you something?"

His voice appearing through the darkness of the shut off van after spending the past half hour in complete silence makes her jolt at first before realizing who it was. Though she loves horror movies, she can't claim to not be affected by them. The night she falls asleep after watching one, she often finds herself compelled to turn a light on and keep her feet from dangling off the edge of the bed. It's worth the fear, though.

When she turns to look at JJ, there's a warm smile on her face. She's cuddled into his side with a hand placed casually atop his thigh, caressing with no purpose or intent, and her movement halts when the light from the movie on the projector allows her to see the expression on his face.

Anxiety has become an increasingly significant presence in his life with the recent events in mind; John B and Sarah, the four-hundred million dollars they lost out on, and dodging his father whenever he sneaks home to switch out the backpack of clothes and personal belongings he keeps at the Routledge house.

It manifests itself in jittery nerves, stomach pains, shortness of breath, and, at worst, panic attacks striking either at random or in response to a specific trigger. It's one of the few things he still tries to hide from her, and she tries not to push him too hard with opening up about it.

She abandons the movie for the time being and rolls onto her side to face him, upper body propped up on her elbow as she examines his face with downturned features.

"Of course," she says.

The words left unsaid are, "You can tell me anything. Whenever you need someone to listen, or to talk to about shit, you can tell me." He's heard her say it enough that he doesn't need to hear it now to know it's true.

There's a pause, then—

"I feel like I fucked this entire date up," he starts to ramble and cuts her off before she can think about saying what she wants to, "and I know it's okay to you. You have way too high of a tolerance for my bullshit, and I've been trying so hard to make this perfect, but all that did was screw it up."

She's left quiet for a second, taking it all in.

Maybe if he hadn't been so anxious about it, he would've realized what was wrong with his bike when he rode it home from school, or he would've noticed his wallet fall out of his pocket. The point is, he wishes he hadn't let the label attached to this freak him out so much. He isn't sure why it does, but it does.

But she doesn't do what he expects. She isn't drowning him in reassurances and, "It's okay's" because she knows he doesn't care for them much. When he, the most stubborn person she knows, apologizes for something he did, he doesn't want it to turn into the person accepting the apology coddling him.

Y/N sighs.

"Is that why you've been acting so different all night? I scared you with the whole ‘date’ thing, didn't I? It doesn't have to be a date if you don't want it to be."

What she doesn't know is that he wants it to be a date. He wants it to be a date so badly, he risked Pope and Kie finding them out for the sake of getting some proper advice on it, and now he's caught up in the same game of tug and war in his mind that always occurs when he wants to tell her the truth about his feelings for her.

Part of him doesn't understand why he doesn't outright say it. With every other girl he once showed interest in, he had no issues in letting them know he wanted them, but this is different. This isn't simply wanting someone, he thinks he's fallen for her. But whenever he says he's gonna grow a pair and tell her after all this time, he chokes. Involuntarily, he's reminded of his parents. Other than his friends saying it platonically, the only people to tell him they loved him were them, and with how they treated him, he sure as hell doesn't think that is love.

From his dad's brutal physical abuse to his mom's abandonment, he's too timid to tell her he loves her because of what could happen if she loves him back. Everyone else that has said that to him has either hurt him, died like John B did, or abandoned him.

He won't let that happen with him and Y/N. What they have, albeit undefined and codependent, is safe. It's the only thing he has left. Maybe it isn't right, and maybe he should open up about it to communicate the correct way, but somewhere in the misshapen logic of his mind, he correlates love to abandonment. And he doesn't want that to happen with her.

There are two sides of him at battle inside his mind. One side, the side that wants to do right by their relationship and actually communicate his feelings for once in his life, wants him to tell her everything. The other side, the side that responds based on the history of his past, wants him to hide it all.

"Will you be mad at me if we don't call it a date?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

The heavy sensation inside of JJ's chest nears a point of vitriolic violence against him as he starts to realize what he's doing to her, clearly letting her down, but he can't stop himself. Like a passive witness watching himself from outside of his body, the instantaneous trauma response to the sudden confrontation of his true feelings for her guides his actions without his permission. It shuts down any protest he has.

The sound of the movie fills the gap of silence between them the entire time. It’s a variety of bloodcurdling screams and disgusting sounds that would've made him gag if he weren't as distracted.

They can make out each other's faces through the darkness, but barely. It takes a flash of bright color from the film or a nearby car's lights turning on for them to fully see one another. Without the other knowing, they both put masks of calm and collected coolness on their faces despite the feelings raging beneath the surface—more so on his part than hers.

"Maybe," he says, pausing, "we should just keep things the way they've been."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a soul-crushing amount of disappointment weighs her down. She said it was fine if he doesn't want it to be a date—and it is, she would never hold it against him—but that doesn't mean it can't hurt her. Things have been going so well, she almost thought...If tonight went well, she was thinking about no longer keeping it a secret, but if he said he wants things to stay the same, then maybe he isn't as ready for it as she is?

Meanwhile, JJ is on another page entirely.

She's embarrassed of being with you, a familiar voice in the back of his head croons. She's gonna leave just like everyone else does. If she doesn't even wanna tell your friends, why should you pretend you're dating?

The internal comments are the type that cause him to physically grimace when he's alone. Intrusive thoughts are just that: intrusive.

Sneaking into the guarded sanctuary of a person's mind, they set out to convince them the opposite of their reality. The only thing is, where most people's minds are guarded sanctuaries with walls of impregnable defense, his mind is the equivalent of a fortress blown to smithereens. The castle walls lay in rubble, the guards no where to be seen, and the path for these thoughts to slip past and straight to the vulnerability of his mind is left wide open.

In the privacy of his room, these thoughts attack him the most at night when he tries to fall asleep—when things get too quiet. With nobody around, when they get this bad there's nothing he can do except break down. It builds from the mere anxiety of attempting to force the thoughts away to full-blown panic attack mode. The more he resists them, the more aggressive they become. He'll gasp for air with tears streaming down his face, hitting his head with the heel of his hand as if that'd do something to stop his relentless mind.

But he can't afford to react in front of her, so the extent of his reaction is a subtle twitch of his face that she cannot see in the momentary darkness before the movie switches to another scene a second later. In a way, it does make the thoughts go away to have her here preventing him from spiraling alone. Having to focus on her keeps his mind away for moments at a time until the thoughts ease their grip on him.

When she hasn't answered for a while, he asks, terrified that he did something bad, "Are we good?"

The question seems to wake her up, snapping her out of the lonely direction her thoughts went into when he "rejected" her. It takes every bit of common sense she has left to force herself to understand that this doesn't mean he doesn't want her. He does, and not calling this a date doesn't mean they won't be together in the way they have been since John B's death, but she isn't perfect. She gets as unsure and insecure as he does.

As if the cloud of doom was lifted off of her, she makes her face lighten where she lays on her side next to him. Seeing this expression makes his chest feel less heavy, and he could let out a sigh of relief at the realization that he didn't break her heart and stomp on it. He should've known. Y/N is the sweetest person he knows, so she never would've flipped shit over him not wanting to label this as a date. That's not how she is.

And he's partly right. It isn't how she is. She would never hold it against him if he didn't want something further with her since she got herself into this position by pursuing him with his reputation with girls in mind, but she can't ignore it. Whether she wants it to or not, it had its affect on her as soon as he said it.

She leans in to kiss him, their lips meeting in the middle with the faint taste of popcorn salt mingling at the soft peck.

When she pulls away, she brushes the hair back from his face and says, "Don't worry. Nothing can change how I feel about you."

She has no clue what it feels like to hear that from her.

Despite the turmoil they unknowingly share beneath the surface due to this conversation, he could cry hearing her say it. It doesn't feel real to him that she feels the same way he does about her, because nothing could change how he feels about her either. That’s why he manages to work up the courage to repeat it back to her, and, for now, this is the closest he's physically capable of coming to telling her the truth.

"Ditto," he says.

It isn't what she wanted, but it's close enough, and if she dwells on this any longer, she might start getting too emotional and let the urge to tear up become too strong. Why does she have to be this sensitive? It's no secret that it's remarkably easy to make her cry, but this is insane to her. When all of this began with him, she didn't give a shit about him not wanting a label. She understood him, and she understood that he doesn't do this kind of thing, so why has it changed? Why doesn't she want to keep it a secret anymore? Why does she want this to be a date when she knows he doesn't want it to be?

Pulled by an invisible string back to him to silence her mind, she leans in to kiss him again with a hand cupping the back of his neck to guide him the rest of the way to her.

It shouldn't be laced with any sexual intention. She should be kissing him simply because she wants to, and, in a way, she is. Their kisses and touches are never lacking the motivation that is their underlying connection and mutual feelings for one another, but this is not the same. As he kisses her back with as much confidence and passion as always, she is reeling from the conversation that reminded her too much of a breakup.

It takes another minute of this for the kiss to heat up, their breathing becoming shallower in the moments they part to inhale, and she is undeniably the one instigating when she officially crosses the line between casual and sexual by crawling onto his lap. It's not hard for him to pick up on when their innocent moments take a turn. She's easy to read in that regard, and this has happened a multitude of times with them, so the shift of a mini make out session turning into something more is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

If he knew how shaken she is on the inside, he'd never want this. And the same would go for her if she knew what he was thinking before this. Neither of them wants to admit what they're feeling.

With her legs seated on either side of his hips, she kisses him like it's the last time she'll ever get the opportunity to. Her hands wander wherever they can, pulling at his shirt and feeling him up as his hands guide her hips to move against his in a steady grinding that she has no issue partaking in. It's an eagerness he hasn't seen from her in weeks. She's never un-excited when it comes to being physical with him either, but this is another level. The last time a girl was all over him like this, it was desperate touron at a party a few months ago.

In the span of time it takes her to glance over her shoulder to see if anyone could see them and reach to pull her skirt up until it bunches around her hips—no one can see them, by the way, since they got here late and were forced to cram the van into the back corner of the lot with no street lights illuminating the path—his brows raise at her presumptuous behavior. Not that he's one to complain, however, seeing as he's typically the one doing what she is.

Their next kiss clashes their teeth hard enough to make them wince, but he loves it. It makes him smirk into her parted mouth, alive with both the feeling her reassurance provided and the fuzzy-headed high that often finds him when they're together in this way. Incomparable to past flings or the high related to any drugs, she is the peak of everything to him. It's no contest.

His chest stutters against hers with a bout of amused laughter, asking within a brief pause in what feels like the most JJ thing he's said this awkward night, "Two for two in the Twinkie. What's gotten into you?"

Y/N's hand dips between where their bodies move together to unclasp the closed buckle of his belt in one smooth motion that has it falling apart with a clinking noise.

Her features are set with a look that tells him she means business. Whatever it is that sparked this, he wonders how the fuck to make it happen again another time. She's begged for it before, but never taken control so dominantly, and he can't deny what the role reversal does to him. The evidence is obvious in the distinct hardness she feels pressing up against the hand undoing his jeans.

"I was hoping it'd be you," she says, voice breathless and airy from the constant contact in a way that makes it ten times hotter for him.

If there were any chance of him not being in the mood prior to this, which wasn't the case anyway, it's gone now. He never wants to hear her say she doesn't deliberately try to tease him ever again.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

JJ surges forward to capture her mouth with his, this time with no intention of pulling away to breathe or speak again. No, he'll let himself get lightheaded and dizzy if it means he can stay with her for as long as possible.

With the circumstances of it all, them being visible to someone if they happened to pass by the open door of the van, they move at a pace quicker than usual. She's immediately helping him shimmy his jeans and underwear far enough down his hips to free his dick from the confines of his clothes, making him sigh out a breath of relief when her hand brushes against him in the process.

There's no opportunity to slow down, it has exploded into a full-throttle speed race that neither of them can halt.

His hand blindly flies out beside him to grope the floor of the van for the set of keys he tossed carelessly to the side once the movie started, eyes shut in the midst of the hot, messy kiss they share. His fingers find the fabric of one of the blankets they brought in case they got cold, then drifts again and lands on her Big Bird sneakers until he feels the sharp metal of her keys meet his calloused palm.

After the events of last summer, she bought a switch blade to keep on her key ring alongside the keys to the van, HMS Pogue, and Chateau. She may not like violence or weapons, seeing as she was a skeptic of JJ keeping the gun alongside her friends, but she saw it necessary. Between Rafe, Topper, and Kelce, how could she leave the safety of her and her friends up to chance knowing what some of the kooks did to them not long ago? What happened to Pope on the golf course alone was enough to make her skin crawl.

Right now, though, the knife flips out from the pressure of his thumb pushing the button to release it. He holds it out away from her at first to assure it doesn't nick her in the process, then uses his other hand to tug the side of her panties that hugs her hip far out enough to press the sharp side of the blade onto the inside of it.

She can hardly believe what she's watching as JJ cuts the delicate maroon underthings from her body as if he were doing something so normal, like it's something he's done before. Her forehead is pressed against his, her mouth parted both in shock and in a need to pant for oxygen, and she watches the knife ruin her favorite panties. The stitches come apart with a satisfying ripping noise that can hardly be heard over the sound of people reacting to the movie in the background.

Other customers of the Cherry Bowl Drive-In are too glued to the screen as a beloved character is chased down, reacting in shouts when she's seized by the killer and shoved onto the table of an industrial bread slicer, so they remain wholly unnoticed.

The lace, now ripped in half, dangles on the tip of the knife when he lifts it away from her, tosses it aside, and presses the button once more to retract the blade. It clatters to the floor, but is in no way forgotten with them resuming in a desperation to keep going until they both satisfy the need clawing at them from the inside. But her sense of need is different from his, and even with the fresh memory of him with the switch blade in mind, she's still somewhere else the whole time.

Her mind is faraway, muted through layers of sadness, anger, and disappointment as he reaches between them to line himself up to her entrance. The sensation of him running his cock, hard and messy with a few drops of precome, through her dripping pussy to coat it in her slick arousal is enough to make her moan pathetically. Yet when he's about to guide himself inside of her, she stops him.

"Wait, wait, wait," she breathes out rapidly, heart pounding so hard she can feel herself pulsating between her thighs, "Condom."

They were so antsy to get to it, they almost forgot.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, and his eyes flicker from where they were trained between their bodies to glance back and forth around the van before it hits him. "I lost my wallet..."

But right when he thinks their public rendezvous in the back of the Drive-In is over due to his unfortunate mistake, she shakes her head and slips away from her perch astride his lap to crawl over to her bag.

She fumbles with the old tote bag and plunges her arm in to sift through the hodge podge of things that are purely Y/N in nature—stickers, glitter pens, a half-eaten bag of candy, etc—for the square foil package she decided to toss in before she left just in case. She usually doesn't keep them on her because he never fails to have one, but, thankfully, she had the random instinct to bring it tonight.

The only thing to bring her out of her cloudy, malevolent storm of feelings when she settles back onto his lap with the condom wrapper ripped open for him is him saying, "So you planned this, huh?" with his mouth tipped in a familiar self-satisfied grin.

She didn't plan it. In fact, she threw herself at him the second she sensed him withdrawing from her and can't stop herself despite the fact that she constantly feels two seconds away from letting a tear slip down her cheek. If that counts as "planning it", then sure.

"Maybe so," she answers, cool, calm, and collected—the antithesis of the truth.

They usually don't lie to each other.

They're thrown right back into it without any other hiccups once he rolls the condom on, and he takes in a shaky breath at her hand wrapping around him to align their bodies up. Before she can do anything, though, he takes chance to swipe the blanket he found a moment ago and wrap it around her back to keep her covered in case they get caught.

Y/N sinks down onto his cock with her lip caught between her teeth to stifle the sound that threatens to escape. JJ, on the other hand, doesn't bother concealing the sound of the groan he makes at the sensation of having her wrapped around him like this. The tension in her entire body from the anticipation and the looming threat of being seen by someone has her squeezing him so tightly, he can't help but be a little louder than he should.

Her soft palm slaps over his mouth with enough pressure to force his groan to quiet itself, and she watches his pretty blue eyes widen in reaction to the dominant action. Who is this girl and what has she done with his sweet, submissive Y/N? Don't get him wrong, he is very turned on by it, but it's unlike her to take the lead this way. He can't figure it out.

"What's wrong, angel?" she asks in a whisper into his ear, her hand over his mouth and her hips starting to slowly rock against him, "Watch the movie."

Once the words leave her mouth, she drops her hand, just in case he wants to stop and can't say anything because she had his mouth covered, and JJ is pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven.

He doesn't watch the movie, not at all, because he's too busy watching her. For someone losing their mind internally, she does not let it show, nor does she let it distract her from what's happening. If anything, the distraction in this situation is the sex, not what's going on inside of her head.

There's a moment of adjustment and going as slowly and gently as possible while waiting for the dull pressure of feeling him inside of her to fade away, but, for the most part, she doesn't waste any time. As soon as she feels comfortable enough with the ache between her thighs giving way to a spark of pleasure when she grinds her clit down on his pubic bone, she starts to ride him at a better pace than the initial slow movements of her hips.

She raises herself up and takes him again inch by inch, enjoying the sense of fullness she gets from having to fit him in spite of the slight discomfort at first, and she could swear that he'll leave bruises in the shape of his handprints with how tightly he clutches her hips. It's all he can do to prevent himself from moaning or saying something, ever the vocal lover she's come to know.

Unless his mouth is preoccupied like it was on the beach yesterday afternoon, JJ is usually impossible to shut up, especially in this context. With him always whispering dirty things to her, whether it be praises, pet names, or plans on what he wants to do to her, she has come to find it breathtakingly hot. He could likely get away with saying something if he wanted to, but he isn't sure he wants to risk it. If he opens his mouth to spew something filthy to her, he won't trust himself not to make a louder, different kind of noise that won't fit in the with background audio the other moviegoers are listening to.

The wet sound of their bodies colliding that fills the space of the van is drowned out by the loud and violent sequence occurring on the screen far ahead of them, and hearing it makes her bounce herself on him a little harder. She's fueled on by it all, and, strangely, what happened before she practically pounced on him is the main contributor.

Similarly to the nature of his intrusive thoughts, the harder she resists the memory of how it felt when he told her he didn't want this to be a date, the more forceful it is in its return. Her eyes trail down to watch where they connect with her forehead pressed to his, then she's thrown back into the feeling of helpless disappointment and insecurity. His head tips back against the window with his bottom lip dropped open and his brows furrowed just enough to create a crease on his forehead, and she's bombarded with the look of relief on his face when he realized he didn't have to be tied down to her with a label.

It makes her want to get rougher, harder, and she doesn't even care if it'll make her sore later on. She presses herself down so far every time she slides down on his cock, her teeth draw blood on her lip with how hard she must bite it to remain quiet. The pain of her hipbones rubbing against his doesn't even matter to either of them at this point. They're both too lost in the pleasure that has begun to take control of them to care about something as minuscule as that, or the burn in her thighs from the repetitive physical strain.

She grabs his wrist and brings his hand between them, flattening hers overtop of it and pressing down on the base of her abdomen in the midst of the increasingly feverish thrusts.

"Feel you here," she murmurs to him through a quiet moan, hoping he can hear it over the movie, and pushes down on his hand for emphasis. And if the way he reacts by cursing under his breath tells her anything, it's that he picked up on it. "JJ..."

He reaches out to grab her by the throat with his free hand and tug her forward to kiss him, as if something inside of him snapped in response to her doing that. The motions of her jolting up and down throws the already messy and uncoordinated kiss off-kilter, but they don't mind. It has them separating every time she lifts up, producing this heady little head rush from from them breathing in each other's air without actually letting their mouths meet in the middle.

Though they're trying their hardest not to alert anyone outside of what's happening, it didn't occur to him until now, when his eyes catch John B's old bandana swinging back and forth where it's secured around the rear view mirror.

They're worried about moaning while the entire fucking Twinkie is rocking with their movements. Well, at least it makes good use of the corny sticker he gifted John B last year as a gag gift. He tried to peel it off after JJ snuck it onto the side window to no avail. So, now Y/N is stuck with a sticker on her car reading, "If the van's a-rockin', come on in, we like orgies," rather than the more common phrase.

It almost makes him start laughing, and he prays no one takes that shit seriously, 'cause he is never intent on sharing this breathtaking girl. Ever.

Y/N isn't anywhere near laughing like he is, in fact, she's finding it difficult to keep herself together. She feels her eyes sting with the promise of tears, and she's never felt so pathetic before. Is she seriously about to cry during sex? Is she really that girl that is so ill-equipped to handle rejection, she can't get through it without tears?

She won't cry. Perhaps if he sees how glossy her eyes have become in a rare moment of good lighting, she can blame it on the hand around her throat putting pressure on the sides of her neck.

