#and then i get stressed about the chapters getting long

[callsign-mimic]

A Part of the Pack

Chapter 5

Content Warnings: Mentions of violence, reality adjacent Mimic, cavity inducing fluff

Price and Gaz had to practically drag Saint out of the med bay once Mimic had been admitted. Despite her having been completely lucid and seemingly unbothered. It was only because Mimic herself had firmly requested that Saint adhere to protocol that they allowed themself to be led back to the den.

Alphas weren’t supposed to be anywhere near an injured Omega. And that normally wouldn’t have been an issue for Saint. If they hadn’t watched Mimic get stabbed right before their eyes. The fact that Saint still reeked of blood that wasn’t there, in spite of the copious amounts of neutralizer that they’d been doused in, hadn’t really helped put the medics at ease with their initial refusal to leave.

It helped that Ghost had promised to stay by her side. Hell, it even helped that Nikolai had offered to stick around until she was cleared to leave medical. Two huge Omegas that bordered on Alphas watching over the scrappy little operative was enough for Saint to begrudgingly leave.

“She’ll be fine.” Gaz promises. “She was still making jokes the whole time. One little knife won’t be enough to take out our Mim.”

“And it’s going to be a running joke for the little menace for the rest of our lives.” Price grumbles, running a hand through his hair.

“Ye know she’s gonna want ta keep th’ knife.” Soap says, a shiteating grin splitting his face.

Saint huffs, comforted by the men’s words, but far from satisfied with the situation. The faint, coppery tang of the enemy soldier’s blood was still on the back of their tongue. It had been incredibly satisfying to see the ruined remains of the man on the ground before they had rushed Mimic to exfil.

A lot of the residual stress washed down the drain with the blood, sweat, and grime of the mission as Saint showered. When they returned to the den, their Omegas had made a nest. A comfortable pile of blankets, pillows, clothes… Anything they could find with even the barest hint of Mimic’s scent on it. All to comfort their incredibly stressed Alpha.

Saint’s neutralizers didn’t stand a chance against the stress they felt as they waited for word of Mimic’s condition. It got to the point where they couldn’t really leave the den for long periods of time. For fear of overwhelming the rest of the base.

Mimic, to her credit, is a good sport about the whole ordeal. Requesting only the bare minimum for painkillers, not wanting to be too doped up to appreciate her watchful company.

Nikolai stays right by her side as promised. Though the medics don’t appreciate how he keeps making her laugh as he regales her with tales of his escapades during her three year absence.

“She’s recovering from a punctured lung.” One very annoyed medic snaps, glaring at Nikolai. “You’re going to exacerbate her injuries if you keep making her laugh like that.”

“Nonsense!” The burly Russian says with a laugh. “She is made of sterner stuff than you think. She will let me know when I am too much.” The medic rolls her eyes, huffing in annoyance before they finish checking Mimic’s vitals and flit out of the room.

Ghost acts as a messenger of sorts. Moving between Mimic’s bedside and the den to keep the rest of the team up to date on her condition. The more good news he brings back, the more Saint starts to relax.

It’s a week before Mimic is finally released from the med bay. She’s given plenty of medical restrictions, including a very pointed remark about not laughing too hard. Not that the team intended on letting her do much of anything, anyway.

Including heading back to her isolated cabin.

“Doc said you’re not in any state to be travelling overseas.” Price says, his tone just stern enough to discourage argument. He crosses his arms as he stares down at Mimic. Who was trapped on the couch in Soap’s arms with Gaz resting his head in her lap.

“Why do you want to leave so soon, anyway?” Gaz asks, massaging Mimic’s hand as it rests on his chest. “Don’t you like being here? With us?”

“I do. Genuinely.” Mimic replies. She feels Soap nuzzle against her neck, making her shift slightly. “I’m just not comfortable being around everyone else on base. It’s… It’s kind of overwhelming after three years alone.”

“Ah, солнышко, but you are not meant for isolation.” Nikolai says, wrapping an arm around Price’s waist and pulling him close.

“Ye need a pack, m’eudail.” Soap murmurs against her neck. Saint perks up at his words, catching the attention of Price, Ghost, and Nikolai.