The worst part about her being near to crying is the timing of it.

The emotion of what she feels mentally mixes with the swirling, building sensation she feels in the pit of her stomach that tells her she's close to going over the edge, and it's so overwhelming. Was she imagining that their friendship had changed? More importantly, is this all she'll ever be to him? Sex is the only thing she's sure of with him, it's the only thing that doesn't require deeper emotions, and when the ground beneath their fragile relationship felt shaky...

He can feel her starting to unravel, and he knows that he'll come before she does if he doesn't do anything now, so he decides to take control.

JJ pulls the hand he had resting on her abdomen away as though he were burned by it, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her body against his and using the hand around her neck for leverage to thrust up into her, effectively reducing her to a teary-eyed, moaning mess atop him. They both stopped caring about making noise the second he began to fuck her like this.

She cries out in ecstasy at the sudden change in pace and depth that has him hitting all the right places. Every time he thrusts up into her, just as rough as she wished for, the tip of his cock nudges into that perfect spot inside of her that makes her incapable of silencing her moans. This time, it's JJ that puts his hand over her mouth, letting the one he had around her neck move away to keep her from alerting everyone around them of what's happening.

There's nothing she can do to stop her climax as it barrels through her in its initial sweeping wave of bliss to contrast the venomous doubts in her mind. She's never felt such conflicting, yet powerful feelings before—the intensity of the physical pleasure that makes her whine into the palm of his hand, then the part of her mind replaying every word he said in their conversation before this.

Her body is rigid and tense through it all, squeezing down around his cock with the involuntary spasms of her orgasm, and he can't help himself anymore. All it takes are a few more frantic thrusts for him to bury himself inside of her one last time and spill into the condom, uncovering her mouth so he can drown out his own groans into a kiss.

Their skin sticks to their clothes on the inside with sweat from the exertion of their actions, and he can feel her stomach tremble where it presses up against his with each undulation of her hips that meet his as he rides it out.

But even with the added distraction of the sex, she can't rid herself of the feeling that started plaguing her as soon as things went awry. That was why he was acting weird all night. He must have been so worried about her thinking this was anything more than their typical hangouts that he couldn't bring himself to act normally.

She forces herself to look happy when they pull away from the kiss, panting, and JJ, unaware of what she's been thinking, doesn't notice the small deception.

Tag list: @gabiatthedisco

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 8 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Another update for Tumblr!

This work goes by On the Courtship of Monkey D. Luffy on AO3, and I’ll be updating over there tonight as well!

A quick question....do people like reading the updates here on Tumblr? Or now that it’s on AO3, would people prefer to read there? And if so, would you be okay waiting for new updates until AO3 catches up? I’m a little torn because I’m not sure if people are enjoying reading on here, and it’s quite a hassle to format for Tumblr, and it’s getting a bit difficult for me to juggle updating these stories on 3 separate platforms...

ANYWAY, in this update, Thatch has some Thoughts, and there is mention of Ace x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 3

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 4

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 5

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 6

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 7

~~

What are her 3 sizes?

(For the wedding dress, of course.)

"The fuck! Like I'd tell you!" Thatch roars, startling the blue gull into momentarily leaping off the rail, before it circles back, landing again to peck at his  sleeve to express its displeasure. Thatch ignores it, because he's fuming.

So apparently all of his and Koala's secret debates over whether Marco intentionally proposed or not were for naught, because here's the fucking evidence. And it comes from Izo of all people, because Thatch would recognize that lopsided handwriting anywhere (the man insists that his handwriting is beautiful in his native language of Wano, but he never quite got used to writing any other way).

And well, if Izo, an unrelated third party but professional snooper knows, then Marco himself must know.

And apparently, they're already planning a wedding.

Thatch feels like an idiot. He'd been defending Marco against Koala, and the lil Revolutionary was a tough opponent, one he'd had to chase out of the kitchen with a ladle more than once when he was tired of her word games. Thatch had insisted, like a fool, that no Marco's not that kind of guy, he really isn't the type to play with people's emotions, he would never propose for a joke, nor would he do it seriously without good reason. It must all be an accident, a little misunderstanding, Marco was just ignorant like Thatch himself was!

Except, apparently he did know and it wasn't an accident, and now Thatch feels completely lost because he doesn't know what Marco's thinking at all. Marco, who's not just his his first friend on the Moby, but arguably his best friend; Marco, his brother over several decades; Marco, who Thatch thought he knew better than anyone, except perhaps Pops himself...

Thatch's also pissed, because if Marco wants to start drama after they all reunite and he's introduced to Luffy, that's one thing (not that that would be great either). But right now, they're still near the beginning of Paradise with almost half the circumference of the world to go until even the halfway point, and Marco is WAY on the other side of the Red Line. If this ship explodes in flames or whatever that batshit Revolutionary brother might do, Mister First Division Commander is completely unaffected, but there are plenty of innocents here (like hello! Thatch!) who would find that pretty devastating.

Also, Thatch was the one who passed on that gift to Luffy! Even if he didn't know what it meant at the time...doesn't that make Thatch complicit? And even if not, Marco's strongest connection here is clearly Thatch. If Marco's actions cause chaos, then the blame and responsibility to clean up the mess naturally falls upon Thatch. Which, he definitely did not sign up for.

Pops, Thatch thinks miserably, I thought I was supposed to show them they can depend on us Whitebeards, NOT that us Whitebeards will fuck shit up for them...

But more than anything, there's a shocking large part of Thatch that absolutely balks at just the idea of Luffy getting married. And it's shocking because Thatch shouldn't feel this upset.

Marco, for all the complaints Thatch wants to hurl at him at the moment, is still a really great guy. A guy who, in literally any other situation, Thatch would be the first in line to enthusiastically encourage, and also to congratulate.

And sure, Thatch knows he has a crush, and his little Seastar's carving out a larger home for herself in his heart by the day, but--Thatch admittedly has crushes a lot. Sure, this one feels different, but...Marco, to his knowledge, has never had a romantic crush. He only sometimes but very rarely even has a night out, and Thatch doesn't think he's ever held a relationship longer than three encounters. He's always so serious, so diligent, so sincerely and whole-heartedly dedicated to Pops and his family. He almost never does anything selfish for himself, and Thatch would know.

If, for whatever reason, Marco is genuinely serious about Luffy...then Thatch should, and would, step to the side, regardless of personal feelings. If this is the path Marco wants, then he deserves it, and Thatch will always be the first to say it, no matter how craptastic the circumstances. And Thatch knows that Marco would give his bride the world.

Without them even having met, Thatch doesn't doubt for a second that Marco would make Luffy happy, till the end of her days.

The fact that Thatch knows all this, yet still feels near unbearable reluctance...says more than he's willing to admit.

And so he decides to avoid thinking about the most obvious reason (his own feelings), and instead contemplates his second very compelling reason: Ace.

His littlest brother isn't so great at being honest with himself, and never has. But this, Thatch feels, isn't just a matter of denial.

The boy literally has no clue.

Oh sure, Ace knows he loves his little brother. He makes sure everyone else knows it too, both here on the Merry and back on the Moby once he opened up enough to talk to people. He's so damn proud of her, yet also concerned for her, while also trusting her with his life and more. It's clear to anyone who sees them together that he absolutely adores her.

But it's more than that, isn't it, Thatch thinks. It's in the little gestures, the way Ace raises his arm up without looking at her and she slides under it, also without needing to look at him. It's the casual way they lace their fingers together, like it's nothing, when they're snoozing out on the deck. It's the way sometimes they have unspoken conversations, just staring into each others eyes, before moving forward in synch to meet in the middle to bump their foreheads together in some secret mutual understanding.

It's the reason why Sanji, for all his extravagant flirting, knows when to shut up and return to being a normal human (and, Thatch grudgingly admits, this applies to himself too). It's why Zoro never lets his gaze linger more than two seconds longer than it needs to (but he'll always take those two seconds), why Nami always looks like she wants to sit closer but doesn't, why Koala hasn't said anything when she's probably usually a much more proactive flirter.

Everyone on their crew can see it, except the two in question.

Ace, Thatch thinks, heaving a huge sigh as he looks down at the crumpled note from Izo in his palm. Little brother, you are so fucking in love.

It might not necessarily be romantically. It's certainly not particularly sexually, if Ace's lack of reaction to Lu's aggressive physical smothering is any indication. It could very possibly be platonically.

But either way, there's no room for Sanji, nor Zoro, nor the girls, nor even Thatch himself...at least, until those two figure that out.

Until then, everyone aboard the Merry is here because they love and respect their captains. No one would dare encroach on something so special, yet so potentially immature, not yet ready to be dragged out to be recognized.

Thatch knows Ace has known Luffy for years, he practically raised her. But he was also away at sea for three years. Luffy was a child when he left; she's an adult now.

Thatch once asked him if she had changed at all since he last saw her (Ace most certainly had, according to Deuce). And Ace looked blank, then horribly confused, before saying No...but also, yeah, I guess. Thatch understands; Ace isn't used to not knowing something about Luffy. And something...something had changed.

That something might very well be the thing that needs to be figured out. And for that, Ace hasn't had much time yet, since reuniting with Luffy. Only as much time as the rest of them, in fact. And they deserve time to figure that out, and as the two captains' loving crew, the ASL pirates have an unsaid agreement to watch over them...at least until they have.

(After that, Thatch thinks grimly, it might be open game.)

But of course, there's also the question of Luffy herself, and as much as she's the heart of the ASL Pirates, she's also an enigma. Thatch, for all that he adores her and honestly wants more with her, genuinely has a hard time imagining her as anything but clueless as someone's romantic partner (he's carefully not thinking about anything sexual). It very well may be that the whole "figuring out" that she and Ace have to do...ends up being nothing. And that's fine as well.

Either way, as much as Thatch loves him, there's no way that any of them here on board the Merry will stand to let Marco shatter this delicate...whatever it is that's going on between their captains, that the rest of them are so patiently respecting. Even if it ends up continuing indefinitely.

As strained as it can feel at times, they're comfortable like this. There's the little spark of joy when Seastar gives him a little extra attention, a little burn when Sanji kisses her hand, but comfort in the stability that no one will go any further. If anything it's a nice little spice to their daily lives, just the right amount, and not enough ruin the dish so to speak. This is fine.

Except, that there's just one teeny little problem...

"What did the blue gull bring you today, Commander?"

Thatch doesn't jump, because he's not an amateur and did realize that the Revolutionary was approaching, but perhaps later than he should have. Damn the kid's good at hiding his presence, and Thatch wonders if he'd have noticed at all if Sabo was being serious.

"Just a stupid request from a stupid brother," Thatch says cheerfully as he turns around to face Sabo. The boy isn't even trying to hide his curiosity, his gaze pinned to Thatch's hand.

Thatch contemplates chucking the letter into the sea, but then he realizes he isn't sure Sabo wouldn't just dive after it, and as a devil fruit user, Thatch wouldn't be able to stop him from reading it underwater.

So he casually uncurls his fingers, watches Sabo visibly perk up--before Thatch opens a black hole in his palm, letting the crumpled paper get sucked into the void.

(Perhaps he should be using his power as more than a secure second dimension pocket expansion, but hey, so far it hasn't been so helpful in the kitchen.)

Sabo sags and sulks, rather cutely, Thatch thinks. "You coulda let me see it," he pouts, looking up at Thatch with an expression uncannily like Luffy's. Fuck.

"Collecting intel, Chief?" Thatch winks, expertly hiding his horror that for a moment, he'd actually been tempted. Little sneak.

"Perhaps." Something slightly manic enters his gaze, and alright, that's nothing like Seastar, not so cute after all...

"Nice try, but it's a personal family thing, can't really share," Thatch says, and it's not really a lie.

Sabo grunts, letting it go, before his gaze flicks to the gull, who still has a beakful of Thatch's sleeve. "It waiting for something?"

Thatch sighs. "Yeah, yeah, my response, which I should probably give..." Because, right, Thatch needs to send a message back to the Moby, even if no, he isn't going to answer Izo's idiotic question.

Which, is actually a fine excuse to extract himself from this situation.

"So, sorry, the response also is personal, hope you don't mind," Thatch nods, and Sabo easily opens the way for him--which, Thatch belatedly realizes, he'd actually been blocking. Scary, little Chief, scary...

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry." Sabo sounds genuinely apologetic, and tips his hat at Thatch as he passes by, and Thatch inwardly heaves a massive sigh of relief. "I'm working on it, but I know I can get a little...pushy, when it comes to things that involve my baby brother."

Thatch continues to walk away.

But inside...

Oh. Yikes, he thinks.

~~

Thatch is in the privacy of the currently empty men's sleeping room beneath the deck, and has just finished writing and giving instructions and bribes to the gull when the hatch creaks open.

"Thatch, we're in trouble," Koala announces as she stomps down the stairs, making her sneaky opening of the door rather pointless.

"I noticed," Thatch says dryly.

Koala pales. "He didn't break any of your toes, did he?!"

"What."

"Well, you're a cook, you make food Luffy likes with your hands," Koala shrugs. "Just wanted to make sure."

"What the fuck."

"I don't think he will! You're Luffy and Ace's crew, and you're a Whitebeard pirate, but..."

Thatch groans. "I already thought your Chief might be trouble, but holy shit I didn't know he was that batshit."

"He might not be!" Koala sounds defensive, but it's not particularly comforting. "He's usually reasonable, kind of, but since his memories came back..."

Thatch throws up his arms. "So, how'd he get it out of you?"

Koala flushes. "I didn't say anything!"

"Sure."

"It's not my fault that Sabo's a damn--!"

There's a loud knock, before the hatch flings open, and Ace pops his head in. "Hey Thatch! What's for snack--"

"NOT AGAIN!" Koala cries.

At the same time, Thatch shouts, "IN A SECOND!"

Either way, the hatch slams shut with a, "SORRY!"

Thatch and Koala stare at each other with their hearts beating uncomfortably rapidly.

They slowly heave a slow sigh of relief as the tension drains.

"I really need to apologize to Ace," Thatch mutters.

"I really need to work on my Observation Haki," Koala groans.

"HEY THATCH, I WANT A SNACK," Luffy shouts, and Thatch and Koala's heads whip around in horror, only to sag with relief at seeing that Luffy's not in the room, but only for a second--

--because after that second, a mermaid's crashing through the hatch, ripping it from its hinges as she slams, hatch and all, into Thatch's chest.

The room fills with dust and debris, and there are shouts outside.

Koala gingerly peers into the wreckage where Thatch is now buried in the wall, a terrified blue gull  perched on her shoulders peering alongside her, its claws digging through the fabric of her shirt.

"We're fine," Thatch coughs, peering down to make sure he'd successfully caught and shielded Luffy from damage, even as he peels himself from the wood. Luffy seems unharmed, though her eyes are wide; she clearly hadn't expected to do quite this much.

"...Armament?" Koala asks, noticing how the back of Thatch's hair is black from where it's fanned around him.

"Armament," Thatch agrees, keeping the entire back of his body coated until he's safely pulled himself and Luffy, still in his arms, away from any sharp wood.

"Sorry, Thatch," Luffy says, not particularly apologetic, if anything sort of curious. She peels herself back from his chest, scritching her cheek while looking down at what was once the hatch to the mens room that had shattered between them. She then reaches back to tug at Thatch's black locks, and oohs when they fade back to auburn.

"No worries, just make sure to make it up to Deuce and Usopp when they have to fix this," Thatch sighs, before grinning, letting his arms fall away from Luffy once he knows she has a secure grip on his shoulders. He then begins carding his fingers through her hair to make sure no splinters got in, and likewise dusting off the front of her vest, taking care not to let his touch linger. Luffy nods frantic agreement, more like rubs her head into his palm, and Thatch feels his heart skip a beat.

Koala sighs.

"Hey Thatch, what's this?"

Thatch blinks, then inwardly curses.

Luffy's holding Izo's crumpled piece of paper. His control of his power's still shoddy, and it must have accidentally spat it back out in the commotion.

Please, don't be able to read that, he prays. He luckily doesn't have much confidence in Luffy's reading abilities.

"It says 'what are her three sizes.' What are those?"

In the background, Koala slowly raises her fist.

~~

A few days later, Marco's scouting when a blue gull rapidly approaches him.

Delivery! it squawks. Delivery for you, Boss, and don't show Izo! Don't show Izo! Don't show Izo or the bread man will be mad!

Thank you, noted, friend, Marco responds, and catches the note from Thatch in mid air.

The gull trills acknowledgement, then wheels away to rejoin its brethren, while Marco changes course for the nearest island, a safe forest haven in Pops's territory, still a ways away from the Moby. It's uninhabited, save for the wildlife, and it would be good to land once before returning home anyway.

Marco lands lightly on the tallest and oldest tree on the island, from where he can survey the island of pure greenery, and the endless blue stretching beyond. The branch he's chosen looks deceptively thin, but he already knows it can support his human weight, which is why he shifts, passing the note from his claw to his hand before completing his transformation.

Marco frowns. The other Commanders (and to be honest, the entire crew) have been acting a bit strange recently, but for Thatch, who isn't even on board with them, to also be in on it...

True, this may or may not be related to that at all. But still.

Marco feels like he's missing something.

Marco, Thatch's message starts, and Marco already knows it's going to be serious because it didn't start with a jibe at his appearance.

Marco, I think I'm actually serious about her. Thoughts, brother?

Her, meaning the Ace's little brother, the mermaid girl.

If Marco remembers correctly, in Thatch's first note back to him, he'd written, She's stolen my heart, I think I want to marry her.

Marco had assumed Thatch was joking at the time, or just light-heartedly flirting, as he always did. Marco's used to hearing Thatch spew these kinds of words, and he'd taken it to mean that the girl's exceptionally Thatch's type, but hadn't thought further.

The words had made him remember a little trinket he'd had stored in a chest at the back of his closet, one he'd received from an elderly couple on Fishman Island around two decades ago...

But that's not important now, Marco thinks, focussing on Thatch's message.

In all his years of flings and casual relationships and jokingly asking ladies (and some gents) Won't you marry me...Thatch has not once asked for Marco's opinion. He's certainly had plenty of opinions himself about whether someone would be a potential good match for Marco, which Marco always ignored. But Thatch has never asked Marco about matches for himself.

Thatch really is serious.

Marco finds himself slowly smiling. "Finally, you sap," he murmurs, though no one hears him but the other birds in the trees around him.

He knows he ought to think more about what to say, but the answer is so obvious that Marco takes Thatch's note, and carefully tears the paper so that his brother's words aren't damaged. Gently tucking Thatch's note into his pocket, Marco pulls out a pen for the remaining small blank strip of paper.

Shortly afterwards, two birds depart from the island, in opposite directions: one, a phoenix, wings burning cyan against the clear skies, and the other, a blue gull headed to Paradise.

~~

~~

~~

Part 9, things start Moving as Sabo confronts Ace.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! And again, please do let me know if you actually like reading the story here on tumblr or not >.<;

As always, any comments are immensely appreciated and help motivate me to create more for this AU! ;A;

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 1 [NSFW/18+]

Chapter 2 ->

Summary:  You can’t stand Frederick Chilton, but after he’s tortured and left scarred by a former patient, you are afflicted by an irrepressible desire to get him in bed.

This has been posted on AO3 for awhile, but I thought I’d post the chapters here! (Took the liberty of fleshing out the short smut a wee bit.)

2,380 words

Dr. Frederick Chilton was arrogant and unpleasant.

Everyone thought so, but most would dance around their hostility toward him with subtle digs couched in polite conversation. Not you. You weren’t shy about saying it to his face.

As he exited the courtroom doors, Dr. Chilton saw you waiting in the hall to ambush him, and braced himself for another soapbox diatribe. 

Such a shame, he thought. He recalled how he had tried to make a good impression when you first met, but all his charm kept backfiring, and now you patently despised him. His failure to curry favor was nothing out of the ordinary, but unfortunately, he still had to deal with you. You were one of Crawford’s lackeys, and had made yourself inescapable since Will Graham’s arrest.

“You conniving, idiotic, condescending weasel!” you exploded upon the man with an expensive suit and gaudy cane. “How could you get on the stand and make that bullshit testimony? You don’t know anything about Will!” You withheld the fuck-you’s that time, out of professional courtesy.

He brushed you off and continued walking briskly down the hall, cane tapping on the polished floor, but you followed and walked alongside him.

“Do I need a restraining order against you?” Dr. Chilton said, bored.

You crossed your arms. “Oh, hah-hah.”

“What is it, then?” he sighed, slowing down. Trying to outpace you was more trouble than it was worth, thanks to the pinching of scar tissue in every stride. “I am extremely busy.”

“‘The confused man Will Graham presents to the world could not commit those crimes, because that man is a fiction,’” you quoted his testimony.

“Correct. Is that all?”

“Did you ever consider it’s because he didn’t commit those crimes? You know, being the only one who thinks Will is a psychopath doesn’t make you a genius, it makes you an idiot. Or do you know that, but you’ve just been pining have him locked up so you can study him?”

“Incredible. Mr. Graham has found a truly gullible fool to place under his thumb. I have never met anyone so susceptible to his manipulations. Have you ever been tested for personality disorders?” He regarded you like you were a lab rat with a lot of audacity to be squeaking at him (though to be fair, that was how he looked at almost everybody).

You burned to keep arguing, but he walked down the courthouse steps and got into an obtrusively fancy classic car. Your heart was racing. You weren’t finished with him.

  *****

You seemed to be the only sane person aware that the sweet, empathetic, dog-loving Will Graham was obviously being framed, and did your best to visit him as often as possible at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Unfortunately, that meant dealing with its chief of staff.

Every time you visited Will, you ended up clashing with that pompous buffoon and his perfectly coiffed hair. He was notorious for his unethical practices, but since rich white assholes were incapable of being fired, it was your self-appointed job to protect Will from him.

Though, recently, you had to admit two things.

One: you may have been the tiniest bit biased by your fondness for Will, and two: your feelings toward Dr. Chilton had been softening.

Not long ago, Chilton had barely survived being tortured by a former patient, Abel Gideon. The sight of him on a medical gurney cradling his own internal organs in his arms was a horror that would be burned into your brain for life. He may have been an incompetent jerk whom Gideon had every right to want revenge on, but he didn’t deserve that.

You didn’t think he would survive, but in a few weeks, like magic, he was back to play Will’s jailer, a cane in hand but no other sign of the trauma he endured.

Too little sign of the trauma he endured, honestly. After all, he was only hurt because of his own meddling—using psychic driving to convince Gideon he was the Chesapeake Ripper in order to achieve the fame and glory of having treated the Chesapeake Ripper.

But no, he was still bursting full of egotistical remarks and ambition, if a little short on organs.

“I see the experience hasn’t humbled you one bit,” you commented upon his return, when he gloated about the accolades he would receive after writing a book about Will Graham.

“Funny, it almost sounds like you wanted me to be gutted,” he retorted in a pleasantly upbeat voice with a sharp undercurrent.

His rich-boy superiority complex did make it tempting to punch him in the face… but disembowelment was going too far.

Something changed after that. It used to be that you couldn’t wait to get away from him, but now you found yourself wanting to stay and fight longer, your cheeks burning with indignation. Days you weren’t visiting Will, you went to the mental hospital to crusade against Dr. Chilton over ethics and his lack thereof, just for the excuse to see him. 

The two of you exchanged cutting banter the same as always, but you found yourself being more civil... or, at least, your heated arguments felt more playful. Sure, you still called him a dirty slimeball, but now it was a friendly roast and not because you hated his (slightly damaged) guts.  

It was strange. Every time you argued your heart would pound against your chest in anticipation, but you couldn’t figure out why.

Your breaking point came when you barged into his office and discovered him spying on patients’ private conversations with visitors—headphones on, feet up on his desk, holding a Montblanc fountain pen in his mouth and swirling it with his tongue.

He didn’t startle at your unexpected entrance, as a person who feels shame might do when caught in the middle of something so sleazy. He was completely unrepentant about it. Sliding a headphone off one ear and picking up a glass of top-shelf scotch from his desk, he took a slow sip, and smugly asked, “Can I help you?”

What could you say to that? You felt your face heating up, so you turned on your heel without a word, and left. You finally understood what you had been feeling.  

You always took him for a coward—the type who runs crying to mommy the moment his knee gets scraped. But he’d been tortured, brutally, and still wasn’t running away. He got more than what was coming to him, but he didn’t change his manipulative psychiatric practices or grating personality at all.

As infuriating as it was… his resilience was sexy.

Like a switch was flipped, every time you sniped insults at each other, instead of picturing strangling him with his tie, you imagined blindfolding him with it, tying him to a bed and spanking him with his cane. He had the cutest way of shimmying his shoulders when he was trying to be coy about a secret, and that smarmy little crooked smile he made when he thought he was winning used to infuriate you, but now it caused an aching between your thighs. 

After weeks of this, he cornered you in an empty hallway. “Do not think I haven’t noticed you are here far more often than you need to be. You didn’t even talk to Will Graham the last two occasions you paid a visit. What is it, then? What’s your angle? Keeping an eye on me for Crawford?”

“Isn’t it obvious?,” you scoffed. “I want to fuck you.”

“Huh,” he vocalized with detachment.

You’d expected him to be flustered by the bold declaration, or to jump on you immediately. Not to coldly look you up and down like you’d handed him a strange puzzle piece to analyze.

It must have been a long time since he’d been intimate, considering his reputation as a Grade A piece of shit. But apparently he wasn’t that desperate.

To be honest, you weren’t even sure what his orientation was. You may have been completely off base.

“Fascinating, really. For someone who called me… what was it? A ‘morally corrupt assclown,’ you must be in a dire state to consider propositioning me. You know, as a respected psychiatrist, I can recommend some literature on sexual dysfunctions.”

A cold, satisfied smile spread over his thin lips and you realized if your attraction was one-sided, he held all the cards. You made the mistake of delivering him a massive advantage over you, and you were going to make a fool of yourself. He was relishing the power.

There was still time to backtrack on the vulnerability you’d accidentally exposed while he was still trying to figure out if you were joking. But you were around profilers, psychiatrists, and investigators with hidden agendas all day, and you grew weary of conversations having ten layers of meaning and obfuscation.

The honest truth was, it would be nice to get laid.

“Well? Are you interested or not?” You dropped your voice and stepped closer to him, inches from his face. He smelled so clean, like hospital antiseptic and spicy aftershave. His breath hitched as your leg brushed the inside of his thigh—that’s it, that was the reaction you wanted. “Do you want to fuck me, Dr. Chilton?”

Oh, he did.

A barely audible whine rose from the back of his throat, and his hands were around your waist. “I suppose so,” he said, still a little too clinically, though a hard bob of his Adam’s apple betrayed him. His eyes met yours. They were the color of an ocean wave crashing on the beach; an honest, North Atlantic wave that you might find at Chesapeake Bay—not some perfect crystal-blue wave from a tropical paradise. “It couldn’t hurt to let off some steam.”

“Precisely,” you nodded. Just two adults doing the logical thing. That’s right. No squishy vulnerable feelings that could be used against you. Just relieving tension.

He grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you hastily into the nearest unoccupied space. The door to the cramped supply closet clicked shut, and he leered at you with eyes that seemed to glow with hunger in the dark. You felt pleasantly like a small animal trapped with a wolf about to be devoured. A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine and sent heat rushing between your thighs. Before you knew it you were flipped standing with him pressed against your back, pumping into you with muffled moans—as frenzied with desperation as you’d fantasized he would be—as you braced against a metal shelf crammed with pens and packs of post-it notes.

He was strong. You had expected his suit to hide the flaccid body of a sedentary academic, fragranced of old books, but when he pulled your hips into his your body moved.

After finishing inside you with a ragged, tortured breath (barely choking back a too-vulnerable moan), he hastily zipped himself back into his pants and left you to clean yourself up on your own, without so much as a nod to ceremony or pleasantries. That was the end of that, you figured—exactly what you asked for, no more no less. Little did you know, Dr. Chilton had no intention of leaving things off at one quickie in a closet.

Before you left, he pulled you into his office and provoked you with lewd remarks about fucking you on his desk—so you knocked the clutter off it onto the floor to make room. He shrieked like a toddler as his very important papers and very expensive office décor went flying, having neither thought through the actual consequences of desk-sex nor expected you to call his bluff. His beautiful seawater eyes went wide as you pushed him back on the broad mahogany surface and climbed on top of him. Then you were riding him, chasing your climax with his well-manicured hands kneading your ass cheeks, pulling you deeper and deeper with each stroke of your hips. And still you wanted more. You wanted to fuck him into next week.

And then you were in his unreasonably lavish home, in his unreasonably, decadently oversized bed, his mouth feverishly working your heat, and you repaying him by making him come over and over until it was torture, until he could no longer hold back the whimpering sobs of pleasure as he fell apart, and he passed out from fatigue. You collapsed next to him on the bed, panting, sweating, and shaking with over-stimulation.

For a moment you considered the snoring body of an unsavory man you had exhausted into submission, lying naked and leaking fluids onto two-thousand-thread-count sheets, and briefly considered calling a cab. Then you went to the bathroom for a towel to wipe him off before curling yourself around him under the covers.

  *****

Morning found you nestling in his soft light brown chest hair, tracing your fingers along the raised red scar that divided a third of his torso like an autopsied cadaver. He flinched a little when you touched it, but remained impassive. A reservoir of sympathy swelled up within you.

“You pity me. That is why you wanted to sleep with me all of a sudden,” he said, deciphering the meaning of your look. “I’m not complaining. Apparently, to be fortunate in bed requires only that one be tragically disfigured. You are drawn to wounded birds.”

The corner of your lip screwed up like you swallowed something bitter. It’s… probably not healthy to desire someone purely out of pity, but he was right. You never felt anything for him until you felt sorry for him. But that wasn’t all there was to your relationship… was it?

“The instinct to nurture and the instinct to hurt are both strong human emotions. They’re primal,” you speculated.

“Trying your hand at psychoanalysis? I would leave it to the professionals, darling.”

“Would you?” You tilted your head innocently. “Then how come you’re still practicing?”

He clutched his chest and feigned being wounded.

Grinning, you buried your face back into his hair. “Arguing with you was always exciting… trying to land a stinging blow. Now I see you hurt, and I feel the need to protect you, too. You tickle my instincts, I suppose. Like cold ice cream on hot pie. What can I say?”

“Hmm, a plausible hypothesis,” he nodded idly at the ceiling, one brow lifted. “I’m not sure that that is any better, but as previously mentioned, your motivations are not of particular interest to me.”

“Charming. Let me phrase it another way, then: You have a very punchable face, but since you’ve already been eviscerated, it takes the fun out of it.”

“Well, and I was going to offer you breakfast…”

[marvel-mega]

Are you death or paradise?

(Ron Weasley x Reader)

A/N: apparently im feeling HORRIBLY angsty tonight so here is this heartbreaking fic with my absolute favorite billie eilish song “No time to die”. For reference (Y/H) =your (Hogwarts) house and (Y/H/T)= your hometown for my fellow united state inhabitants..? Well I hope you enjoy this is my first Harry Potter fit but I am hopelessly in love with Ron Weasley <3 so expect more??

word count: 1.8k 

warnings: sadness but also badass reader and Hermoine being the bad guy sorry... not sorry 

*I don't own this gif credit to the owner!*

I should've known

I'd leave alone

Just goes to show

That the blood you bleed 

Is just the blood you owe

To say you felt defeated was an understatement. 

No defeated isn't the right word you felt foolish, played, dumb, and most of all hurt. 

You knew there was something between Ron and Hermoine but you turned a blind eye. 

Why wouldn't you? You loved Ron more than anything 

You wanted to believe him when he said Hermoine was barely a friend.

"Honestly love we just tolerate each other for Harrys' sake." 

We were a pair

But I saw you there

Too much to bear

You were my life

But life is far away from fair

Yet here you were walking into the Gryffindor common room and there they were 

Kissing.

No, that wasn't enough

how can you describe a kiss that looks like its been waiting for years to be felt, 

a kiss that looked like it was oxygen for both people,

a kiss that was full of passion. 

Harry was behind you waiting to enter when he almost crashed behind you and was about to ask you what happened when you turned quickly and looked at him red-rimmed eyes and motioned with a single finger for him to not make a sound as you left the common room. 

Was I stupid to love you?

Was I reckless to help?

Was it obvious to everybody else

That I'd fallen for a lie?

You were never on my side

Fool me once, fool me twice

Are you death or paradise?

Now you'll never see me cry

Looking back you remember telling yourself that you didn't let him see you cry because he didn't deserve to see you so vulnerable.

But in all honesty, you didn't want him to see you cry so you would never have to mention this incident.

You were willing to turn a blind eye to his infidelity because you loved him so much. 

Who had you let yourself become?

You knew it was going to come up eventually especially if the two of them wanted to carry on with their new relationship who were you to jeopardize that? 

There's just no time to die

I let it burn

You're no longer my concern

Faces from my past return

Another lesson yet to learn

That I'd fallen for a lie

You were never on my side

"How could I have let him fool me ?" You asked aloud to Cho. 

Neither of you spoke very often considering you being in (Y/H) and her being in Ravenclaw. 

But she saw you crying in the corridor 

and girls help girls in need when boys break their hearts.

The two of you were sitting on the stairs leading to the grand hall. 

You couldn't help but think back to a happier time when you had finally gotten the courage to ask Ron to the yule ball. 

But he watched her the whole night, you were blind 

And everyone else saw what you chose to ignore. 

"I knew there was something between them and I still thought I was better, somehow different

I still thought he could love me, not her." 

"Hey, this is not your fault. He is a coward and a complete idiot if he can't see how perfect you are." Cho explained as gently as she could but she couldn't hide her anger for the red-headed git. 

"I appreciate that Cho. I'm starting to think this school is cursed," you laughed lightly. 

You were from the United States specifically (Y/H/T). It was your decision whether to go to Hogwarts or Ilvermorny and foolishly you choose to go to Hogwarts and were currently living with a distant relative of your mothers'. 

"What if I just went to Ilvermorny back home?" 

Cho looked completely aghast. "You mean you'd leave?" 

"I don't see why not it's our last year sure but I was planning on moving back home after graduation anyways. This makes it easier to make connections and find a job back home don't you think?" 

Cho didn't know what to think. Yes, Ron hurt you but enough to make you want to completely leave your professors, your friends, and more importantly him? 

"You would leave without saying goodbye?" Cho said sadly. 

"Nothing is for certain. But I'll send an owl to my parents. They've been trying to convince me to come home for a while maybe they were right." 

Fool me once, fool me twice

Are you death or paradise?

Now you'll never see me cry

There's just no time to die

The days after the incident, 

you referred to it like this because it made it easier to talk about like it was a car crash or an explosion, not a red-headed goofball you carelessly trusted,

you held your head high through the halls. 

'You will not let him see you fall' you told yourself. You were reckless to put your heart on the line like that for him. But what's that saying 'Only fools fall in love' well it couldn't be truer. 

Some days were easier than others you had spoken to the head of your house and made up an elaborate sudden illness that would sometimes make it impossible to go to class. 

So that covered your classes. 

But Ron...

You never spoke to him. 

It was easier this way. 

Made ripping the bandage off easier. 

You went up to the three of them in the courtyard ignoring how Rons' eyes lit up when he saw you coming towards them. 

You turned to Hermoine she looked beyond frightened at your cold and calculated stare. 

"I was hoping I could have my ancient runes textbook back Miss Granger? I let you borrow it last week"

Hermoine was confused not about the incident Harry had given the two of them an earful when you left the common room. 

As far as Hermoine knew you weren't taking ancient runes anymore. 

"Are you going to be taking the course again?" She asked politely hoping this met you'd put the whole thing behind you. As if it wasn't a big deal. 

You bit your tongue to refrain from saying "like it's any of your business Granger".

"I am. At Ilvermorny, next term. So if you could just leave it in the (Y/H) common room the password is 'paradise falls' I'd appreciate it." 

You were feeling very grateful at your ability to remain completely stoic to their gaping mouths at the news that you were transferring. 

You glanced over in Harrys' direction. 

He was one of the few people that made leaving Hogwarts more difficult. 

"Ilvermorny?" He spoke almost as if the word was an insult. 

"The wizarding school in America." You replied. 

Barely above a whisper, you heard Ron stutter, "W-Why?" 

This was the first time you had looked at him since the incident. 

He looked for lack of a better word, horrible. 

You wanted to scream and shout and cry and rip his head off. 

But instead, you gave him a once over from head to toe. 

Silently reprimanding him for even thinking you owed him a reason.

Regardless you spoke calmly "Personal reasons Mr. Weasley." 

You glanced at the three of them, the golden tiro, the one you trusted the most was the most responsible for the pain you were feeling.

Feeling like you were detached from your voice you said, "It was lovely to have met the three of you and I am fortunate to have had the pleasure of attending the same school.

Goodbye" 

You looked Ron in the eyes impassively when speaking the last word. 

No time to die

No time to die

Fool me once, fool me twice

Are you death or paradise?

Now you'll never see me cry

There's just no time to die

You had no time to lose yourself over a boy. 

You were an adult and so was Ronald. 

So why were there tears falling uncontrollably when you left the courtyard? 

Because he dug his claws deep into your heart and soul. That's why. 

Oddly enough you kept thinking about his family.

Rons' mother was such an amazing woman.

Speaking of amazing women Ginny was going to grow up and change the world 

You knew it. 

You never formally met Percy considering his poor decision making.

Bill and Charlie never faltered in making you feel protected and cared for. 

And most of all Fred and George made you laugh until your stomach hurt. 

You smiled at the thought before running into someone. Or someones?

Attempting to wipe your tears quickly you looked up to find Fred and George looking at you confused.

"Y/N?" 

Your heart broke you didn't have it in you to pretend to be strong and made out of marble.

You owed it to yourself to feel what you wanted to feel. 

Nor were you going to hold back and keep Rons' secrets for him, he did not deserve that.

He deserved the whole world to know he broke you. 

"Hey, guys." You managed a weak, half-hearted smile. 

Fred and George looked at each other and simultaneously said "What did he do?"

Jokingly expecting your tears to be for someone else and not their kind little brother.

But when you didn't laugh and let out a downright broken sob they knew it was something extremely serious. 

Without question, the twins embraced you and let you wholly release everything you were holding in. 

Just then Ron came running down the corridor 

"Please Y/N Let me explain it wasn't what it looked-" he spoke breathlessly behind but stopped abruptly when he saw his brothers disappointed expressions. You backed out of the warm encircle. 

You took a deep breath. A shaky breath but a deep one none the less. 

"Thank you for accepting me into your home. Please let your mother know she is the kindest woman in the world." 

Ron spoke behind you "Please my love. Talk to me. Look at me I'm begging" 

You turned with such fury and speed Fred and George thought you were going to take your wand out and curse their brother. 

You stood silent. In front of the boy, you would've given the world to. Maybe even now you still would.

"You do not get to speak to me. You do not get to 'explain yourself'. You do not get to say anything to me. I fell for a lie. It was my mistake believing you. I have nothing for you, Ronald Weasley."

You watched him slowly fall apart.

You wanted to feel something

Pride

Anger 

Something. But you were drained of every emotion you had given everything to Ron. 

You turned to Fred and George and smiled dispiritedly. 

From behind you, you could hear one of the twins say "Let her go, mate. You messed up. You lost her." 

And left. Alone 

Just as you had arrived. 

[soundofseventeen]

Everything You Are (Yoon Jeonghan)

I am...the worst. I’m literally so busy with everything in my life that I’m AWOL on most of my social media and I haven’t responded to anything or anyone. I’m iffy about this but I needed to post. And a happy birthday to our ever wonderful Kim Mingyu! Credits to owners for the gifs. -Bee

Word count: approximately 5100

Inspired by: Everything You Are

March 31st: present day

“So,” Mingyu said in the midst of slurping his noodles, “what are we doing for the greatest day in the world?” The hotness burned his mouth, but that only prompted him to shove more inside than he could (literally) chew. He almost choked when he locked eyes with Minghao, who only stared at him in confusion.

Jihoon shook his head. “The greatest days in the world are those that don’t require alarm clocks and we won’t be getting those anytime soon.” He swiped a piece Soonyoung’s fish with his fingers, playing with it and then eating it before telling Wonwoo to high five him, which his elder declined and moved away. (Not that stopped him from throwing lettuce.)

“April has great days...earth day, Easter Day, April Fools Day, Arbor Day...Mingyu sunbaenim’s day.” He shrugged. “You know, just to name a few.”

“Those don’t sound like fun though.” Seungkwan.

“No one asked you.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“Are you really gonna brush off my special day?” He placed his chopsticks on the bowl when half of his brothers nodded, sticking out his lower lips in a pout. “But oh, we had to take the maknae to out to a movie and give him this fancy dinner and buy him everything he pointed at.” He ruffled Chan’s hair affectionately and rested his head on said boy’s shoulder.

“Did you have anything in mind?” Joshua.