“That’s implying that there’s a pack that wants me…” Mimic grumbles in response, then yelping when both Gaz and Soap deliver a sharp nip to her pale skin.

“You have a pack that wants you, luv.” Ghost growls, the low rumble betraying his irritation and causing Mimic to give him a sheepish look.

Saint moves over to the couch, gently disentangling Mimic from Soap and Gaz. They hold her tightly to their chest, muzzle buried in her hair. Saint inhales deeply before grumbling out a single word. Enough to make Mimic’s heart melt.

“Stay.”

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Forty-One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Fireheart made an impressive effort to focus on anything but what he and Dustpelt had talked about. He taught Cloudpaw a new hunting position, he led a patrol and caught prey himself, he sat and chatted with Greystripe and Ravenwing at dinner. The entire time, his mind swirled and spun with the prospect of being chosen as deputy.

He can’t be right, he would think. Dustpelt is a good choice, but surely not me.

Dustpelt’s words would immediately come back to him. We are the better options. We’re young enough for Whitecloud to be confident. He’s not all that young, you know.

“Dude.”

Fireheart flinched like he’d been struck and looked around in alarm, only to see a very concerned Greystripe with his paw on Fireheart’s shoulder where he’d shaken him.

“I’m here,” Fireheart said quickly. “What?”

Ravenwing stretched out his neck to look past Greystripe and see his other friend. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, you’ve been wandering elsewhere all night,” Greystripe said. “I just asked you a question three times. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Uh…” Fireheart’s paws shuffled in front of him, his prey untouched. “Nothing.”

“That is the single most blatant lie you’ve ever told us,” Greystripe said.

“You can talk to us, you know,” Ravenwing added. “If something’s worrying you, we want to help.”

Fireheart debated internally on whether he should explain everything. He had withheld Cloudpaw’s visits to Rosy already; would they get mad if he didn’t tell them he was potentially in the running for leadership? They might have helpful thoughts, or even just comfort and support. But to bother them with that…

Just as Fireheart opened his mouth, Whitecloud walked past them, seemingly unaware of Fireheart staring at him. He made his way past the prey-pile and out of camp with a nod or two to the cats he passed, who nodded back at him.

“I gotta do something,” Fireheart said, standing up fast enough to make himself a bit dizzy. “I’ll tell you guys later.”

“Fireheart—” Greystripe started, Ravenwing echoing him a moment later.

Fireheart ignored them, instead trotting fast enough to almost canter after Whitecloud. He didn’t notice if anyone nodded to him, just hurried out in time to see Whitecloud start for Bluestar’s den.

“Hey! Sir?”

The deputy turned with mild surprise as Fireheart caught up to him, very aware that his tail was puffed out a little in stress when he asked, “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Whitecloud nodded slowly, crooking his tail and leading Fireheart a few trees away from camp, turning to face him and sitting down with a mildly curious look on his face. Fireheart sat down with him, trying to figure out how to ask this question.

“Are you testing me?” he blurted out.

Whitecloud blinked, then slightly narrowed his eyes in understanding.

“And Dustpelt, for that matter?” Fireheart’s paws fidgeted again. “Are we, um… are we both potential choices for deputy?”

Now that he said it out loud, it sounded incredibly arrogant and stupid. Embarrassment burned his ears and his tail curled around his legs as well as it could like an attempt at a shield. He anticipated a scoff, or something polite but deriding.

All he got was a warm expression on Whitecloud’s face. “I am, and you are.”

Oh. Fireheart felt dizzy again. “…Oh.”

Whitecloud purred soothingly. “Take a breath, Fireheart.”

A breath, he decidedly did not take, instead failing to restrain his next barrage of words. “Why? Why me? I-I get Dustpelt, but– but me? And neither of us trained our apprentices fully yet, and…”

A long, white paw lifted up and gestured down in a calm command for quiet. Fireheart clamped his mouth shut, not sure if he was more afraid of Whitecloud staying confident in him or deciding that he wasn’t in the running after all.

“You and Dustpelt are both young, that’s true,” Whitecloud said. “Young and strong and full of potential. Your apprentices should be nearly fully trained or warriors by the time I become leader, and at that point I could name either of you as deputy and have the confidence of the entire Clan in that decision.” His eyes creased. “Though I would hope whichever one of you I choose has the other become their deputy once my time comes.”