“We haven’t done a proper birthday in awhile. And we haven’t really talked to any of our other friends besides when we bump into them at the shows, so I was thinking we invite them all and just hang out. Maybe bust out a cake, a piñata.” He counted his fingers as he ticked off his plans. “And either get some takeout or pizza. Oh! And we can hire strippers!” At that, he had everyone’s attention.

“Why the hell…” Minghao shook his head. “Never mind.”

“It’ll be funny to throw them off.” He slammed his hand down in front of Jeonghan who sat across from him.

He jumped, clearly not expecting to be acknowledged by the dongsaeng. “What?”

“Can you invite Y/N?”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah. You remember Y/N, don’t you? The best friend you swore you never had? The one you kept away from us for a long ass time? The one who’s currently somewhere in South America since your last update? How long ago was it that we hung out?”

Jeonghan swallowed subtly. “Oh that Y/N. I’ll see what I can do.” He offered his best version of his mischievous smile. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Give or take six months if you don’t count birthdays. “But do you really want that?”

“Hyung, I don’t ask for anything except for clean dishes and rooms. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation that didn’t start and end with ‘I miss you’, and that’s just on Instagram!” He rubbed his eyes, “We were all friends too, not just you two.” Mingyu’d mumbled that last part so lowly, anyone would’ve missed it if they weren’t paying attention. But they didn’t know you didn’t speak anymore.

April 6th: three years ago

“Dinosaurs?” Seungcheol asked in disbelief as he saw Jeonghan’s choice in balloons. “You’re getting a grown-ass man balloons in the shape of a dinosaur?”

“It’s his birthday,” Jeonghan shrugged. “You know better than to deny Mingyu anything…”

“You binge-watch The Land Before Time one time-”

“No, apparently it was the Disney movie Dinosaur.”

“Disney did not do a dinosaur movie. I would remember...I had a phase until I was 11!” Though the T-Rex sticker on his phone was a subtle reminder of his younger days in Daegu that he never quite outgrew it.

“If I’m gonna have to fight you on this, at least get me a soda and a bag of chips.” He pulled out his phone, typed in the movie in question and watched Seungcheol’s face scrunch up in disbelief in amusement. “Pay for lunch too while you’re at it.” Jeonghan then turned his attention to the person at the register. “Hi, how are you today?”

“Hi, I’m good. How are you?”

“Another day in paradise. I have a question. Are these all you have?”

“Yeah, a few others came in about-” A quick look at the clock, estimating a time, “maybe 20 minutes ago, and took just about everything. Are dinosaurs like a thing here?”

“Not that I know of.” Jeonghan found himself squinting his eyes. “Are you new here?” He asked when he realized he didn’t recognize you.

“Overall, yeah. I’m not too crazy about switching jobs but I need to survive, especially when I don’t get enough. C’est la vie, you know?”

No, he wouldn’t. The Louis Vuitton wallet in his pocket confirmed it. He watched as you blew up the foil balloons and rang up everything. He didn’t miss the way your eyes widened slightly when he saw the designer logo on the leather material nor when he handed you his American Express card Joshua convinced him to get when they were in America. “Thank you,” he finally said when he signed his name on the receipt.

“Thank you. Have a nice day.”

Not one to make impulsive decisions, he surprised himself by scribbling some information on a scrap of paper and handing it to you. “This is an address from where we work. I don’t know if they’re looking for anyone, but if you tell them Jeonghan sent you, they’ll find you something.” His angelic charms hadn’t failed him yet, and he’d be damned if this started now. “Don’t hesitate to call me, uh-”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He could feel Seungcheol tugging on his sleeves. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”

“Same here. Thanks for this, really.”

“We’ve been there and done that. It’s no problem.”

*April 2nd: present day

Mingyu’s constant question of, “Have you called? Have you called? Have you called?” played like a broken record inside his head throughout the day, irritating him more than he cared to admit, the longer he thought about it. He hadn’t bothered trying because he knew it would go straight to voicemail and it’s not like Mingyu would find out if he didn’t. You wouldn’t have broken your evading streak...well, besides calling for a happy birthday...scratch that, Mingyu would have Jeonghan’s head for that. It was late when he got home, Seokmin’s King Arthur rehearsal taking up more time than he thought it would. He had already flopped into bed, granted, the yellow toothbrush dangling dangerously from his lips as he tried not to gag from the baking soda when he saw his phone light up with a notification. You had uploaded a video from your time on your tour. Jeonghan found himself shaking his head, feeling a smile forming. Who would’ve thought you were gonna end up as a famous YouTuber when you’d struggled with jobs in the past.

He loved seeing how happy you’ve been looking, despite the fact you’d never smile the same way again. He laughed at your introduction, eating whatever you scrambled together at that moment, rambling a bit and then diving into your story, not even realizing he was dialing your number at three am, foam dripping into his sheets and hoping for once in your life, you’d pick up. With every passing ring, he felt nervous. He figured it’d play a key role in where you stood at the moment. Just when he was about to give up, he heard someone pick up, his heart pounding with anticipation on how this could go.

“Hello?”

*

Jeonghan swore it took you four days to actually show up to Pledis Entertainment studios, and his charismatic streak lived to see another day. And because you were recommended by him, the head of said Pledis only saw it fair that you become an assistant to not just him, but the entire group. It scared you for the first few weeks, what with learning their names to figuring out who spoke which language to who was in charge, you considered yourself lucky that you didn’t crack under the pressure. It wasn’t because they looked much too perfect to be real (though it was a factor), but because your world flipped upside down when you realized Seventeen were kpop idols, not part of the staff.

The boys were friendly, thankfully enough. Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung were obviously the ones who welcomed you the fastest and the ones who spoke for everyone else when it came to opinions and the ones who made sure the rest had an ounce of energy to get through the dance or song or whatever required physical exertion. Hansol, Wonwoo, and Jihoon eyed you dubiously at first as if waiting for you to expose yourself as a sasaeng or someone who worked for a sleazy tabloid magazine. They watched your every move whether on break or on call and had Jeonghan not confirmed the story of him reaching out to you, they would’ve continued to give you the cold shoulder until you quit. Once you gained their trust, everything simultaneously fell together and apart.

For starters, any requests made had to go through the ‘95 line. It wasn’t necessarily ice cream for dinner stuff, but if so and so could come in late the next day because they wanted breakfast. Four books and a game console were always required in their dressing room when they were scheduled to perform. They could never decide on what they wanted to snack on before they were due on stage, so you’d find yourself running back and forth to satisfy their cravings. (Though you did notice that vocal unit had a soft spot for gummies.)

Because you were still getting used to the boys’ hectic schedule, they left you in the hands of the Nu’est boys while they attended KCon in the late summer. While it meant learning the names of more boys, you preferred that over fucking things up because of jet lag and possibly getting fired for not being able to follow instructions. (Though the vibe was different than what you were used to, you were glad you treated you just as well as Seventeen. The only difference was that they used your respected honorific instead of just “Y/N” and you were home a little after midnight as opposed to two, three am.)

It was the ongoing prank war between Jonghyun, and Jeonghan that got the ball rolling between you and Jeonghan. Jeonghan had texted you to see if you could swipe Jonghyun’s water bottle and replace it with vodka he had smuggled into Jihoon’s locker and to send him the reaction when he drank it and in return, he’d bring you back something from the (not so) great Los Angeles. Instead, he found himself sending you pictures of Six Flags Magic Mountain, and the famous Santa Monica Beach and how beautiful the ocean looked from above the Ferris Wheel and began looking forward to your text messages and your overall company while you were on opposite ends of the world. He realized how much he missed having someone to talk to that wasn’t the 12 boys he loved and how it had been a while since he felt attracted to someone, felt wanted.

Upon coming home, you surprised each of them with a single balloon and new speakers for when they practiced a new choreography and they treated you to a late late-night dinner and a million stories. (Jonghyun got Jeonghan back the following day by shoving all the baby powder he could manage on the inside of Jeonghan’s towel.)

Jeonghan managed to keep your flirtationship inconspicuous, both on the clock and off although the fact that everyone played a part in treating you special (because one on one things became a common affair.) No one really had a second thought when you started carpooling with him because you lived in the same neighborhood and nobody said anything when he asked you to help him bring all the cup holders containing coffee and tea. And nobody had any questions when you and Jeonghan would smile at your phones during their practice break. (That was mostly due to the fact that he sent links to everyone in their group chat.) He’d wink at you when everyone was watching and playing it off as you being their favorite assistant.

The first time he kissed you was on Halloween during a party hosted by Pledis. It could’ve been the fact that it was a day no one was themselves or because the vibe was stress free but all you knew was that one minute you were fighting over the last can of beer and the next, he had you pressed against the counter and shuddering from the way your hands tangled in his hair. He remembered admitting that he had wanted to do that for a while. He would’ve leaned in again, but he heard someone coming in and he stole the can from you and skipped away, bumping into one of the boys but he forgot who. From then on, he’d kiss you whenever he felt like it, always making sure that no one was around. He liked the feeling of sneaking around, knowing that while recording was going on in one room, he’d be in the broom closet next door with you, fighting for air and grasping at whatever you could. And it was an unspoken thing to never mention what you had going on, which you naïvely agreed to because it was Yoon Jeonghan, the angel and the boy whom you couldn’t say no to.

Jeonghan knew it was reckless and irresponsible what you were doing but he couldn’t stop. It felt different than he was used to. He had someone at the palm of his hand. He felt something for you and he had planned to pursue it as long as possible, although that plan was short-lived.

April 3rd: present day

Why Jeonghan had picked to meet you by the street vendor who sold snow cones, he didn’t know, but it would’ve been better than looking like he was sneaking around. He sipped on his sofa, letting the fizziness calm his nerves. He couldn’t believe you agreed to meet with him. While he waited, he took pictures with the lucky Carats who found him completely by chance and even Jonghyun, who he hadn’t had the chance to say a proper hello to since...it felt like forever ago due to increasing demand of kpop and how they rarely saw each other outside of Pledis because of it. Their war was no longer a counted thing, but they enjoyed pulling their pranks here and there for the sake of nostalgia. (The matching scars on their pinkie fingers being a subtle sign of their idiocy.)

He didn’t know how long he waited, but it was worth it when you tapped his shoulder, waiting for him to respond. He knew seeing you would be a shock, but he didn’t expect for his vocabulary to fly out at the window and stare at you dumbfounded, nor for his first reaction to just reach out and grab you in a hug.

He missed this so much. He was a fool to think he could’ve fucked with your mind and expect you to be okay with it. He lived with the regret of lying to you when he said he wasn’t in love you everyday and when you hugged him back, he swore he saw his future flash before him. You pulled away first, expecting him to say something. “Hi.”

“You called me up at three am just to tell me that. Now, what is it?”

“I miss you.” Well, not the greatest start, but it’s something.

“I miss you all too. How is everyone? Congrats on the comeback by the way. You guys doing great.” You broke eye contact with him, peering past him.

He waved off your praise. “We’re all good thanks. I just wanted to talk to you about Mingyu. He, ah-” He scratched the back of his head. “He just wanted you to know that he’s having a party on Saturday and he’d love for you to stop by.” And he would too. Maybe, he’d be able to talk to you then.

“Saturday?” You racked your brain to see if you had any commitments for the day, coming up short. “I don’t think I’m doing anything, but I’m not sure I should go,” you admitted. Talking to Jeonghan always brought out your honest side, even when it was best to lie, like now. But the irony was that Jeonghan was the master of deception. You’d know. You’d fallen under his spell one too many times to not know him.

“Why?”

You shook your head. “Jeonghan, hhhhhh, never mind. You wouldn’t understand. I’ll see.”

“Wait.” He stepped closer to you, taking off your scarf and readjusting it so it’d look right. “There.” He was close, really close like he could smell the winter mint chewing gum you had in your mouth. If he really wanted to, he could steal a kiss, something he hasn’t done in so long. So he went for it.

Only instead of getting caught up in the moment like you were used to, you stopped him. “I can’t do this again.”

“Why? You afraid your boyfriend’s gonna see you?”

“As a matter of fact, he will, and I’d appreciate me doing myself a favor and not fucking this up too. Goodbye Jeonghan. I have to go; excuse me.”

Late December: three years ago

Jeonghan loved to admit it and he would always say it: he enjoyed watching you stress over birthdays because everything seemed inadequate due to their lavish lifestyle. But he expressed his appreciation from the homemade card and a new phone case and he saw the appreciation in the boys’ eyes when they opened theirs. And once he saw how you were fretting over Joshua (because “what the hell do you give an American boy who sings show tunes and eats his soup with a fork?”) he gave you clues as to what his best friend out on several wishlists. Once you figured out what to get him, you ordered it and the day it was to come, you invited Jeonghan to your place after they were done for the night to get his opinion.

And one moment you were showing him a thing of the Hollywood sign and the next, you were a tangled mess of limbs on the couch and Jeonghan knew he had crossed the line. Even worse was his realization that all he wanted was a friendship with you. So he ghosted you that night and gave you the excuse that Soonyoung needed everyone in the practice early. (Which wasn’t true, of course, because performance unit were recording their song while the remaining two basically had a free day.) From there began the end. Suddenly, he felt that everything you did had an ulterior motive to wanting an actual relationship and he started feeling annoyed with your presence and gave you the cold shoulder.

You knew everything that had happened before that was a mistake but it didn’t stop you from trying for more. Your feelings for Jeonghan ran deep and you would’ve sworn you had fallen in love but you bottled it up, letting him take the lead. The way he ignored you broke your heart and you weren’t as cheerful, nor did you treat the boys to anything like before. Your quieter than usual manner worried them, once Seungcheol going as far as asking if you wanted to see a doctor before they had to leave for the airport, which you declined, blaming your mattress for lack of sleep. You bid them a fun trip and to let you if they needed anything done while they were away.

While away for three months, Jeonghan texted you on occasion, mostly for business (and once in a while to fulfill his pranks) and how to handle some personal affairs. Again the distance made him miss you so he tried to keep you close, but he couldn’t; not when you eagerly replied to him and sent him photo after photo of irrelevant things, once again thinking you could regain what you had. He didn’t really blame you since he was the one who initiated your affair (if you could even call it that) but he knew if he continued to go down that road, the basis of your friendship would go up in flames. So he began looking for companionship in the wrong places, self-destructing himself in a way, not that he told you any of this. As far as you were concerned, he went straight to bed after a long day. He did, however, try to set you up with the pizza girl who delivered to Pledis but when that backfired, you yelled yourself to the point where Jonghyun sent you home until you could talk without killing yourself. (Seventeen still left you with Nu’est at this point because they liked how you worked with them, and it didn’t seem right to let you go with them when Nu’est was just as busy.)

When they came home it was only for a month before they were needed in Japan for promotional purposes and they left you once again. Jeonghan had only vaguely talked about his actions, but still felt guilty and tried to make it up to you while he was gone. The plus side was that he got to know you on a deeper level and understood the way you were and promised to help you help others because he saw it’s when you were your happiest. The long calls started again and it felt like old times. The downside was that no matter how much you opened up to him, he never did, so he never told you about his love interest who was nothing like you and let you believe something could happen when he came back home. True to his word, when he came home, he decided the fastest and easiest way to help people was to start your own YouTube channel and he readily provided the audience.

Two months into your unofficial commitment, YouTube’s management contacted you about being interested in making a career out of it and once you expressed your interest, they wrote down your information and told you they’d be in touch. You burst through the doors to Pledis that day, ready to shout from the rooftops about that, smoke all but visible behind you as you ran to Seventeen’s wing, and when you threw the doors open, there was Jeonghan in the middle of a tonsil hockey game with someone you’ve never seen and it was all you could do to not make a sound and just walk away quietly. You managed to sneak out of the building unseen and call Seungcheol that you came down with something and wouldn’t make it.

For three days, you stayed in bed, not eating or drinking anything, just crying your heart out for letting him lead you on. You would’ve gone the whole week like that, had one of your friends not forged a note from the doctor they worked with saying you needed bed rest and when you came back, they jumped at you, wanting to know why you didn’t say anything about being sick sooner, and you thanked your higher power at how oblivious they could be. And then Jeonghan had the audacity to stoke your hair, playfully telling you you looked like shit and you visibly flinched away from his touch, blaming it on a nonexistent headache. And suddenly your good news didn’t seem so good when you told them and bless Seungkwan’s heart when he asked if it meant you were quitting which you nodded sadly, and that meant a party for everyone.

That party was held the following month, in which your heart felt heavier than the day prior because of how Jeonghan acted like nothing had happened, and you suppressing everything. The boys bought liquor and alcohol like it was the end of the world and you used that opportunity to drink the image away. Not your brightest idea you’ll admit since you ended up hooking up with Joshua when he tried telling you that you had too much to drink and you begging him to make you forget.

And that was only the beginning of your own self-destruction, falling deeper in the rabbit hole, the closer your days as Seventeen’s assistant ended and the closer you became an influencer. The bags under your eyes never faded, feeling more sluggish by the day. You had only coffee in your system, not being to stomach food. Your headache never went away and you couldn’t stop crying. Everything hurt; there was no remedy for your pain.

Naturally, you worried everyone until Jeonghan confronted you and didn’t let you leave until you told him what the hell happened. He pushed you to your limit, finally telling him everything you felt, everything you saw, how nothing seemed to matter, to which he yelled at you, words feeling like venom as he spewed his own thoughts and piercing deeper into your heart and disintegrating parts of your soul. He cared about you, but not in that way. You were a wonderful person but you weren’t his type. He wished he could change everything but he was happy who he was with. He regretted everything because he was afraid this would happen.

You quit the next day but that wasn’t the last time you saw Jeonghan. He didn’t last much longer with his fling and his first reaction to the split was to call you, even though you had to work on your first ever video where you worked with introductions and whatnot. You had the faint naïve hope for reconciliation each time he called you up when something went wrong, each time ignoring the fact you were nothing more than an emotionally unstable human blinded by your love and him taking advantage of that. On Halloween of that year, you quit him cold turkey after sleeping with him one last time, realizing that he was nothing more than someone who fed off your energy and you couldn’t keep living like that, not when you had so much to offer the world and knowing you had a younger audience watching your movements.

It took time but you finally managed to get him out of your system.

You didn’t hate him. How could you when he not only made you but was a friend when you needed him? You wished him nothing but the best because at one point he was the best to you though it took a while to admit you were angry. It took you some time but you dedicated a special video for your situation, not mentioning his name for the sake of his image.

April 6th: present day

During that time, Jeonghan learned just exactly what he lost, and his mistake was meeting you again after those six months. He had grown up and he had hoped you would see past it and give him one more chance. He was lonely; he knew that now. All he wanted was for you to hold him one more time. He remained skeptical about you having a boyfriend though. You never mentioned it to anyone, so he chalked it up to you lying.

He didn’t expect you to show up tonight. He didn’t expect to stop singing his duet with the birthday boy to open the door and you forcing a smile on your face when you saw him. Jeonghan couldn’t even say hello because in that moment tipsy Mingyu came to the rescue and hugged the hell out of you, scolding you for hiding away and not even bother to check in on them and then enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug, swinging you back and forth and actually hearing your bones crack at his strength and laughing like his night couldn’t get any better. Everyone surrounded you, asking questions and catching up and you enjoying yourself, gossiping with Pristin and BlackPink, playing musical chairs with Monsta X, swapping stories with BTS and complaining to Seventeen when Nu’est was arriving because you were here for them. It was everything you needed: a fun night catching up with old friends.

Eventually, you ended up in the kitchen, looking for a water bottle to soothe your throat, coughing in an attempt to catch your breath from laughing so hard and bumping into Jeonghan, who was serving himself a slice of cake. “Great night?” He asked you, motioning for you a take a piece which you accepted.

“The best. I missed everyone. It felt like old times.”

He had to agree. “The only difference is we’re not hiding away, eager to rip each other’s clothes off.”

“And it’ll stay like that.” You wrinkled your nose at his words. You’d never felt awkward around him, but now knowing everything was different, you didn’t know what to say. He knew you well, and at one time you, him. He put his hand over yours as if he knew what you were thinking and you retracted it just as fast. “I-”

“Are you sure you have a boyfriend? The words were out before he could even stop himself. “Or are you just giving me an excuse?”

“Yeah, I do. And I’d appreciate you not doing this anymore. I’m not who I used to be.”

“I love who you used to be.”

“I don’t. You made me hate myself.”

“I’m sorry.” He had never apologized for causing you grief before tonight.

“Y/N! You made it after all!” The familiar voice of Jonghyun filled the room.

“It’s for the one and only Kim Mingyu. I wouldn’t dare.”