Fireheart stared at him, mouth slightly open to spill words he couldn’t even begin to think up.

“As for ‘why’…” Whitecloud’s face turned amused. “Well, the reason I hope both of you lead one day is because you’re both excellent choices for different reasons. You, first, have a wonderful relationship with cats in the other Clans—if any arguments come up, you could easily calm things down and have a peaceful solution to the problem. RiverClan likes you quite a lot, enough that I don’t foresee any fights with them happening in your lifetime. That’s vital to the health of our Clan.” Amusement turned to fondness. “And that’s not to mention how much your Clanmates like you. You must have noticed that everyone except Darkstripe obeys your orders without a single word of protest. We shouldn’t forget that you saved all of us when we were panicking in the fire—and a clear head like that is something ThunderClan can rely on and trust to keep them safe and calm in dire times. You’d be a comfort as a leader: someone trustworthy, compassionate and with a healthy perspective that will let you solve problems when others would be frozen up by their dedication to the code.”

Fireheart was dimly aware of his mouth dropping even further open as he gawked at his deputy. What to even say to that?

“Now, Dustpelt…” Whitecloud tilted his head a little, thoughtful. “I can trust his diligence and dedication. He would die for any of his Clanmates, even the ones he doesn’t like, simply because they are his Clanmates and it’s his job to serve them.” He winked at Fireheart. “I know you would, too, but for different reasons. Dustpelt has a wonderful sense of honor, even with enemies, and he would work within the boundaries of the code just as well as you would work outside of it. The Clan would be under the constant watch of a young leader who they know could keep them fed and safe from outside threats. We both know he takes everything very seriously, which a good leader should, no matter how small the issue. And he would have the inherent respect of the other Clans thanks to being native to ThunderClan and understanding every aspect of our culture and laws without having to have been taught it.”

Whitecloud paused for a moment, breathing in a soft, deep breath. Fireheart said nothing.

“Truthfully,” Whitecloud said after a moment, “Speckletail and I talked about this a great deal before she died. She was already eyeing both of you as her potential successors, with me as an emergency choice. We never did decide which one would be the next deputy.” His yellow eyes had a visionary shine to them. “It’s why I hope that one day, you two can lead together. ThunderClan would be protected outside and inside. All our corners will be covered.”

Dustpelt doesn’t want to be leader, Fireheart almost said, but closed his mouth against it. He just swallowed air and said unsteadily, “I… I appreciate your confidence in me, sir.”

“You’ve earned it.” Whitecloud nodded once and started to turn away. “Now, I’m going to check on Bluestar. Go ahead back inside.”

Fireheart didn’t move just yet. “Uh… do you want me to keep all this a secret?”

The deputy paused and looked back. “No, you’re free to talk about it all you want.” He purred in amusement. “But I wouldn’t go around proclaiming you’re going to be the next deputy, just in case I choose Dustpelt instead.”

With a weak chuff, Fireheart dipped his head and plodded back through the tunnel as Whitecloud disappeared into Bluestar’s den.

When he emerged into the sandy clearing, he looked up at the sky: graciously clear, the stars sparkling as brightly as they always did. Even the fog had been kind enough to leave for a few nights, making the chill drier than it usually was. Chatter rose up and sank down, waves rippling around Fireheart. It vaguely reminded him of the buzz of insects in springtime.

“Are you back?” Greystripe said, and Fireheart looked back down to see his friends approaching. Their ears were perked more like they were listening for the hiss of a snake than any good news, and their tails twitched anxiously.

“I’m back,” Fireheart said, then realized what his friend meant. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m back. Uh, here, come on, I need to tell you something.”

He trotted back over to where they had been sitting, his friends following him. When he turned around, their eyes were pale with apprehension. They immediately bulged and blazed when Fireheart whispered his conversations with Whitecloud and Dustpelt, leaving out Dustpelt’s requested secret.

“That’s insane,” Greystripe whispered, but before Fireheart could interpret that as negative, his face nearly broke in half with a beam brighter than the sun. “That would be so cool! Can you imagine that, Ravenwing? Fireheart as deputy?”

“It’s never occurred to me before,” Ravenwing admitted, tip-tapping his paws in place, his eyes shining. “But that would be incredible. I know you’d do a great job, Fireheart; you already are!”

Fireheart ducked his head down, ears warm again. “I mean… I just feel like a regular cat, just doing what I’m told.”

“And telling others what to do.” Ravenwing nudged him gently with a paw to get him to look back up. “Whitecloud’s right. You’ve been doing more than your fair share to help the Clan, and we’re all happy to listen to you. You’ve got the potential, even if Cloudpaw isn’t a warrior yet.”

Sheepishly, Fireheart blinked at his friends, silently and dryly amused that they looked a thousand times more excited than he felt. Greystripe bumped their heads together, forgetting his strength for the first time in a long while and nearly knocking Fireheart over. Ravenwing purred and made a much gentler repeat of the gesture.

Fireheart opened his mouth to say something, but a dark shape crossed his vision; Darkstripe was stalking past them, tossing a squinted glare Fireheart’s way. By the especially curdled scowl, he had heard a bit of the conversation. Or he was just particularly full of hate tonight.

You are going to be furious if Whitecloud chooses me as deputy, Fireheart thought, not wanting to admit how much the idea tickled him.

“Fireheart, there you are.”

The trio of toms turned their heads to see Dustpelt padding up to them, Thornpaw in tow. Fireheart’s whiskers twitched as he noted the difference in height between them, where Thornpaw had suddenly grown over the past month, still filling out but now taller than his mentor. Even so, he had his head ducked to look smaller as he looked admiringly at Dustpelt.

“Am I interrupting a conversation?” the brown tabby in questions asked, eyes flicking between the boys with the slightest, curious squint.

“Oh, nothing big,” Fireheart said before his friends could answer. “Is something up?”

“A bit, yes.” Dustpelt straightened up, tail high and posture businesslike. “I went out to train with Willowpelt and Brackenpaw, but we caught a scent in our usual training area.”

Fireheart jolted. “Not the dogs again—”

“Oh, no, not the dogs,” Dustpelt said quickly. “We’re not entirely sure what it is. It’s got the tinge of the Houses to it, but I’ve never smelled something like that before. It made the apprentices nervous—” Thornpaw flattened his ears shamefully “—so we decided to come back.”

Fireheart glanced at Brightpaw, who was luckily asleep below the stump. “Well, we can’t afford to be too cautious. Do you think we should change the training place for now?”

Dustpelt nodded. “I was going to suggest that to you and Whitecloud. I think we definitely should have everyone closer to camp—if it’s empty enough, even in camp.”

An angry hacking sound answered him; when everyone looked over, Darkstripe was glaring at all of them, his hurt eye only slightly squinted now.

“You can’t have the apprentices train in camp,” he snapped. “Do you know how noisy and busy that’ll make this place?”

Fireheart couldn’t stop his response, but he could keep it in a friendly tone. “Well, we could put you on a patrol when training sessions are going on. It’d be more peaceful for you, I think—”

“I am not,” Darkstripe said through his teeth, “going on any patrol on the orders of a kittypet.”

Greystripe rolled his eyes. “You’re aware he’s lived with us for a year now, right? He’s as much a warrior as you are.”

“More so, I would think,” Ravenwing said coldly.

Everyone looked at him in surprise. Darkstripe’s face quickly changed back to curdled and angry.

“You don’t want the apprentices to train safely?” Ravenwing’s voice was clipped, his eyes narrowed. “Then you go out and handle the dogs yourself. Or you go on a patrol like Fireheart tells you to. You decide.”

A broad band of fur on Darkstripe’s back and tail flared. He took a few steps towards his nephew, teeth bared as he loomed, even from a distance, over Ravenwing. “You think you can talk to your family like that?”

The skinny black tom was not moved. He regarded Darkstripe with contempt. “I’m not a kitten anymore. You don’t frighten me.” His ears slid back. “Embarrass me? Annoy me? Sure. The last of my family is a pathetic kitten constantly throwing a tantrum about not getting his way. You tell me if that’s worse, eparme.”

Fireheart stared at his friend in awe. How long has he wanted to say that?