“Well my love, you look perfect. I’m sorry I’m late.” He kissed your hair, his eyes widening in pleasant surprise when he saw you weren’t alone. “Jeonghan-ssi! I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

He wanted to call out his seonbae for his latest prank, wanted to tell him he got him good. But judging from the way he pulled his arm around your waist, he knew it wasn’t. The cake in his mouth felt dry and found himself choking when he tried to swallow as you left with him.

He took shots the rest of the night, each time he saw you laughing at his words, every time he saw the look in your eyes, every time he shamelessly kissed you, feeling disgusted with himself because he wasn't courageous enough to do it when he had the chance.

He lost his lover and his friend from his actions.

Behind his truth lied everything you are; he knew that too little, too late.

[taeheyhey]

Close to Normal

Chapter 5 - Can You Answer Your Phone

Taehyung x Reader - Fluff/Angst/Future Smut - 2.2k words

A/N - Hello! I really hope those of you that have found this little story are enjoying it, thank you so much for the likes and follows, I’m only a little blog and I still don’t really know what I’m doing with it, so it really means a lot!!

Chapter One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven ~ Twelve ~ Thirteen ~ Fourteen ~ Fifteen ~ Sixteen ~ Seventeen ~ Eighteen ~ Nineteen ~ Twenty ~ Twenty-One ~ Twenty-Two

Taehyung’s note lay on the floor by the side of the sofa, apparently unread. Reaching down to retrieve it, he sighed heavily as he saw your name in his handwriting. Jimin tried to comfort him, mainly by attempting to encourage him to see reason. It had been fun spilling the details to him, just like two normal friends their age might, and the younger of the two could tell his excitement was becoming contagious throughout breakfast, as they both anticipated Jimin meeting you.

But you had gone now, god knows where, and all he knew about you was your first name. Realistically last night's meeting would just end up being one of those chance encounters that one – or both – of you may think about occasionally, once alcohol had taken effect or if sleep was elusive. Jimin was only asking questions that would make complete sense to anyone else. How close could you have really gotten in the space of a few hours, exchanging a few simple sentences? Taehyung had agreed with him that the loss he felt was irrational, but the entire situation with you was, and he felt it deeply nonetheless.

“I can’t explain it well, Jimin.” He had paced up and down the room for five or so minutes after Seong-min had left to arrange transport to the shoot location for their second day of filming. Finally ceasing his restless movement, he sat by the window and rested his elbows on the small glass table there. “She had absolutely no idea who I was and it didn’t matter. The only reason she wanted to be here was because of me,” and possibly to distract yourself from whatever had occurred with 'Mark', but he quickly shook that thought away, not wanting to sully the memory of your encounter. Also because he hadn’t necessarily divulged that element of the story to his dark-haired friend, and he was unsure whether or not he intended to.

“Why is that such a surprise to you Taehyung-ah?" He asked softly from his standing position by the door. It was widely acknowledged by anyone they encountered that Taehyung was unreasonably good-looking, but it wasn’t the fact that you found him attractive that was surprising to him. It was the look you gave him as he was tending to your leg, and when he brought you a change of clothes. Even when he had simply held the lift for you, a look of astonished gratitude shone from your face, as if no one had shown you the smallest of courtesies before. You had looked at him like he was your hero.

People were often dismissive of him, mostly contributed to by the persona he had ultimately adopted within the group. Before he had gone to Seoul he was the big brother, but as soon as the members were put together he was suddenly one of the youngest, and he fell in to the 'role' with ease. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t silly and boisterous, and even he would admit that he thought in a very different way to everyone else. But he was often serious and introspective, and thought frequently about the direction his life was heading and the decisions he had made that led him down that path, and sometimes – only ever for the briefest of moments – considered if he had done the right thing by leaving his family in Daegu all those years ago.

He had grown up idolizing his father absolutely, and from the age he was old enough to understand that one day he would be a grown up and able to have a family of his own, he had wanted to be exactly like him when he had a wife and children. He wanted to look after them and protect them, and the possibility of having people who depended on him – although hypothetical people at this point – made his heart swell with longing whenever he thought about it.

In their frequent late night conversations, he and Jimin had often talked about the possibility of romance, and they had always concurred that for now it just wasn’t something that wouldn’t be fair on any party involved, such were the complications inherent of being an idol. But you didn’t know about him being an idol. You had never seen him playing the fool on variety shows, or witnessed his aegyo on a broadcast. To you, he was simply a young man who had helped you, and he was ecstatic to have been able to play the role of saviour for you. Unless he could find you, he imagined it would be a very long time until he felt that way again.

~~~

You directed the taxi driver to the bar where you worked. It wouldn’t be open yet, but Ronnie – your boss and pretty much your second father – lived in one of the two rooms above it. He would allow you to stay in the other room, having been unable to rent it out due to the unfavourable neighbourhood the bar was situated. It’s usual occupant Hannah, Ronnie’s daughter and your best friend since practically birth, was away studying and wasn’t due to return for almost a year.

As children, you and Hannah had gone around telling everyone you were sisters and you may as well have been, you had spent the majority of your childhood at their house, being taken care of by Ronnie. Your situation at home was – to put it delicately – troublesome, and it was something that Ronnie and your teachers spent a lot of time agonising over. In fact, it seemed that every adult in your life was deeply concerned about your well-being, with the only exception being your own parents.

You decided it would only be fair to let Ronnie know you were on the way, rather than turning up out of the blue and pounding on the fire exit at the back of the building until he woke up. You took a deep breath in an effort to ensure any evidence of tears had vanished from your voice, reluctant to cause him any undue concern, as he worried about you enough already. You plunged your hand in to the depths of your overnight bag to retrieve your phone, only to discover that it wasn’t anywhere to be found. Dragging everything out of the bag frantically, the driver glanced at you through the rear-view mirror, observing your actions and instantly recognising the spastic movement of someone who had misplaced their handset. That coupled with the wide-eyed stare and muttered cursing, it was something he witnessed in the back of his car at least four times a day, and it often led to a higher fare as the passenger undoubtedly would need to go back and recover their most precious of possessions.

“Do you need to go back, sweetheart?” he asked, his fingers already poised above the indicator, ready to perform a u-turn.

It occurred to you that you hadn’t actually had sight of your phone since before you had set off to the hotel yesterday, meaning it could be in any number of places you had been in the last 17 hours. You shook your head “I need to come back to get my car anyway, forget it.”

The thought crossed your mind that maybe you should seek out Taehyung on your return, but you quickly suppressed that urge. He was nowhere to be found when you’d woken up, and you still weren’t entirely sure that the room had belonged to him anyway, given your bizarre and fraught wake up call.

You appeared to have over-romanticised your interactions with him. You admonished yourself for once again creating the beginnings of a fairy tale in your imagination. It was something Mark had often mocked you for, the fantasy land that had taken up residence in your head, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. How must you have looked to Taehyung, arguing with one man and almost immediately following another back to their room?

Then a laugh escaped you as you realised it didn’t make one single bit of difference what he thought of you, it wasn’t as if you were going to see him again, you probably weren’t ever even going to cross his mind. This final realisation suddenly hit you like a punch in the gut. No matter how much you may have misread his intent, he still took care of you and provided you with a much needed refuge for the night.

Your conflicting thoughts, and your hangover, were causing your head to pound relentlessly and you felt relief overwhelming you as the taxi pulled up outside Ronnie’s bar. You knew that you would feel better as soon as you had one of his bear-hugs and heard the colourful swear words he would undoubtedly use to refer to Mark.

“Is it okay if I stay here for a while Ronnie?” You asked as he placed a bottle of beer in front of you, your nose wrinkling at the smell and raising an eyebrow, shifting your eyes pointedly to the clock behind the bar.

“Hair of the dog,” he cited seriously, as would a doctor prescribing antibiotics, before tipping his own bottle back.

“What’s your excuse then?” you asked, taking the smallest sip of the amber liquid, feeling your stomach roil in protest.

"Quality control,” he declared without missing a beat, “it’s a new crate.” He smiled warmly at you, pulling up a stool beside yours, placing a meaty hand on your shoulder. “You are always welcome here y/n, I thought you knew that.” You returned his smile, your affection and gratitude for him causing your eyes to burn with fresh tears, your wobbly grin startling him. He placed his bottle on the high table and pulled you to his side, squishing your shoulders together as he squeezed you comfortingly. “What on earth has happened? Trouble in paradise, is it?”

He attempted to ask the question in a neutral tone, but he had never made a secret of his distaste for Mark, and the hopeful intonation at the end of his enquiry belied his concerned facial expression, the blatant fallacy causing a laugh to escape you. Leaving out any details of Taehyung, still wanting to keep that part of the night just for you – to enjoy the fantasy just a little while longer – you gave Ronnie the abridged version of events.

What followed was a stream of profanity so varied and creative that it was almost poetic, and it would have been funny were it not for the murderous look in Ronnie’s eyes. “Well who does he think he is then, god’s gift? I will throttle him when I see him, the useless bastard.”

You slid the remainder of your beer over to him and stood up to stand behind his seated form. You tucked your chin over his shoulder and wrapped your arms as far as you could around his waist. “If you don’t genuinely think he has done me the biggest favour by giving me a reason to leave then you’re lying to both of us.”

He turned in his seat and planted a kiss on your forehead. “He’s given you a million reasons to leave these past four years, y/n.” He countered, his voice softer. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What and spend my first night as a single woman giving a police statement after you throttle my ex-boyfriend?” you quipped, then remembered your lost phone. “Can I use the bar phone really quick?” You knew Ronnie’s phone would have been upstairs still, he had never really made use of the 'mobile' part of the deal.

He nodded his consent as he made his way to the cellar to bring more crates of the beer you had just been presented with. It passed it’s quality control testing then, you thought wryly, making a mental note to discuss Ronnie’s day drinking with Hannah on her return. You dialled your own number, tapping your foot impatiently, wondering if your battery had ran out. You listened as it rang and rang. You only hoped someone had handed it to reception, that you had dropped it in the restaurant or in the bar, or that housekeeping had found it. Your generic voicemail greeting clicked on and you sighed, placing the handset back in it’s cradle.

The bar phone rang loudly almost as soon as you had hung it up, making you jump a little. Hardly anyone ever rang the landline phone, with the exception of the partners of some of the more seasoned regulars, and never when the bar was closed.

Feeling a little like you were in the beginning of a 90’s slasher flick, you hesitantly reached towards the phone, raising it slowly to your ear. “Hello?”

You heard a large intake of breath on the other end of the line and then a rich, deep voice. “Hello...y/n?”

The instant elation you felt as you heard his voice was so overpowering you had to lean on the bar to stabilise yourself. “Taehyung?”

You heard a voice in the background, and you recognised it as being different from the man you had encountered when you initially woke up. “Geunyeo ya?” said the voice, followed by what sounded like a lot of shuffling and a small banging noise, and then a distant, “Ya!”

When he said your name again in confirmation, you were assured that your interpretation of events between yourself and Taehyung were not a product of your imagination, and you were ecstatic to find that he sounded as relieved to hear your voice as you were to hear his.

[oertendahlii]

So, a looooong time ago, longer now than it seems, I was tagged by both @stolligaseptember and @aprilskyforever to do the 11 questions tag.

And tonight I have less things to do than I’ve had in a long, long time, so I’m taking some time to finally do it!

The Game: Answer the questions, create your own 11 questions, and tag 11 people!

The Questions

So, since I’m doing 11x2 questions, I’ll continue down below

These are the ones from the lovely September: 1. What’s the first thing you do in the morning? There isn’t really something I do by routine the first thing in the morning, it differs. But if I manage to go up before all of my alarms gone off then the first thing I do is turn them off. Other than that, I’d say I drink water.  2. Describe the latest photo on your phone? It’s a photo of the cake I made for father’s day! It’s a cake with pale orange buttercream, chocolate drippel and lots of edible rocks I made some time ago for another cake. Oh and sprinkled orange zest! Not my finest creation, but I had little to work with and not a lot of time to spare, so under the circumstances I’d say it looks kinda pretty. 3. A book everyone should read I don’t really feel like any of the books I’ve read “qualifies” as a book     everyone should read? What even makes a book qualify as something everyone should read? But I’d say the closest one to earn the “title” is “Britt-Marie var här” (Britt-Marie was here) by Fredrik Backman. It’s just such a lovely book. At least I could say that everyone that has read “A man called Ove” and liked it should read Britt-Marie was here. Or maybe I’d say Mio, my son because I love Astrid Lindgren and there’s really something about that book that enchants me.   4. What would you say is your best talent? I have no idea? Like I’ve been staring at this question and just!?!? I don’t know. So I googled “talent” and it said: “Talent is the natural ability to do something well.” And!? I’m sorry but I don’t have a natural ability to do something well (that I can think of, at least). Like I’m not particularly good at anything (like really, I’m not), and the few things I’d say I’m alright at didn’t come natural (I think). I’m  content with being just kinda good at (some) stuff, tho :)   5. Favorite subject in school? You know what, I take the previous answer back. My talent is that I’m not able to make up my mind about things. I rarely have one favourite. And concerning this, I can’t really remember having a favourite subject? And many times I’ve liked a class not necessary because of the subject, but rather because of the teacher or my classmates. But I can mention some of the subjects I’ve liked at some point throughout my “academic life”:   - Art, math, baking (we’re talking kid age)  - History, civics, geography, chemistry, physics, math, art (12-15 years     old)  - History, math, science, TV-production (16-18)    After that I studied at a higher vocational education programme about     environment where my favourite subjects was geology, environmental     pollutions and a course in sustainable development (mostly because it     included some ecology).    This question made me remember that I didn’t like biology when I had it in school (which was when I was 12-15), which is kinda ironic because guess who just started studying a biology programme!?! Although I guess it kinda makes sense because the biology we had then was pretty much focused on the human body and I’m all about nature.      Since I pretty much just started with named programme, I can’t really pick a favourite yet. But I’m looking so much forward to ecology and conservation biology! Like I could probably say my favourite subject is ecology, but!?!? I’ve never actually had ecology as a school subject (yet!) so I can’t answer that.  6. Favorite holiday? Now that we’ve settled that I can’t pick just one favourite, I’d say Lucia, Valborg and Midsummer. Although I haven’t actually celebrated any of them for real in years, so that’s a shame. Oh and I really like Christmas as well! 7. Song stuck in your head at the moment? None! I don’t really get songs stuck in my head? Like that doesn’t happen? I don’t really understand the concept actually?   8. Favorite comfort food? Honestly I’d say it depends on the mood and the weather and the season and the time of the day. But like vegetable soup and bread is a win win most times. 9. Have you witnessed something truly incredible? Well I’ve seen some meteor rain and I think those are incredible! So spectacular and beautiful!     10. Best childhood memory? There’s not really a specific memory I’d call “the best childhood memory”.  Like I don’t remember a lot? It’s just small fragments with meanings long forgotten and I can’t really call any of them anything special and definitely not the best. And I can’t really sit down and just remember things? Most of my memories just flash by when they feel like it, I can’t really pull them out of nowhere and just remember things. I’d say my strongest memory, one of the rare I can actually recall without any form of provocation, is when I dropped a red rose on my grandfather’s coffin when I was like 4 or 5. But I’d certainly wouldn’t call that the best one. If I actually could remember my grandfather, I’d probably pick a memory with him because even if I don’t remember why I liked him so much I do remember that I did. 

11. If animals could talk, which would be the rudest?  I first answered this question with like a long rant about humanity (as an argument for choosing the species closest related to us) because     apparently I can’t talk about anything concerning zoology or ecology     without getting upset with humanity and the fact that we endanger literary all species upon this earth    But instead of doing that (I kinda just did that anyway didn’t I?) I’ll say deer fly (Lipoptena cervi). I just can’t imagine that they wouldn’t be rude because I feel like their entire existence is rude (which of course isn’t fair of me – but since I do get personally attacked by them I don’t feel that bad about verbally attacking them). Or like, maybe ticks, for the same reason. 

So that was Septembers questions, thank you dear! : )  

Now it’s time for the sweet @aprilskyforevers  questions! 1. would you rather live in a two story penthouse in a city of your choice (but it’s never really quiet and the elevator is broken when you move in), or in a mansion on the country side where the wi-fi sometimes is dodgy and the nearest large city is a two hour drive away? I’m a small-towner to the bone, I don’t even think I could live for a long time in a city where there’s even such a thing as a two story penthouse. So the mansion it is! Just think about all the trees I could plant and all the vegetables I could grow! And all the flowers! I could grow a meadow! And plant a lot of bushes. The ones that bees and butterflies like. And roses! And I could build some creotopes. Maybe even a little pond. I could make my yard a little paradise for bees and butterflies, endangered plants and flowers (I’m just going to assume that the mansion comes with a big yard).

And I mean with a mansion I would be able to offer rooms to friends and other people in need? Like how amazing wouldn’t it be if a friend needed somewhere to live for a while and you could just go YOU CAN STAY IN MY MANSION, HERE YOU GO YOU CAN HAVE THE SECOND LEVEL. ALL BY YOURSELF (although I can’t guarantee that my cats, because yes there will be cats, won’t trespass because it’s their mansion first and foremost). Come stay at my mansion! I’ll cook soup with vegetables fresh from the yard and bake a lot of bread. And cookies. And cakes. And buns of course. Come taste all my apples! And all the other fruits and berries! Look at the pretty butterflies! LET’S RUN AROUND LIKE FOOLS IN MY MEADOW AND MAKE SOME FLOWERCROWNS. Oh and in the winter we could go ice skating on my little pond. And drink hot chocolate AND GAZE AT THE STARS. I mean my mansion is far from large cities so there won’t be a lot of light pollutions, do you realize how clear the sky will be in the winter? Crisp air, hot chocolate and endless of stars.  

Sjidhudhudh. Can someone just give me a mansion. Or a little cabin. Or a tree house. mdlemdffji. I just want to plant trees, grow vegetables, save the bees, adopt cats, bake stuff and make. people. happy. 

2. favourite dessert? Oh, this is so hard! It really depends? Especially on what season it is, I think? And probably on my mood, the weather and what time of the day it is. But these or some of the things I really like: cinnamon buns, blueberry pie, carrot cake, soft gingerbread cake, gingerbread thins, apple cake, chocolate mud cake, chocolate balls, snickers cake, Swedish raspberry caves (?), chocolate mousse and ice cream. Oh and also I really like desserts I haven’t made myself? Like eating someone else’s stuff really makes it more special? Might be because I make pretty much all the sweet things we eat in my family, so whenever it’s something else it feels special.

3. tell me about your relation to the sea. have you ever seen the ocean? been on a boat? ferry? do you know how to swim? I don’t live close to the sea, so I don’t have a particularly strong relation to the sea. I don’t think I’ve seen the ocean? I have been on ferries a couple of times and I do know how to swim, I’ve never bathed in the sea however. When I was younger, an annual 5-day orienteer competition I competed in was hosted in Gothenburg one year, and then we lived in a camping place rather close to the sea. I spent the evenings jumping on rocks by the shore and got to see jellyfish for the first time. One evening I actually fell into the sea, that was the first and only time I’ve ever been in the sea. Since the stay in Gothenburg I hadn’t really seen the sea except when I’ve been on ferries, until this year. Just some months ago I stayed a week by the sea as a part of a marine excursion and went out with a research vessel some times and saw lots of animals I’ve never knew of before. And I found out that I don’t get sea sick even on a very stormy sea, which is very surprising since I get car sickness very easily. Oh, and I really like stormy seas? The movements and the sounds! And I like picking shells on the shores.

So I think my relation to the sea is somewhat stronger now. But I’m more of a forest kind of person, if that makes sense. I sure like the sea, but I can’t see myself living close to the sea. I can say I prefer to travel with a boat on the sea rather than a ferry. But the thing I like most about the sea is the sea as an ecosystem and all its fascinating inhabitants.

4. what’s the best trip you’ve done in your life so far? I don’t really know (when do I ever), mostly because I have trouble remembering things, even good things. But this summer while being on the same 5-day orienteer competition I’ve mention before, this time hosted in Örnsköldsvik, me and my sister took a trip to a cave. There where ladders in the cave and a line to follow and we could borrow some cave helmets with lamps. We got to climb up and down several hundred of meters through this dark cave and it was so so fun! So that’s at least one of the best trips I’ve done so far! 5. what do you rather do in the mountains; hike or ski? I’ve never been hiking or skiing (in the mountains at least) so I don’t know? Like I prefer cross country skiing and not downhill, and like I could see the enjoyment in hiking but I’m not a huge fan of wandering? Idk I get restless in some way? Like most times I feel it’s to slow and that I’d rather run.  The only time I really enjoy wandering is in forests, where I can look at the plants, the moss, the fungi, the lichens and the fauna. I guess there might be some of that in the mountains? So hiking maybe? But like skiing in the mountains sounds pretty fun too I guess? So skiing in the winter, hiking the other seasons? Sorry, I just can’t give you a straight answer. I would probably need to try both things out to be able to pick one or the other.

6. favourite decade for music before 2000? That’s hard, most of my favourites are active now! But I think I’d say 1990s because that’s the decade of Kristina från Duvemåla and the prime decade of trallpunk. Also Nordman was active around that time and some of my favourite metal bands had their debut then. Oh and let’s not forget the stars of my childhood – Markoolio and Rednex started out in the 90s!  

7. have you/do you want to move away from the city where you grew up? why/why not? No, not really? Like I could find myself living in another small town somewhere, but like, my life is here? So no, not at the moment. I’d like to temporary move to other small towns around Sweden, but I think I would  always return to my roots.  I’m too sentimental, I would miss my family, my friends, the nature, the landscapes , the geology and so much more.  

8. what would you name your kids if you had any? Well, I’ve never wanted any kids so I’ve never thought about it, and honestly I can’t imagine what I would name any kids because I can’t imagine myself having any kids. But, I sure like naming things! I can tell you that I would name future cats Mumrik and Mymlan. I have two adorable little fir trees I’ve named Harald and Hilding. I call one of my plants Arabella Nicodemus. I’ve had hamsters named Lilje and Freja. I also like the names Fenja, John and Karl. But I don’t think I would give any of those names to kids? For kids I’d say Hugo. I don’t know what I would name a girl!?! While we’re on the subject of Hugo, here’s an unnecessary fact:   I once had an idea of writing a small story about ecology / biodiversity with a bumblebee called Hugo (Hugo humla och den försvunna ängen – en berättelse om ekologi och biologisk mångfald / Hugo the bumblebee and the lost meadow – a story about ecology and biodiversity) 

9. name three guilty pleasure songs: I think I can just say most songs with Ronny and Ragge instead. I mean what even are those songs but also, the nostalgia? And also, so catchy?

10. where is the perfect spot for a proposal, in your opinion? I don’t really have any opinions on proposal because proposals are so far away from my life like!?!? Not happening. But I guess a place with some kind of significant meaning would be a perfect spot? And it should be private! (unless you’ve discussed it beforehand at least)

11. name your favourite disney main characher, favourite side kick and favourite villain: There isn’t really any Disney character I would call my favourite? But my favourite Disney movies have always been Aristocats, Atlantis, Brother Bear and the Jungle Book. But favourite characters? That’s taugh. For main I think it could be Kenai, Milo or maybe Robin Hood. Oh or Aladdin (but honestly that’s mostly because of Peter Jöback). Favourite side kick would be Thomas O’malley, Koda, Audrey, Baloo or Bagheera. But villain, I don’t know? It’s not Shere Khan, and probably not Tiberius. I would like to say Frollo because of SOM ELDAR! DET BRINNER! SOM GLÖD IN I MITT SKIN! Hellfire but I haven’t actually seen the Hunchback of Notre Dame yet so I can’t really say that. But Jafar maybe? Or King Richard. Probably Jafar.

So that was it! Thank you dear for those questions! : ) Now, here’s my questions:

1. How was your day? 2. Favourite food to bring on a trip? 3. What would you want me to ask you about? Like if you could pick a question that I would ask, what question would that be? 4. If you did pick a question, what’s the answer to the question? If you didn’t, that’s fine, I’ve noticed that it’s very hard to come up with questions. Maybe you could post a picture of a cute animal or a pretty plant or the sky or something instead?

5. Please name three birds you find beautiful?  6. What’s three inspirational quotes/facts or similar you like?

7. What’s your favourite root vegetable(s)? 8. Share at least one new thing you’ve learned this month!

9. What’s the best advice someone has given you (or that you’ve found in some other way)?     10. Describe yourself in 10 words (don’t make sentences, just list some words). Can be personality, hobbies, aesthetic, whatever! : )

11. Let’s pretend you could visit any planet, star, comet or other thing not created by humans in our solar system. Let’s pretend you could travel there in little to no time and you could explore it without getting harmed, what would you choose to visit and why? I tag: @gottagobackintime @hippygirl14 @cookiemcfumb @askyfullofcomets @liljakonvalj @norrlandshobbit @asgoodasanyone @entidforalt  and I mean it was such a long time ago you tagged me, so I’ll throw in @stolligaseptember and @aprilskyforever as well because why not! :) I know it’s not 11 people but I don’t know who else to tag sorry

[greekowl87]

Fic: False Flags Redux 9/13

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) | AO3

And, as always, thanks to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie for helping make this possible. And thanks to everyone who has  read, commented, liked, and reblogged this story. Tagging @today-in-fic .

9/13

Yorktown, Virginia October 12, 1862

Scully brought her wool shawl around her as she held her basket close to her chest and struggled down the muddy main street back to the small farmhouse that she and Mulder shared with an old man and his wife. By now, she honestly thought they’d be in Richmond by now but with the war and the Union’s undying peninsula campaign, she was just happy to be alive and with Mulder by their side. So they went into a small lull of paradise living in Yorktown. In an agreement, they kept up their appearances as Katherine and William, a young couple who had yet to be married. A young couple who had given up their wedding bands in favor of their lives never allowed the chance to marry, with all family dead. But things had changed. Tomorrow morning, despite the union occupation, they were ready to tie the knot, officially, well, Katherine and William were on paper, but it would her and him, as Dana Scully and Fox Mulder, officially husband and wife. But it made her smile. False names, false lives, but her and Mulder were genuine. For the first time in her life, she could remember being happy.

Scully kicked a loose pebble stuck in the mud as she trudged through the main street towards the carriage house she and Mulder lived in on the small farm. As she neared the property, she went to the main house first to drop off her basket from the market. She opened the door and undid her shaw, placing the basket on the kitchen table. “Sharon, I’m back!” she called.

“In here, Katherine. We, um, have a visitor.”

Scully stiffened, her hand dancing around her  apron where she wore the knife that she hid in her dress. “Where’s William?” she called, thinking of Mulder.

“With me.”

Well, she thought, if they weren’t dead, then things had to somewhat safe. She relaxed and forced a smile on her face and walked into the sitting room. Mulder instantly rose first, holding out his hand to her. Scully grasped his hand tightly and glanced at the old couple who took them in, Walter and Sharon Skinner, and then the stranger, a familiar man dressed in a Union officer’s uniform. Scully felt Mulder’s arm come around her possessively and she gave a weak smile.

“Charlie," Scully greeted him stiffly.

Mulder loosened his grip on the mention of her younger brother’s name. Scully turned to him and placed a calming hand on his chest. “It’s Charlie, my brother,” she whispered, “we’re okay.”

Mulder focused on her and nodded. Mulder had never met any of Scully's family but he knew their names. Scully rubbed Mulder's arm soothingly. “Charlie, how did you find me?”

“Can we speak in private, Katherine?”

Mulder did not let her go and the old farmer, Walter, stood angrily. “I will not be demeaned in my own house, nor will they! I tolerate the Union Army but I will not be belittled in my own home.”

“I mean you no harm, sir. And my apologies” Charlie bowed in humility. “I have searched for my sister so long. It’s been months since I last received a letter from her.”

Mulder arched an eyebrow suspiciously. It had been months since Scully attempted to write her family. Mulder pulled her closer as Charlie gazed at Mulder cautiously before looking at Walter. “It is okay, Mr. Skinner,” Scully said, hugging Mulder. “This is my youngest brother.”

“Are you sure, Catherine?”

“Yes. I would recognize him anywhere." She could feel Charlie's gaze bearing into Mulder and the fact he held her. "I’ll bring William with me. I wish to talk to him in private.” Mulder’s eyes never left the union officer’s face, staring at him with contempt. “It’s okay, William.” Her hands came out and rubbed his arms. “William. It’s okay.” He nodded. Scully took a deep breath and turned to their benefactors. “We’ll be okay, Walter.”

The bald farmer eyed the union officer wearily. “Sharon and I will be out in the kitchen if yout need anything.”

The three watched the old couple leave before the Union office hissed at Scully. “What the hell were you thinking, Dana, running off with the Union coming?”

Mulder released Scully and watched Scully immediately grow stern, fostering a presence he had only seen in private in between them. He saw a strong and capable woman and he fell in love with her even more and his heart soared. “Mulder,” she began, motioning to the officer, “this is Lieutenant Charles Scully, my contact, and youngest brother.”

"Mulder?" The youngest Scully glared at Mulder. “Dana, this was your contact?”

She wrapped her arms defensively around herself and walked to the window. “Scully, you okay?” Mulder asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she replied, giving him a small smile.

“Dana, what happened to your husband? Your mission?”

Mulder looked at the new stranger. “He was wounded in the thigh during the battle of the ironclads. Damn fool took one of the rifles from my marines to fire on the ship and shore.” Mulder spoke brusquely.

Charlie turned to gather and measure Mulder and Scully stormed in between them. She caught Mulder’s hand gently, instantly calming him and the action did not go unnoticed by her brother. “Where is your husband, Dana?”

“Dead as far as I am concerned,” she shrugged. “I haven’t heard from him since he transferred Mulder to ‘watch over me.’”

“Then why is he still here?”

"We escaped when the Union came to Norfolk. We thought it was best if we ran."

"You letter indicated Richmond. Why are you not there?"