Darkstripe’s claws dug into the sand, his face burning. After a moment of visible struggling, he spat out, “Whatever, runt. You’re still a coward. You aren’t fooling anyone.” Before anyone could respond, he whipped around and stormed away, the playing kits scurrying away from his path as he snatched something from the prey-pile and stomped into a corner of camp by the tunnel, facing the wall of brambles as he sat down with a thump.

“Putting himself in time-out like a kit,” Ravenwing said quietly. “Didn’t think he was that reasonable.”

Dustpelt regarded Ravenwing with the same awe and shock as Greystripe, Fireheart, and Thornpaw. “That was amazing. Well done.”

Ravenwing took in a breath, and with the exhale, his meekness returned, edge and stoicism gone in favor of a shaky sigh and anxious eyes. He admitted in a low voice, “I think I would have run if he actually got in my face.”

“If he’d got in your face, I would’ve killed him.” Greystripe tapped Ravenwing’s side with his huge tail. “He wasn’t going to win either way.”

Ravenwing gave a wobbly chuff. He said something to Dustpelt, but Fireheart didn’t hear it. His attention was drawn to a cat a small distance away: Snowpaw, standing just outside of the apprentice’s den, bright blue eyes gleaming with admiration as he stared at his mentor.

Whether he had understood exactly what happened or not, Fireheart figured, didn’t matter. What did was that Snowpaw had a new reason to adore Ravenwing, even more than he did already. He glanced at Ravenwing, who had not yet noticed his apprentice, looked back at Snowpaw, and signed, “Crazy, right?”

Snowpaw beamed and gave him only one word. “Awesome.”

[god-syndicate-if]

I will say that I'm not a fan of the fallen hero system of picking your RO ;; It always feels too early to me. Like, I don't know these characters well enough to tell you if my MC is attracted to them or not, and locking myself out of their romance immediately on meeting them doesn't feel too good to me personally. Maybe having the lock in be somewhere around the end of chapter 1 or something like that? And using the [Flirt] system until then. Being able to pick 2 characters to chat with before the match in the prologue would help with letting us get to know the characters more, too

So I think you might have misunderstood what I was saying. Or I said it a bad way. Long winded explanation under the cut.

So what I'm thinking right now is that I'll just establish the character first. Then you get some scenes where you get to know them. In those scenes you'll establish if you're attracted to them. Then you get some more scenes with them, if you're attracted they can skew more towards romance and stuff, if you're not attracted then they're more friendly, or just neutral, or even negative depending on what it is. And then after those scenes, much later down the line, you'll get to lock in. (so you can establish attraction for more than one character. But only lock into a romance for a single one.)

rn I'm planning for lock-ins to happen in like chapter 7. so there's gonna be time. and idk if I'm going to do this or not. I havent been able to fully think about it much at this moment. But it really would make it less gamified imo. And it'd make it so the romantic aspects dont overwhelm people who arent interested in someone. Like if you wanna romance Riley but they're not there so you hang out with Dame instead, well you might get 20 heart options, and eventually you'll run into a heart option that IS what your character would say/do, but you dont want to start Dame's romance. So you dont pick it. If I do it this way, it makes hang out scenes less romantic unless you actually want to romance that character.

And again, I don't want people to think you need to ONLY click the heart options to romance a character. I want you to play the character you want. If your mean gruff MC is going down one route, you'll probably go ahead and pick choices that your character wouldn't do because they simply have the heart icon next to them.

I think if I do it this way then people wont stress about who they'll romance. You'll be able to just have a good time.

[babymetaldoll]

Are you mine? - Chapter seventeen: "Hot for the teacher"

Summary: (Y/N) gets what she wants, but not the way she'd like. Linda Barnes tries to  run the BAU her way, but the team is there to fight. Also, (Y/N) might hate certain students drooling over her husband...  Word count: 9.004 Warnings: Cursing, spoilers of Criminal Mind Ep S13 E6, E15 and E16 A/N: I always wondered how would (Y/N) deal with all the girls staring at her husband with heart eyes. Now we know. What do you guys think? 

Series' Masterlist - Author's masterlist

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Spencer’s point of view

A lot can change in a person in six weeks. In the six weeks we had off, my mother got into her new facility home. She seemed happy there, and we were just a 20-minute ride away, which made me feel better. I wasn’t pushing my mother away to another city or keeping her far from her grandkids. We visited weekly, talked to her daily, and the kids brought her drawings to decorate her room.