"The opportunity never presented to itself."

"Then why are you still here?"

“I love him.”

Mulder smiled and fought from letting it showed, despite the tense situation, but he remained silent but he loved Dana Scully more than ever. “You love him, Dana? You’re a married woman!”

“I am a person,” she detested hotly. "And as far as I am concerned. A widow. I do not know if Franklin is alive or not. I do not know where he is."

“A fallen woman,” her brother echoed ominously.

“My life is my decision, Charlie.”

“You risk our cause, Dana! All for what? This man?”

“This is the man who got you your information,” she yelled. “He risked everything for is. Isn't it enough I trust him with my life?”

“So much you forsake your own marriage? Who are you now?”

“What marriage?” she answered heatedly. “I hated him. As far as the world is concerned, my husband is dead, Dana Buchanan is dead. I'm Dana Scully once more. And I am to marry Fox Mulder this Sunday, officially, in front of a Catholic priest. I would appreciate if you were there.”

The invitation left the air bitter as Charlie chewed his jaw. "If I could find you, and if Buchanan is alive, Dana, how do you know he won't find you?"

“The question I should be asking is how you found us,” Scully countered.

“Do not turn this around to be about me, Dana.”

“If you found me, what is to make me think we are safe anywhere?” Scully turned to Mulder, fear and worry etched in her face. “Mulder, we can’t stay here.”

“Scully, calm down,” he said softly. He hesitated before reaching out to grasp her hand. His other hand cupped her cheek. He could feel Charlie's scorching gaze. “We’re safe here. No one has found us.”

“How long, Mulder before someone does?”

Mulder glanced at her youngest brother wearily. He debated whether to go any further with revealing his identity. She sensed his hesitation and took his hand. “Charlie is okay, Mulder,” she whispered affectionately. “It would be big brother Bill you would have to worry about. You can trust him. We're safe.”

Charlie relaxed slightly seeing his sister open up to this towering stranger which he regarded with distrust. “Dana, who is this man anyways to you,” he asked, forcing himself to calm his demeanor.

“My real name is Fox Mulder,” the tall man replied, straightening up to his full height. He held out his hand in greeting. “Former lieutenant in the Confederate marines, and before that, a captain in the United States Army, and used to be a spy.”

“You were Dana’s contact,” Charlie asked, shaking the hand reluctantly. “The mysterious ‘M.’”

“M. for mysterious?” He chuckled. He cast a sideways glance at Scully. “Scully, you make me sound more appealing than I am.”

“You very appealing, Mulder,” she murmured affectionately.

“Mr. Mulder, or should I say, Mr. Healey?” Charlie asked.

“Healey,” he specified. “We are a young married couple who never actually had a chance to marry. Officially.”

“Beauty of poor wartime record keeping,” Scully added.

"Right."

“I will be outside with Walter.” He kissed her cheek softly and squeezes her hand. “Just holler.”

With that, he left brother and sister standing awkwardly in the small kitchen. Scully crossed her arms defensively. She gazed outside and watched Mulder walk towards the small outcrop of buildings, waving in greeting to Walter and Sharon. She looked at her baby brother critically. “How did you find me, Charlie?”

“You have a bounty hunter after your...partner.”

Scully overlooked his snide comment. “What bounty hunter? We covered our tracks.”

“Apparently not well enough,” he murmured.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were supposed to stay put in Norfolk.”

“What good would I do with the army occupying that city? I would have sat there, bored to tears. No, I did what I thought was best. It’s my life, Charlie. Not anyone else.”

“You were always too headstrong, Dana,” he sighed. “What about dad?”

“I did not want to marry that man. He is close to twenty years my senior, Charlie. He is dad’s age. It’s vile. I despised being married to him for several years. He already has nine children. He does not need me for that.”

Charlie looked down at the ground. “Mom would kill from grandchildren, you know that, Dae.”

“Because Missy choose the freer lifestyle, the responsibility of continuing the family line falls on me? I don’t think so,” she said defiantly. “Bill has three children, I know you’re wife is expecting soon, right?”

“We lost him two months ago, Dana."

"I'm sorry," she choked."

He waved off the condolances. "I could not contact you because I did not know where you were. Jesus, you just ran off with some stranger!”

“He is not just some stranger,” she hissed. Scully’s voice took on an edge that held ages’ worth of devotion and love for Mulder. “He is everything to me, Charlie. Everything. I have never felt such life and hope until I met him. I trust him, more than anyone else on this Earth, and not just with my life, my heart as well.”

Charlie gazed at her for a moment. “That’s a lot coming from you, Dae.”

“I mean every word.”

He weighed what he said next carefully. “Does he make you happy, Dana?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

He nodded. “I have duty come a calling. I am stationed here until February but come to the yellow house by the river if you can meet. That’s where I am staying. Maybe I can meet your new…”

“Husband,” she said.

“Husband." He licked his lips. You haven’t actually married, have you?”

“I already told you. We haven'. Yet. This Sunday, hopefully. I want to, but with our names…” Scully shook her head. “We’ll be by. When is convenient?”

“Tomorrow night around eleven. We’ll be safe and have privacy.” He gently kissed his sister's cheeks. “Till tomorrow, Dana.”

. . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Scully stretched as she regained consciousness, sleeping lingering around the edges of her perception. She stretched, like she usually did, feeling her muscles stretch but her morning ritual was stopped by a warm solid body pretzeled around hers. With her movement, a large hand from the arm resting around her midsection flexed against her abdomen, lingering over her fresh bullet scar from New York before caressing her skin lightly. Then a soft kiss on her shoulder and a large nose nuzzling her cheek.

It had been real. Not a dream from a lifetime ago.

“Hmph. What time is it,” he grumbled into her hair.

She blinked away the sleep from her eyes and saw darkness except for light from the parking lot lights filtering through the hotel window. “The sun hasn’t even risen yet.”

“Hmph. Go back to sleep.”

“Mulder.”

But he only answered her with a soft snore. Scully smiled and took the moment of silence to take in the moment. Ever since she had reclaimed her past memories of the 19th century, she had dreamed about Mulder, about moments like this. Scully had always some attraction to Mulder. She probably did not remember when it started, likely their first case when she had thrown herself into his arms half naked in fear of mosquito bits when the power had gone out. She remembered his hands smoothing over her back and the shivers she had gotten afterward. Maybe it had been then because that was when the fantasies had started, always starting with the lingering sensation she recalled of his hand on her shoulder.

But now. She snuggled against his chest as he was spooning her from behind. It had been so long since she had been touched like this. Sure, she hugged and kissed her mother but that was obligatory. She yearned for Mulder’s subtle touches, even if she would not admit it to herself, but now. This very moment. It was not a dream. Holy hell. It was real. Last night had actually happened.

She turned with difficulty to face Mulder, his arms hanging around her, their legs entwined in a knot. She raised her hand slightly and touched her cheek lightly with her index finger, tracing his features slowly, as if trying to memorize him and this moment.

They did. They actually did it.

A part of Scully expected a cheerleading squad and the Philadelphia Phillies mascot to burst in her hotel room and celebrate this momentous achievement, but she settled for his quiet breathing instead. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong against her palm. He was alive. He was here. He was with her.

“Mulder,” she spoke softly, caressing his cheek.

His eyes fluttered open and focused on her. He stretched as his hands lazily played up and down her sides. “Morning, Scully.”

“Morning yourself, Hot Stuff?”

“Hot Stuff? Really?”

Scully wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing against him. “Mm-Hmm. I am myself, all at once.”

Mulder was quiet and stroked his hair. “Everything?”

“Well, this lifetime and the last. I remember. Clear as day.”

“Everything?” he asked again.

“Everything,” she confirmed, kissing his lips. “No regrets?”

“No regrets,” he smiled pushing back her hair. “I don’t remember everything, but enough. I remember you. I'll always remember you.”

“I was married to him, Mulder, in my last life.” The words sounded foreign on her lips as she admitted to a past life, but it felt right. “But you.  You saved me.”

“We’re key to this,” he admitted softly. “Whether we like it or not.”

“We can’t tell anyone,” she said, resting her forehead against his chest.

“We won’t,” he affirmed. His arms came around like a cocoon and she closed her eyes. His words came from two lifetimes of experiences and love. “There is only you, remember that, Scully. You’re the only one that matters.”

. . . .

FBI Field Office Norfolk, Virginia December 18, 1998

Mulder watched Scully sit in a conference room through the window, watching the television intently, a file and notepad sitting in front of her. After last night, she quietly told them in their rental car she wanted to watch the interview videos alone once they got to the field office, citing what they had originally intended last night. Mulder was making use of a spare desk out in their bullpen, his original profile and the evidence of his journal from his imprisonment. He sipped the bitter coffee as he hunched over the journal. But Mulder could not bring himself to read Buckley’s personal journal. His thoughts kept drifting to Scully.

He glanced at the conference room across the way and saw his partner before refocusing on the task laying in front of him but he could not focus at all. He rubbed his hand across his face and a memory, unspurned and unhurried flooded his senses, and he closed his eyes. He could feel her tender touch against the nape of his neck...was it from the 19th century or from last night?

I love you, Mulder, she breathed into his ear.

Had she said that? Did she say that?

Mulder felt himself shiver uncontrollably. He felt the ghostly sensations of her touch lingering. Mulder, her ghostly form had called.

His present self-pushed his work forward on the borrowed desk and stormed to towards the conference room where his partner was in. He slammed the door shut, starling her. He drew the blinds closed and looked at her hungrily. Scully causally paused the VHS tape and stayed focused on the television screen.

“It’s chaotic, isn’t it?” she asked

She was still facing the fuzzy television screen and Mulder slouched against the door as if the new memories threatened to crush him.

“Scully.”

He called her name. She flashbacked to a memory from her previous life. Mulder screaming in the middle of the night from nightmares. She remembered, her older self, cradling him protectively, kissing away his tears. “I’m here, Mulder. I’m here.”

When had she spoken those words? This life or the other? She glanced at the closed blinds quickly before cradling his large, lanky form against her. Scully allowed her older self to guide her current body. She held his lanky form against her in a tight hug the best she could. He pressed his face into her neck trying to steady his breathing, clutching her like an anchor to reality. She kissed the nape of his neck and ran her hands up and down his back soothingly.

“Focus on the present,” she whispered, recalling how thinking about Mulder was the only thing that kept her centered. “Think about me. This moment is real, Mulder. This is the present. This is our lives.” She lowered her voice and whispered in his ear. “Last night was real.”

Mulder sighed against her as the rush of memories ebbed to a dull throbbing in the back of his mind as he focused on the moment of Scully cradling him. “I’m sorry,” he managed. He tried to get up but ended up slouching beside her. Scully took his hand and squeezed it. “I can’t...I can’t separate now from then,” he admitted quietly. “I know how you must've felt. After last night, everything’s come back in full force. We were a hot item, Scully.”

“We’re a hot item now,” she murmured softly. Scully slouched next to him against the door and turned her head to look at him. “I know what you mean. It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“How did you do it?” he whispered. “Separating everything?”

“It is not necessarily separated but rather, but blended together. I am myself all at once. And I had you.” She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to touch him. She corrected herself. “I have you, Mulder. I’ve always had you.”

Mulder took a deep breath, focusing on Scully. She caressed his cheek. “We have work to do,” she whispered. “We can work this out tonight, okay? I figured out what Buckley wants.”

“We need to tell the ASAC then, Scully,” he replied.

“It’s not that simple. Mulder, do you trust me?”

“Is that even a question?”

“We’ll talk about it tonight then,” she promised.

. . . . .

Mulder’s head was still swimming as he sipped the lukewarm coffee. Scully sat next to him as she had discreetly rubbed his thigh underneath the table in comfort. He felt himself relax a fraction with the soothing sensation of her fingers running against his suit pants. As they gathered with the rest of the other agents and U.S. marshalls, he cast a glance and noted Diana leaning against a corner with her arms crossed. Her dead brown eyes locked with his momentarily and he looked away, focusing instead A cold shiver passed over him and Mulder squeezed Scully’s hand gently, a silent affirmation. Wordless, she returned the squeeze and let her hand go slack in his under the table.

“All right, everyone, listen up!” ASAC called. “Devins, dim the lights!”

“Yes, sir!”

The lights dimmed and a projector came on, displaying a slide of the gruesome murder scene from Hampton the previous day. Scully could hear murmurs of disgust and even an 'Oh my, God' muttered under someone's breath.

“We are losing time, ladies and gentleman,” he began. “Francis Buckley killed yesterday afternoon. This time in Hampton.”

A new slide flashed in place, revealing the blown out brains all over the concrete. Scully grimaced. “According to the autopsy performed by Agent Scully, the victim was killed, execution style with a .44 round projectile at the base of the skull.”

“Executed more like it,” someone commented.

Scully felt herself shiver, rolling her neck side to side as if to shake the cold feel of metal being pressed against her skull. Mulder squeezed her hand and stood up, walking towards the front of the group. “Buckley is growing more reckless,” Mulder began. The slide changed to Buckley’s original mugshot when she and Mulder arrested him the year before. “Agent Scully and I captured Buckley after he murdered three people. There were no connections between the first three victims and there is nothing connecting the current victim. He was your run of the mill murderer. In the first three, there was something that was stolen like money or a ring, something of value. This was not the case with this most recent murder.”

He took a deep breath and let his gaze linger on Scully before continuing. “He has acted out, lashed out. I reviewed all recorded interviews with him over the past week and he shows signs of mental instability.”

“What about his belief in past lives, Agent Mulder?” Diana spoke up from the back.

Mulder’s hazel eyes darted to the darkened corner and saw Diana standing with her arms crossed, looking expectantly at him. She was challenging and trying to bait him. "And what about past lives, Agent Fowley?”

Scully heard the coldness of his tone and she shifted in her seat to see Diana's reaction. “His journal indicates he is aware of past lives, his own in fact. Wouldn't you agree that has an impact on the current case.”

“Multiple personalities. He has been diagnosed as schizophrenic in the past,” Mulder answered easily, not indulging Diana. “It is not my place to investigate the claims you are insinuating, Agent Fowley.”

“It used to be.”

The entire task force was now caught up in the soap opera drama between Spooky Mulder and Agent Fowley. “I no longer run the X-Files. My job is to catch a killer. Since we are on the topic of mental instabilities, this is a new addition. The thought of multiple personalities is a real possibility.” He looked at the group of agents. “This makes it harder to predict him. In your handouts, you have my updated profile.”

“Thank you, Agent Mulder,” the ASAC nodded.

Mulder returned to his seat beside Scully quietly. “Now, we are going public, hoping someone will have some information. The marshalls are helping us. We are going to hold a press conference and be brief as possible in explaining the situation in the next day or two. That’s it for now. Get to work, people.”

Scully gathered her notes and Mulder did the same as Diana stormed to Mulder. Scully glanced at her partner wordlessly and he whispered, “Why don’t you get our things together,” he whispered. “I’ll meet you out by our rental.”

She heard the tightness in his voice but she nodded, replying, “I’ll be outside in the car waiting.”

Mulder passed her the rental keys and Scully left. Mulder took in the measure of his former partner and ex-wife. Memories blurred for him between what was and what was happening. Scully. Just thinking about her made him feel grounded and centered. He took a deep breath and looked at Diana. “What the hell was that, Fox?”

“What was what?”

Mulder looked at her evenly. “I am here to catch a killer, Diana, not chase wild theories about past lives.”

“You didn’t use to be like this, Fox. I know that look you have in your eye. You are considering the possibility.”

Mulder recalled Scully’s hands against his body from last night and centuries ago. How she made him feel. Alive. Whole. Complete. He tried to push past her. “You aren’t my partner, Diana. Scully is.”

“So you follow her science now? She is holding you back.”

Just the opposite. Mulder recalled the tension between him and Scully and now he knew, he only trusted Scully. No one else. Mulder did not grace with Diana with a reply. “I need to go.”

. . . .

Scully shivered as she turned up the heat in the car as she waited for Mulder to come join her so they could head back to their hotel. The gray overcast sky, which she had just noticed, opened up and began to snow. She sighed, her mind replaying the day. Mulder looked so uncertain, earlier that afternoon when she held him and beheld the same old age in his eyes that she had. She jumped when the car door open letting in him in and he slammed it shut. Mulder silently gripped the steering wheel, the whites of his knuckles showing. Scully gently placed her gloved hand on his forearm as he relaxed. “Scully,” he whispered softly, “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” she asked softly. “For what?”

“I couldn’t protect you. It was my fault. When he caught us in Yorktown. I should have protected the both of you.” He closed his eyes and leaned backward. "I should have protected you."

It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to, her vision of her own execution and he was remembering. She bit her lip and whispered, “It was not you, Mulder. It wasn’t your fault. It’s already done. You didn't cause us to be caught. You weren't the one who killed me.”

“I should have done more,” he bemoaned.

“Take us back to the hotel, Mulder, we need to talk.”

. . . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Scully recognized when he would withdraw into himself and martyr himself to guilt. He sat on her hotel bed in his jeans and a green knit sweater. Mulder’s legs were crossed as he leaned back into the pillows, his eyes closed in thought, his arms raised, cradling his head, and his eyes closed. Scully wore a pair of black jeans and her University of Maryland hoodie. She sat at the edge of the bed and resisted the urge to reach out and touch him to comfort him. The silence was deafening.

After last night, Scully wanted to act on that new intimacy that they had created (or rediscovered) last night. “Mulder.”

His eyes opened and focused on her. She wanted to do so much more. She quietly sat next to him, closer to the headboard, and wordless brought her hand to his chest, resting it on his heart. The uneasy silence he was unsure how to operate in this new space they had created. Mulder quietly released his arms and wrapped it around Scully’s shoulders and brought her towards his chest. As foreign as it seemed, it felt so natural. Scully relaxed and melted to his side. He sighed, relaxing as she ran her hand lightly across his stomach.

“I don’t know what we are going to do, Scully,” he whispered.

“We need to remember everything,” she replied.

“What do you remember?”

She looked up at him before looking back down, wrapping her leg around his waist and his own. “I was married to him. I remembered this morning. He was my husband for seven years, and you...you were one of his officers.”

“A marine. I remember seeing you for the first time. I felt my heart seize in my chest and your eyes, Scully.”

“What about my eyes?”

“When you walked into the basement office, you looked so cute decked out in that god awful jacket. But, you looked me in the eye and never winced away. Everyone else did.”

“Why would I do that?”

Mulder was safe. Mulder was always safe with her.

She closed her eyes and her mind drifted as a new memory took over. A ship. There were on a ship. No. Not a ship. A hammock? “Well, I tend to make people want to stay away.”

“Lucky for me because I get to keep you all for myself.”

A silence engulfed them as Scully detangled herself from Mulder reluctantly and he was already wishing she was back against his side. “What could you not tell me earlier today,” he asked softly.

Scully blinked, recalling her brief conversation with Mulder. She shifted hesitantly, looking down at the comforter, playing with the hem of her jeans. “How much...how much do you remember, Mulder?”

He sat straighter up and leaned back into the pillows and crossed his arms. “I told you already. Enough,” he answered tentatively.

“You know, in that life, Buckley was my husband,” she repeated in a whisper. “Captain Franklin Buchanan.”

“Who was I, Scully?”

“He was a navy captain in the Confederacy during the Civil War. You were a lieutenant on his ship,” she spoke slowly, watching him close his eyes. She reached for his hand, grasping it lightly. “You saw me in the street once. But it was at a dinner party, and I just knew you had to be the one.”

“What happened?”

“We were spies, Mulder,” she spoke softly. “Well, I dragged you into it, but we were spies.”

“Like Moose and Squirrel,” he teased lightly. “Not that different I suppose.”

She gave a small smile. “Well, after a few months, things between us moved quickly and the Union retook Norfolk. We decided to run.”

“Together.”  It was a statement rather than a question. She nodded again. “He wants revenge.  Revenge…”

Mulder was already in full profiler mood, analyzing what could and could not be. “I’m going to bed, Mulder,” she spoke quietly.She slid off the hotel bed and kissed his cheek, startling him out of his reverie. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Mulder.”

“You’re not staying?” he asked, surprised.

“We still have a case, Mulder.” She hesitated before placing a brief kiss on his cheek and giving him a cheeky smile before disappearing into the adjoining room.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia October 12, 1862

That night was colder than Scully had anticipated and her thin cloak was failing to keep her warm. Mulder walked beside her small form and she felt his arm come around her waist and pull her closer. She gazed at him knowingly and he just smiled. “You know I’m a rebel.”

“Used to be,” she whispered. “Thank you for doing this.”

Mulder kissed her lovingly as they came to the end of the muddy main street and large white building that sat near the shore of the York River. She felt him grow tense as they approached a fortified area with Union soldiers. She placed a calming hand over his heart as the came closer to the white building and coiled around her slightly like a large shadow. Subtly, she led Mulder up the steps past the Union soldiers as if they were not there. He was quiet as she opened the door and ushered them inside. In the receiving room, Scully saw her brother standing in the common room in front of the fire. Scully patted his chest before untangling herself from him.  She took a few steps forward. “Was that really necessary, Charlie? The soldiers?”

“They’re my men, well, Major Howe’s men.” The Union Lieutenant turned to face his sister and took full measure of Mulder. “You can’t be too careful, Dana. How do you know you can trust him?”

Mulder gritted his teeth as Scully turned, to look at him, willing him silently to calm. “Because I do, Charlie,” she replied tensely. “That should be good enough for you. I trust him just as he trusts me. He is a deserter and a spy. I am a spy and if either one of us is caught, we are dead. How did you find me?”

He held up a finger and withdrew from his breast pocket a stack of letters. “They were hoping I would see you since they have not heard from you since April.”

“Well,” Scully huffed, “it was not like I had the time to.”

“Because of him.”

“Charlie, stop it. My choices are mine alone. Mulder had nothing to do with us running except for following me. You detested Franklin. Only because Missy decided to be the free spirit and go to Europe so I had to marry. Bill is the perfect son. Missy is the black sheep. I have to be the perfect child. You can do as you please. How is that fair?”

“You’re a woman, Dana. It’s expected.”

Mulder used all of his willpower to keep quiet. He understood where her brother was keeping from, Mulder understood societal tradition. But Charlie did not know Scully, his Scully. He only knew Dana. He reached out his hand slightly to her in affirmation. Discreetly, she squeezed it while keeping her attention on Charlie.

“If it is expected that in place of my husband’s death to find a new husband than I did.”

“You’re husband’s not dead,” Charlie answered softly, watching Mulder. “Captain Buchanan was promoted admiral and resides in Alabama. He is still recovering from his thigh wound.”

Mulder lowered his eyes in shame. What was he doing? Scully sensed the change and turned suddenly to look at him She cupped his face and suddenly there was only them. She caressed his temples with her thumbs and smiled. “I regret nothing,” she murmured. “Stay?” He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Who are you, Mr. Mulder, to my sister?”

He looked up at Charlie and took measure of the other man. Scully released his face as Mulder grew more confident knowing he had her. “Fox Mulder, former Lieutenant of Confederate Marines, and before that, Lieutenant of the United States Army, adjunct to the war office.”

“Seriously,” Charlie laughed. “Didn’t you graduate from Virginia Military Institute?”

“What if I did?”

“Mulder, it’s okay,” Scully soothed.

“I am not implying anything, good sir. I heard stories about you when I went there myself. I was two years behind you in class.”

“That’s why I picked him, Charlie. He knows what he is doing.”

“Hmph.” The younger Scully stalked to the fire. “Tomorrow night, Dana. I desire to see you again. I want you to come alone.”

“Charlie.”

“It’s non-negotiable, Dana.”

. . . .

Scully shivered and turned into Mulder’s warmth in their small bed above the Skinner’s coach house. He sighed, kissing her forehead as he disappeared and came back with two wool blankets and draped it over their bed. Mulder crawled beneath the blanket and held her as she began to cry.

. . . .

Holiday Inn by the Airport Norfolk, Virginia December 18, 1998

Mulder awoke when he heard a door close. Still groggy with sleep, he sat up only to feel a warm, soothing hand across his chest, resting quietly against his heart. A petite figure crawled beneath the covers of his hotel bed, coiling around him like a snake. He felt the warmth of freshly fallen tears as she nuzzled his chest. His arm came around her instantly. “Scully?” he murmured.

“I love you,” she cried silently. “I love you, Mulder.”

Half raked with sleep and old memories. He pulled her close, remembering an odd night where he had held her in a small bed in some carriage house. “We’re going to be okay,” he whispered, kissing her hair, his own voice sounding foreign, “we’ll be okay. We'll figure this out, Scully. Just you and me, like always.”

[sourwolfstories]

Long Angsty Sterek Fics

All at least 20k words long (by request)

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of....

By Any Other Name by entanglednow

He doesn't know his name, he doesn't know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he's on the run with. But he's pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

Permanent Fixture by linksofmemories

Derek is Scott's older brother. Stiles is Scott's best friend. Derek is falling in love with Stiles. This is a bit of a problem.

Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell

Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.

Don’t Speak by fatale

The Alpha pack has systematically attacked Stiles and his friends for months, testing their strengths and weaknesses. When one of the Alphas goes after Stiles, he awakens in the hospital and realizes that something's wrong. Very wrong. All sounds seem to hurt him, he can't understand what anyone is saying, and when he tries to speak, it's gibberish. How is he supposed to deal with the fact that he's lost the ability to communicate with his dad and his friends?

Without his ability to talk, his sarcasm, and his wit, what does Stiles even have left? Enter Derek, the only one who seems to make it better.

Enemy Lines by qhuinn (tekla)

This is the story of werewolf Derek Hale and human Stiles Stilinski: two people who grew up in the same town but completely different worlds, their realities split by the war between men and wolves.

Years later when Derek returns to Beacon Hills, he does it as Alpha of a military pack on a mission to capture those responsible for the region’s resistance. With his main objective, Sheriff Stilinski, out of sight, he settles for the next best thing: his son, Stiles.

Neither of them suspects they’ll need to trust each other if they want to make it out this alive.

Windows by dr_girlfriend

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

Excerpt:

“You’re blind,” Derek said flatly, the anger draining from him so suddenly he felt almost woozy. His vision cleared, his claws sliding back into blunt fingernails.

“Thanks for the memo, genius,” the kid said acidly. “I can still fucking defend myself, so don’t take another damn step.”

“Fuck, I...I’m sorry,” Derek stuttered.

“What?!” The kid’s brow crinkled. “I mean — what?! You’re fucking sorry!?” His lips thinned into a harsh line. “What, is this some kinda Hallmark movie where you’re discovering the error of your ways because you don’t want to rob a blind person?! That’s fucking condescending, man. I’ll have you know that —”

“Just, wait.” Derek interrupted what was apparently the start of a convincing argument as to why he should rob the kid after all, feeling his head start to spin. “This is — it’s a misunderstanding. I’m — I’m not robbing you. You’re — you’re safe, okay? I’m taking three steps back. Just — just let me explain.”

“Explain why you came busting into my apartment? Yeah, go right ahead, man, I can’t wait to hear this epic tale.”

Pulling the Pieces Together by fireflystiles (cuddlehazz)

“You never have hurt anyone. Not then and not now. You just made Coach piss his pants and that’s funny shit there.” Jackson told Stiles. They all underestimated how responsible Stiles felt for the Nogitsune and what happened. No wonder he was afraid to go near the pack, not to mention the whole no control over magic thing. He felt Stiles huff out a breath at the part about Coach which was a good start.

Or after the Nogitsune, Stiles keeps secrets, there are new people in Beacon Hills, and the Pack has fallen apart. Stiles starts to figure out his role in the pack, piecing it back together, and trying to keep everyone safe.

Paint My Spirit Gold by Red_City

There was a gift.

There was a curse.

There is a power in the house of Hale, given to the firstborn son of every generation - the ability to turn everything he touches to gold. Though the original intent of the power was thought of as a gift, in reality, it is a dreaded curse that causes the bearer a life of fear, isolation, and danger.

Thus, Prince Derek is born.

---

[Excerpt from Chapter 22]

He didn’t think much of his hands, or any part of his body, really - but Stiles gaze had lingered enough to make Derek wonder what Stiles’ thought. Now, Stiles honey eyes were fixated on Derek’s hands, running over them like they were something precious rather than tools of death.

“Hmm.”

“What.”

“Nothing, I just - I thought they wouldn’t look like normal hands.”

“Why.”

“Because they’re magic,” Stiles said, looking up to meet Derek’s eyes.

“They’re not magic, they’re cursed,” Derek said, tucking his hands back into the sheet.

Stripped & Polished by Morgana, Winchesterek

Stiles is 17 and he’s sick of being a virgin. The last two and a half years of trying to get laid by every guy in the school (both straight and gay) haven’t worked out and the time he came onto his long time crush Jackson Whittemore blew up in his face. That was it. He was going to go out to a club and find someone to fuck him and they would be just as good as anyone else he was trying to have sex with. He goes to Jungle to scope out his prospects.

Certain Kind of Fool by saraubs

Derek, who has been dragged against his will to the same resort his family visits every summer, is determined to spend the next two and a half months sequestered in his room. His only friend, his sister Laura, is preoccupied with her newly-bonded mate, and doesn't seem to care about anything but making him happy.

When Derek meets Stiles Stilinski, a sharp-tongued waiter, he thinks that this summer might not be a complete waste of time. There are only two problems: First, Stiles is human. Second, he doesn't believe in mates.

Secondhand Soulmate by AnnoyinglyCute, Inell

Not always, not even most of the time, but sometimes -- 24% of the time, statistically speaking -- people meet their soulmates and live happily ever after.

THIS isn't that story.

This is the story of Stiles Stilinski, whose soulmate died before he was born. This is the story of all the sorrows and heartache Stiles experienced, all the bullying and oppression from those who should know better but didn't. This is also the story of the friendships Stiles made along the way, of the battles he fought -- and won -- and the love that endured through it all.

In Need of a Roommate by super_queer

(AU where there are very similar circumstances with the supernatural, but Scott was never bitten so Stiles doesn’t know about werewolves at all. Stiles programs video games for a living and Derek is a fire fighter.)

Stiles is 26 years old and still lives at home, he decides to move out after some prompting from his girlfriend, and finding 29 year old Derek because of an ad online. Stiles moves in with him as more and more strange things start to happen around town. People seem to be getting attacked by wild animals, and Derek seems to know more about these occurrences than the police.

against the shore by Lion_ness

Living in Venice Beach was living in paradise and Stiles wouldn't have it any other way. He worked at a clinic on the boardwalk, had a good group of friends and enjoyed the most beautiful sunsets California had to offer. There was nothing more he could have asked for besides maybe a bigger apartment with his own washer and dryer, but hey, who was complaining? He was perfectly content having sand between his toes on a daily basis and watching the faces of wanderers come and go.

That is until a new bartender, Derek Hale, is introduced to him on a sunny afternoon in June and throws his whole life for quite a spin.

Won’t You Be My Solid Ground by scarlettletterr 

Your typical High School AU. There’s a jock, there’s a nerd, there’s a bet, and there’s feelings. --- (Nerd) Derek Hale is not a chicken, and when Erica bets that he’d never have the courage to date (Jock) Stiles Stilinski for more than two weeks, Derek accepts the challenge, because he’s stupidly attracted to Stiles, and also maybe crushing on him a tiny bit too much. And maybe Stiles has been crushing on Derek for years. And maybe somewhere along the line they fall in love. And then ruin it.

The View From My Window by primroseshows

Derek is a glassblower on the hunt for new ideas. His assistant Scott has some artist friend named Stiles.

Three Marks by sanam

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

Happier by grimm

When Stiles nearly dies out in the woods one day, Derek kicks him out of the pack, and life gets seriously, seriously shitty.

Reach Out by weathervaanes

Or, In Which Stiles Falls in Love Twice...With the Same Person

-0-

Stiles sees the flyer on his very last day at Beacon Hills High School. It’s hanging, unassuming, in the hall near the front entrance along with bulletins and other flyers, advertisements, posters for free student concerts, but the fact that the word “sex” is written in a font two times larger than the rest of the page catches his attention.

It’s an advice hotline for a whole range of things, from teenage angst to how to deal with your parents telling you you’re adopted and a whole mess in the middle. Stiles thinks it’s funny, though, that they offer advice on sexuality and sex education. It makes sense on the one hand, since high school sex ed does jack shit for actual learning, but anyone who really wants to know stuff has an infinite source of knowledge right on their phone—the internet.

So it starts off as a joke.

The Right Number by kyaticlikestea

When Stiles Stilinski's phone gets switched at the gym, he really just wants it back. The last thing he's expecting is to fall hopelessly in lust with the guy who's got his phone.

So, of course, that's exactly what happens.

I’ll Be Seeing You by thepsychicclam

In the summer of 1941, with the country on the brink of war, diner waiter Stiles meets Derek Hale, an army soldier just passing through Beacon Hills.

I Just Wanna Be With You Every Day by Brego_Mellon_Nin

When his best friend’s son barrels into the kitchen only dressed in a pair of skintight jeans, lean but defined torso on display, Derek knows he’s truly and utterly fucked. Not only is the kid barely eighteen, but he also happens to be the Sheriff’s only son.

Derek makes a vow to himself that he will not seek Stiles out and he’ll get this thing under control.

Silence is Loudest by codarra

Monday dawned fresh and cool and with a lack of Stilinski.

The buzz in the school changed over the week, once Derek started paying attention to it. No longer was the student body talking about where the students were going on vacation, or lack thereof for the more middle-class populace. They were bandying about a different series of words instead.

“Accident.” “Car crash.” “Hit and run.” “Sick. Really sick.” “Disease.” “Brain damage.” “Brain dead.” “Stilinski.” “Stilinski.” “Stilinski.”

Worlds Apart by siny

Derek Hale, Heir Prince of Betonia and Italy, meets Stiles Stilinski, college boy.

Love Don’t Die by Finduilas

Derek is nine years old when he discovers the gift that he's been given. A gift that he didn't necessarily ask for. Derek can touch dead things and bring them back to life. But not without consequences and conditions, many of which are heartbreaking.

Many years later, his path crosses that of his childhood sweetheart, Stiles, in very unfortunate circumstances. But now, Derek's gift gives him the power to save Stiles. And damned be the consequences.

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic & Tails: Beyond the Stars - Prologue

Prologue: All Is As It Seems...?

"...zzz..."

"Sonic."

"...zzz...zzz..."

"Sonic..."

"Zzz... zzz... zzz..."

"Hey. Sonic."

"Urgh... what?"

"We're nearly here."

"Oh! Great!"

Awakening from his deep slumber... on the wing of the Tornado... Sonic the Hedgehog slowly opened his eyes and wiped them, and when he could see more clearly, he was dazzled by what he saw.

The sea below their flight was just as faintly green as it was blue, making for a shimmering spectacle of colour. But what was up ahead, what the ocean surrounded, was even greater: An island of truly impressive size and scope. Far larger than South, Westside, and possibly even Angel Island. All sorts of sights and geography could be seen to the naked eye even from afar. And though you couldn't tell by looking at it from the side, if you looked at it from above, you would notice it's shape was perfectly circular, like a smooth gemstone.

This island, known to the world at large as Viridonia, was where Sonic and his best friend Tails were planning to take a well-needed vacation. Saving the world is hard work, and after all the trials these two have faced, you couldn't say they didn't deserve it. But is it possible that malicious intentions could come along to make a mess of their intended vacation time...?

Well... we'll get to that when we get to that.

"Looks stunning, doesn't it?" Sonic asked out loud, with a massive grin on his face.

"It sure does," answered Tails with a smile, as he took in the pleasant view. "I've heard great things about this place, but seeing it is another story. I can't even begin to think of where to start with somewhere so big!"

"We have all the time in the world for that, so what's the rush?" He glanced at the island once again, this time with a more thoughtful expression. "I just hope there's no trouble from Eggman this time around. We never get a break from him, do we?"

"Actually," Tails pointed out with a raised finger. "You told me there was no Eggman in those books that were lent to you. Well, technically there was a guy who looked like Eggman in the first one, but..."

"Alright, don't get technical with me," Sonic poked his tongue out in light jest. He then motioned towards the ground. "Okay Tails, we're getting real close, let's find a spot to land."

"Right away," the fox obeyed, before adding "And uh... don't worry, I made sure to install the landing gear this time."

"Oh. Nice."

------

They landed on an empty stretch of sand by the sea, having made sure they wouldn't land in a place that would cause too much interference. The little beach was peppered with turquoise rocks that looked and shined like real gems, and the sand itself was more white than it was yellow. Despite being by the sea, the town nearby had a very modern, yet elegant appearance. As Tails spent a little more time fiddling around with the Tornado, Sonic wasted no time in admiring the setting.

"Heh heh... just look at all this," Sonic said to himself as he marveled at the environment, hands on his hips. He was definitely liking the look of his vacation spot. "So much to see, so much to do. And it's just me and Tails."

"~Soniiiiiic!~"

"And... Amy?"

Sonic turned to his right to find none other than Amy Rose, who was currently sprinting over to him with a big grin. Her younger friend, Cream, was tagging along behind her.

"Fancy seeing you here!" Amy beamed. Her tail was unashamedly wagging away in excitement.

"Oh uh, hey Amy..." Sonic muttered out of surprise. Not disappointment, or annoyance, just surprise. "Didn't know you'd be here... why ARE you here?"

"Isn't it obvious? We wanted to go on a vacation of our own! And we just HAD to come here when we read all about it." She looked over to Cream, who simply nodded. "We haven't seen much of the place yet, but there's no hurry, right?"

Sonic looked over at Cream, as if he was expecting something from her.

"She's telling the truth, Mr. Sonic," the rabbit assured.

"Okay, good."

"Huh? What do you mean?" The pink hedgehog frowned as she crossed her arms. "You didn't think I just followed you here like some creepy weirdo, did you?"

"NO. No. Of course not. I'm sure you wouldn’t do that... not intentionally."

"Good! We didn't know you would be here, but what a great turn of events that you are! Maybe we can discover the Rainbow Paradise together... and find the perfect spot for the two of us, hmm?" She winked playfully, complete with a little spin.

"...Maybe. Maybe. We'll see," Sonic said in a very neutral manner, although he couldn't help but smirk at his friend's ever present determination. As he walked off to see how Tails was doing, Amy turned and noticed that Cream looked uncomfortable despite the lack of any apparent danger.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Amy asked out of concern. "You still feeling a little anxious?"

The rabbit just nodded silently. Her hands were mildly fidgeting.

"Well, that's okay, you know." She put her hand on Cream's shoulder. "But your mother wouldn't have let you come with me if she felt it would be a bad idea... although then again... she didn't mind you taking on evil monsters... or evil robots..." She shook her head and hoped her friend didn't hear that part. "This is meant to be a good time for both of us, Cream. It's why I brought you along, after all."

"I know, and I appreciate that very much, Amy," the girl thanked her politely. "Maybe I could have a little look around... but I won't go too far away from you, okay?"

"I know you won't," Amy smiled.

Meanwhile, Sonic was busy pondering to himself. "Rainbow Paradise... Rainbow Paradise... never heard of it. Sounds made up. You ever heard of it, Tails?"

"Heard of what?" asked the fox as he was in the middle of reading the guidebook he had about Viridonia's sights and spots.

"The Rainbow Paradise."

"Nope, new to me. Sounds made up."

"Yeah, I thought that too."

"You said that too."

"Hey now, you better not be poking fun at my habit to babble again." The Blue Blur raised an eyebrow jokingly.

"My bad. But you do the same thing with me when I do that."

"Yeah, that's true."

And they both had a hearty laugh together.

------

ADVENTURE FIELD: Lime Shores

Welcome to the first hub of the game. There are quite a few hubs in the game, but for obvious reasons this is the only one you can play around in for the time being. Things might be very humble and not particularly intense so far, but fear not, that'll all change soon enough. This doesn't count as a spoiler, because it should be blatantly obvious that something's gonna happen, otherwise there wouldn’t be a story. You can probably guess who will be responsible for it too. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Lime Shores covers both the town and the beach it's next to. As mentioned before, the beach has plenty of rocks that might as well be gemstones from the way they look and shine, and the sand is very light in colour. The town on the other hand is very reminiscent of England. More specifically, Birmingham, Solihull, and Stratford-upon-Avon. A perfect blend of old and modern architecture all around, and a very humble yet proud atmosphere all around. (And classy lamp posts everywhere!)

Right now, you can't really do too much aside from talking with the locals. Said locals will be all too eager to tell you such interesting facts like:

"Oh my god! You're Sonic the Hedgehog!"

"I can't believe Sonic the Hedgehog is here!"

"SONIC! SONIC! ...I don't know who you are, but everyone else seems to be excited, so I should be too! SONIC! SONIC!"

Yeah, they're all very hyped up about the hero showing up in their area. Maybe they'll be a little more helpful and informative later on once they've calmed down.

So what to do for the time being? Head over to the beach where Tails is, and you'll discover that for whatever reason - maybe he read the script ahead of time - he's set up a Virtual Reality training system, not unlike the one he used with Emerl all those years ago. Talk to him, and he'll ask if you want to work on your moves for a bit. Don't be fooled by this setup. Unlike most tutorials within the story, you're NOT forced to do it if you don't want to. If you say No, the story will go on ahead, and you won't have missed out on anything. No worries. No tedium. No problem!

But for the purpose of this... hypothetical guide, let's pretend that you said Yes so that we can go over the tutorial anyway. Don't worry. It's not long.

------

ZONE 0: Light Speed Simulation

Note that when you start, you're given the option to pick between Sonic or Tails. Like in Sonic Rush Adventure, you can pick between characters whenever you want for each act or boss. Very convenient.

This one-act zone takes the form of a neon grid in a pitch black area. Most of the grid is blue, but certain parts of the architecture - such as loops, and crates for you to destroy - are green in order to help you recognise them more clearly. There's even some pools of water, but because this is just a simulation, you never run out of air for this one. (Of course, you are helpfully reminded that you won't be so lucky when it's time to face real water.) Amusingly enough though, the infamous countdown still ticks away in this area, but when it reaches zero... nothing happens, and your character remains completely dumbfounded for a second.

This tutorial does not require you to go through certain motions in a specific order. Nor does anyone tell you what to do. This is nothing more than one big playground for you to get your teeth into at your own leisure. There's no end to the zone either, it only ends when you choose to quit.

The controls of Sonic and Tails are for the most part identical to their Sonic Adventure incarnations. But there are a few key differences:

• Sonic is a good deal faster than Tails, even though the latter is still legitimately fast in his own right.

• Tails is able to keep flying for a longer period of time compared to how long he could fly in Sonic Adventure.

• Sonic keeps his ability to Parkour from Sonic Lost World, in addition to his ability to wall jump from various 3D games. Although in this case, the latter takes a page from Super Mario 64, in that the wall jump is only activated when you actually jump against a wall, as opposed to just randomly locking onto the wall after a homing attack.

• Like in the 2D games, Tails is able to swim in water, but his swimming speed is a little faster in this game, more reminiscent of the underwater charging in Spyro 2 and 3, aka the best 3D swimming mechanics that have ever set foot on this earth. But Tails still needs air bubbles like Sonic, so keep that in mind if you’re too deep to swim to the surface.

• Due to there being no Adventure-esque upgrades in this game, Tails’ Tail Spin attack reaches a middle ground here, in that he can spin infinitely for a select period of time before stopping. But don’t worry, the tired out period doesn’t last for a long time, so there won’t be any annoying situations like enemies hitting you repeatedly whilst you’re unable to react.

When you feel you've had enough of fooling around here, proceed to quit at the pause menu, and the story will continue immediately.

------

In an effort to get herself acquainted with where she'll be staying for the next few days, Cream had wandered into a nearby forest, accompanied by her loyal pet, Cheese. She took her time looking around, making sure she didn't get too lost in the place. The forest reminded her very heavily of the one she had went through a long time ago with Amy and her other friend, Big. Various fruits of peculiar size could be seen on the trees, and even though it was clearly daytime, fireflies could be seen lighting the place up. The young rabbit was impressed with the scene, an innocent smile having planted itself on her face the whole time.

"It's so pretty, isn't it Cheese?" The Chao nodded. "Maybe it was a little silly of me to get tense. It's just a new experience for us, you know? I wonder if Amy would like to see this... Maybe Mr. Sonic would like it too?"

"Like he would care what YOU think!"

"Huh?"

Right on cue, a small gang appeared on the scene, and it was without a doubt the most stereotypical gang of hoodlums you had ever seen. They were all roughly the same height, and they looked to be within a similar age group as Sonic. There were four of these blatant wrong'uns in total: a panther, a lime gecko, a grey rat, and a light blue falcon. The panther was wearing a black tuxedo, the gecko was wearing a purple zoot suit, the rat a brown trenchcoat, and the falcon a white fedora.

They looked incredibly goofy, but they were still intimidating enough in the eyes of young Cream.

"This is Sonic the Hedgehog you're talking about!" the panther said incredulously. "The world famous hedgehog! He doesn't have time for little brats like you!"

"Yeah!" The falcon shouted in agreement, flapping his wings.

"What...What do you mean?" Cream asked, with a hint of upset.

"He means..." the gecko started, in a slightly indecipherable accent. "You are... lacking in importance... for someone like... the hedgehog."

"Yeah!" The falcon agreed again, flapping his wings again too.

"That's not true..." Cream muttered fearfully, as she slowly took a few steps back. As if by instinct, she covered Cheese with her hands to protect him. "Mr. Sonic cares about all of his friends..."

"Yessss! For publicity!" The rat cackled in a completely over-the-top manner, complete with clasped fingers. "You're a blip on the radar to him! And so is everyone else! People like him only care about themsssselves!"

"Yeah!" Once more from the falcon, complete with the flapping of his wings. It became abundantly clear that the falcon had absolutely nothing to add to this already ridiculous discussion.

"Why are you guys saying this? None of that is true! Mr. Sonic does care!" The poor rabbit was getting into a panic.

"Because it's true!" The panther took a step closer to Cream. "Anyone with a brain can see what a world-renowned superstar truly thinks of weak, helpless, useless little girls like you..."

Cream looked like she was ready to cry, even as her grip on Cheese grew tighter. She only just got here, and already she was having a scary time. She took another step back, but the panther took another step forward. Though Cream could have very easily taken care of these guys like nobody’s business through the awesome power of her pet Chao, she was too distraught by their slander to consider the thought. But just when the rest of them started taking a few steps forward themselves, as if to overwhelm the rabbit all the more, a brand new voice emerged out of nowhere. A low yet feminine one.

"You guys stink."

The four members immediately looked around in surprise at the new voice that had joined the conversation. They searched and glanced for where the voice came from, and their expressions indicated a sense of familiarity. After a few unsuccessful moments of searching out the source, the source decided to reveal itself instead.

Emerging from the shadows was a female figure, her fur a gentle light green, and her eyes a cool brown. She appeared to be older than anyone in the gang. She was wearing a light tank top, trousers, a pair of knee-high boots that were completely flat at the heels, a pair of gloves that reached up to her elbows, a headscarf atop her head, and a bandana scarf covering the lower half of her face. With the exception of her brown trousers, all of her clothes were blue, three different shades used in total.

It wasn't immediately obvious at first glance, but you could tell from her lengthy tail, and her equally lengthy ponytail, that the young woman was meant to be a horse. You could also tell from the look of dread on the gang's face that they've seen this person before. But what caught Cream's attention the most was the way the woman was walking over to them. It was very... slow. Deliberate. Almost meticulous, even. She didn't understand why the woman was walking like that, but before she could think more about it, the gang was already talking to her. The latter simply stood there, calmly, with one hand on her hip.

"Uh, hey there!" The panther swaggered about in an obvious attempt to save face. "How ya doing? We were just giving the kid a warm welcome, we thought you'd like to join us?"

"No thanks. I don't greet people by making them doubt themselves. Least of all young children." She held her nose high as a sign of disapproval, not that you could see it due to her bandana obscuring it. "This is the most pathetic thing I've seen out of you yet. You lot are becoming parodies of yourselves by the day. What reason do you have for spending your time putting down this girl?"

"Well... you see..." the gecko reasoned, his eyes darting left and right. "It was... the boss... He wanted to... give our regards... to the newcomers."

"By threatening them."

The rat grinned sheepishly as he cowered away. "Some people have a rocky exterior?"

"Haven't heard that justification before." Her right hand held up her left elbow as she rested her head on her left hand. Her eyes indicated a sense of fatigue. "Don't bother with the excuses. I'm going to ensure that none of you ruffians cause a disturbance for our visitors. This is not up for debate. And that guy you speak so highly of? He does care about his friends, inside and out. What he doesn't care for is people who spend their time causing trouble and making a complete imbecile out of themselves." She sarcastically waved a finger at the group. "Kinda like you guys, right?"

"Yeah!" The falcon shouted yet again, to which the other three members glared at him. The falcon just shrugged.

"Ha, a bit of common sense from one of you at least." The woman made a fluttery shooing gesture. "Now away with you, please. It's rude to pester visitors like a bad smell."

Without a single argument, all four members of the gang bolted out of the forest like their lives depended on it. The woman stood there for a few seconds with a stone-cold stare, making sure they were definitely out of the picture. All the while, Cream wondered to herself why the gang had been rendered so easily skittish when the woman had made no indication from either her tone or her body language that she was going to attack them.

The horse turned to her right to face the rabbit. As she walked up to her, Cream still felt nervous and intimidated, something that the horse sensed right away. So, very slowly and carefully, she knelt down so that she was equal to Cream's level of height, and after a few further seconds of examining the girl, the woman lowered her bandana to reveal the rest of her face. Despite the blocky facial structure you would expect for a horse, the face of this one was instead a lot rounder and softer.

"You okay there?" asked the horse in a comforting tone.

"I... think so, yeah," the rabbit replied shyly. "I'm sorry if I caused a lot of trouble. I could have gotten Cheese to handle it, but it didn’t occur to me. But thank you for defending me, Miss... Miss..."

"Lutrudis," the woman answered for her. "The name's Lutrudis. And you didn't cause any bother at all. Those guys have had a history of doing nonsense like that. They like to fool around with everyone for reasons I don't quite understand. I'm just glad I arrived in time before things got out of hand." She took Cream's hand and covered it gently with her own, indicating to Cream that she had no reason to feel afraid of this person. "Are your friends a fair distance away from here?"

"No, they aren't. They were at the town the last time I saw them." Cream looked left and right, with a worried expression. "But I think I've gotten lost in this forest after all. I didn't mean to go too far away... Oh, I should have stayed with Amy..."

"I can take you back to your friends if you want," Lutrudis offered.

"Would that be okay?" Cream asked. "Because I don't want to waste your time..."

"You wouldn't be wasting my time, sweetie." She smiled warmly. "I've got little better to do anyway. Your friends wouldn't want anything to happen to you, right? And neither would I."

Cream looked at Cheese, who in turn glanced at Lutrudis, as if he were silently coming to his own conclusions on whether she could be trusted. He nodded, and the girl felt at ease. "Okay... If you’re sure that would be alright, Miss Lutrudis."

"You don't need to be so formal with me, Cream," the woman assured, still smiling. "Just Lutrudis will do." She slowly raised herself back up, every bit as careful as she was when kneeling down. And as she did this, Cream had a question to ask.

"How do you know my name? We've never met before... And you've never met Mr. Sonic before, have you? So how do you know about him?"

"Well, you guys are heroes, aren't you? Of course I know about you all. Doesn't take long for the word of heroics to spread." She held Cream's hand, and they began to walk ahead. As they walked, Cream felt more relaxed around the horse, as did Cheese. But not long later, another question popped up in the rabbit's mind.

"Miss Lutrudis?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't mean this in a bad way, but... why are you so careful with your movement? The way you walk, and crouch, and..."

"Heh, so you did notice it then." Lutrudis lightly chuckled as she looked down at Cream. She looked as though she wanted to add something, but the words weren't quite reaching her mouth. Eventually, she returned to looking ahead.

"I'll explain when we get back. I can demonstrate it more that way."

"Okay then." Cream then proceeded to beam brightly. "My friends are really nice, you know. I'm sure you'll like them! And I think they’ll like you too!"

Lutrudis simply chuckled once more.

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NEXT TIME: The game properly begins! And the first zone ain't your typical Green Hill... but not your typical City Escape either...