Having time to be a family helped me fix my relationship with my wife. We talked and relaxed. We also had the chance to be a couple and resolve our problems. We even did a little trip to Disney. I swear, Raven had never been so excited before.

We also decided to move out of our apartment and started looking for a house. I wasn’t ready to leave the apartment yet, too many memories had been made there, but I knew the process was not going to be quick. Besides, after Cat had spied on us, neither of us felt completely safe living there.

Those six weeks were a gift because though we were all trying to overcome the trauma and pain Mr. Scratch had caused to all of us, it gave us the time to clear our minds. And I knew my wife was having a hard time with our work at the BAU. I could pretend I didn't see it, but it was crystal clear.

Even back then I knew (Y/N) could never be a housewife. Those six weeks were nice at first: being at home, driving our kids to school, coming back home to clean, grocery shopping, reading after lunch, and watching a movie every night. But by week three, she was going a little insane.

- “Cookies are baking, the brownie is cooling off and the clothes are off the dryer.”- she announced as she sat by my side on the couch, where I tried to read. I hummed in response and she grabbed a book as well. But she didn’t last three minutes in silence before she sighed and looked at me.

- “I’m bored.”

- “I know.”- I replied without taking my eyes from my book. (Y/N) moved closer to me on the couch and tried to look at my pages.

- “What are you reading?”- I didn’t reply, instead I moved the book so she could take a better look- “Aristotle. So you are keeping it light.”

- “What do you wanna do before we have to pick up the kids?”

- “I don’t know…”- and she wasn’t lying. She sat there, stared at the ceiling, and didn’t say another word. I finished my page and closed the book.

- “Wanna go out on a date?”

- “Sure”- she replied and didn’t move.

- “Coffee?”

- “Sure…”- she answered, not even listening to the question.

- “Or maybe ice cream.”- I suggested and stared at her.

- “Sure…”- it was like she wasn’t there.

- “Can I eat you out until you’ve come five times?”- I thought that proposal would get her attention.

- “Sure…”- but nothing. No reaction.

- “Ok chipmunk, what is it?”- I wrapped an arm around her and moved her closer to me.

- “I don’t know. I’m just… bored and stressed at the same time.” - she mumbled, almost pouting.

- “Do you miss work?”

- “I miss working, I just don’t know if I miss the BAU.”

I wish I could tell you her reply was a surprise, but it was what I expected. We had long conversations about leaving the FBI, and though we didn’t have a plan, we both knew our service days were counted.

- “Have you thought about what you’d like to do instead of the BAU?”- my question hung in the air for a few seconds before my wife sighed and shook her head.

- “Is it too sad if I tell you there is absolutely nothing? There is a blank space in my head when I think about what I could do.”

- “You mentioned teaching a few times.”

- “I did…”- she paused and moved from my arms to turn and look at me for a moment.- “But I don’t know if that is what I actually want or what I should do. And somehow they feel like two different things.”

- “You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

- “But I feel like I do, we have six weeks off, three remain, and if you ask me, all the cleaning and baking can do so much for my mental health. I need something else.”- I held her hand and kissed it, now both of us staring at each other in silence.- “Shit! The cookies!”- she suddenly jumped and ran to the kitchen. I left the book on the couch and followed her.

My limbic system was responding to that scene: my wife taking cookies out of the oven. It made me feel the primitive need to protect her. To make her happy, to show her how much she meant to me. My wife, the woman who always took care of me and our family. I had to make sure she was happy, at all costs.

- “Wha…”- (Y/N) didn’t have time to finish her question as I grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. She moaned as I deepened the kiss and moved my hands diligently to unzip her pants.

- “Spencer…”

- “I told you I was gonna make you come five times.”- I whispered as I sat her on the counter and pulled down her pants until her bare legs were right in front of my face.

- “I thought you were bragging.”- (Y/N) replied and bit her lower lip playfully

- “I’ll give you something to brag about, Mrs. Reid.”

- “What about coffee and ice cream?”- my wife asked as I pulled her underwear to the side and licked her slowly. Her whole body shook as an instant reaction.

- “I’ll get you an affogato on our way to school.”

(Y/N)’s point of view

The first couple of cases felt odd. Being back in the bullpen was like coming back to school after summer break. I could tell Matt Simmons was excited to be part of the team, and it felt good to be back with the gang. We were helping people, making a difference. That was my mantra. Fuck “Wheels up” to keep me sane, I had to remind myself over and over again people were safer because we did our job.

But it only took a few weeks before I started feeling trapped at the FBI. It was overwhelming because I kept trying to fight that feeling, but sometimes I felt paralyzed with stress and anxiety. I kept feeling there was no way out of that job. That I was doomed to be there until my last day.

It didn’t help to see how Spencer was thrilling with every case. He was back to work like nothing had happened. My husband was right back in his element, while I struggled with a gnawing emptiness.

But I did what I do best under these circumstances: I pretended nothing was bothering me. I focused on enjoying the few things that made me happy as I tried to find something that filled the void at work. Raven had started taking swimming lessons back then, which were very exciting, because she was growing up so fast, and she was so glad to be part of a team and make new friends. I tried to go with her to as many lessons as possible, cheering her on and sending all of our family and friends pictures of my baby.

Until Spencer gave me a reality check.

- “Just because Raven found what makes her happy doesn’t mean you have to live through her. You still need to find something to fill your soul.”

His words hit me like a slap of truth. We were in the middle of the dark in our room, as he held me close to him. My head was on his chest, his arms were around me, and his words hit me harder than the bullet an unsub put in my arm a few years before.

- “Why don’t you sugarcoat it a little?”- I whispered and didn’t even look at him. He kissed the top of my head and sighed.

- “Didn’t we agree we were not to lie to each other?”

- “We did. But you don’t need to be so straightforward. That was painful.”- I murmured that last part, almost hiding my face in his chest.

- “I’m sorry ma cheriê”- my husband caressed my shoulder as I rolled in bed and laid by his side.- “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I just wanna help.”

- “I know… shit, I don’t wanna be one of those crazy moms, living life through their babies' success and dreams.”

- “You won’t”- Spencer sighed and touched my nose softly with his index, making me feel like a little kid.

- “You just said so.”- I pouted and he smiled, kissing my lips carefully.

- “I did not. I just want you to be happy, chipmunk. And you can pretend all you want, but I know you have been sad these past couple of weeks. Not even Morgan’s visit cheered you up.”

- “He was here to comfort Pen, not me.”

- “Because you have me to comfort you.”- my husband cut me a smile and made a pause before he dropped the bomb.- “Also… I was talking with Blake today, and she said she could help.”

- “You asked her for help?”

- “She actually called you to ask for help, which was a happy coincidence, because I think you are gonna like what she needs.”

- “What is it? A profiler? Or a home baker? We still have some snickerdoodles left by the way.”

- “A professor.”- he explained with a sweet smile.- “Specifically, a linguistic professor teaching an undergraduate class in Georgetown.”

- “And she thought of you?”

- “Of you.”

My heart stopped when I heard Spencer saying those simple two words. Yes, I had thought about teaching, but somehow I had never considered it earnestly. Why? Impostor syndrome? Fear of failure? Self-doubt? All above I guess.

- “What?”- I whispered, thinking I had misheard.

- “Alex needed help to find a teacher for a psycholinguistics class, something that you actually like.”

- “I do.”

- “So she thought of you.”

- “Why didn’t she call me?”

- “She did, but you didn’t pick up ‘co you were putting Vinny to sleep, so I talked to her instead.”

- “Answering my phone calls, Spencer Walter Reid. I don’t know how I feel about it.”- I joked only because I didn’t know how to react to what I had just heard. That was a real job offer in a field I liked.

- “She said she is calling you tomorrow again, so you can pick up and ask all about it.”

Spencer was right, Alex called me the following morning and delivered her proposal in detail. One of her best friends in Georgetown needed help finding a teacher for an undergrad course in psychology, and she thought of me. It was just five hours a week for a semester, so it wouldn’t take much of my BAU time. I just needed to talk to Emily and make my schedule match. That was the hardest part.

I don’t know if Emily knew I was unhappy with the job, but she didn’t hesitate to approve my request. In fact, she suggested Spencer could do a similar thing, and give seminars for young agents at the academy.

- “I could make it work so you two spend more time at home with the kids, and help the team from Quantico”

- “Isn’t it a little selfish?”- I asked. We were alone in Prentiss’ office, which was still Hotch’s office in my head, and that made everything less official and more traumatic for me. Somehow it still felt like we were pretending to be the grownups while he was away.

- “I wouldn’t call it selfish if it helps you focus on work whenever you are on the field.”

Emily added and held her cup of coffee with both hands as she stared at me from the other side of her desk, filled with unfinished paperwork.

- “Oh stop it, Reid. I have known you for what seems like a lifetime. You have been unhappy since Aaron left. So please tell me, what is it? you don’t like me as your Unit Chief?”

- “What the fuck?”- the curses rolled off my tongue before I could actually realize what I was saying.

- “I mean it, you’ve been acting strange for the last couple of months. I understand you and Spencer have been through a lot, but this is clearly work-related.”

- “First of all, how dare you bring this up at work and not at a bar with a drink in our hands!”- I start arguing back.

- “This is work-related, (Y/N), and I am talking to you as your superior, not your friend.”

- “Second of all,”- I continued speaking, ignoring the scowl.- “I love having you here. I wanted you on this team way before Hotch left. You were the one who didn’t want to leave the Interpol.”

- “Then what is it?”- my friend was clearly losing her patience with me.

- “I just… don’t know.”- I simply confessed and didn't say another word. I just sighed and stared at my friend not knowing how to explain what was happening.

- “How can you not know what happens to you?”- it was a simple question, I guess.

- “I don’t know what it is. I thought it was caused by the stress of having Diana home and all the fights that brought to us, but it wasn’t. I thought I could blame Scratch, but he is only partially guilty of what is happening. Just as Cat, or any fucking unsub that I might think of.”

Emily stared at me, knowing better than to push me. I stood up and started pacing around the room. It took me a few minutes to finally say it out loud.

- “Sometimes I don’t know why I am still here.”

- “You are making a difference.”- Emily stood up and walked to me as soon as she heard me. I turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

- “Trust me, I keep telling myself that every day I show up. Every day I miss Raven’s swimming competition or school recital and when I miss any milestone in Vincent’s growth.”- I paused because I was about to start crying and I didn’t want to get emotional at work.- “Each time that even for a split second there is a chance Spencer or I might get hurt, making a difference is the only thing that keeps me here.”

- “(Y/N)…”- Emily hugged me ‘cos tears had started falling from my eyes.- “Why didn’t you tell me anything sooner?”

- “Sooner when? Things have been crazy here and you know it.” - she sighed and nodded as I wiped away the tears from my cheeks.

- “I know, and we haven’t had much time to talk either.”

- “That’s the thing with this job, we let time pass us by ‘cos we are always too busy to stop and analyze what is happening to us…”

Emily nodded as she stared at me, both her hands on my shoulders as she tried to reassure me things were going to be better somehow.

- “Teaching this class is gonna be good for you, Reid. You need to find your own path.”

I wanted to believe her. I was already tired of feeling like I was drifting and wasting my life.

Spencer’s point of view

The first class my wife taught, she was so nervous I wanted to sit at the back of the classroom to make sure she was ok. It didn’t help that that very same day, I had been caught with JJ in a bunker, as we tried to catch an unsub who kidnapped women, convinced them doomsday was coming, and kept them locked underground in a hidden bunker.

We both knew the team was right a few minutes away the second the door locked behind us. But they couldn’t reach us underground. There was no signal. I also knew my wife was not with them, because she was teaching her first class at five, and I had sworn I'd wait for her outside.

If I wasn’t there, as promised, she was going to get very scared… and very mad.

- “I can’t get through”- JJ announced the obvious, staring at her cell phone screen.

- “The doors are airtight and the glass is bomb-blast resistant. Our bullets would just bounce off.”- I explained as I knocked on the window, trying to find a way out. I couldn’t be locked with JJ in a bunker. Not that day, not ever.

- “Ok, uh, Garcia told everyone we were heading down here, so… wait, did you say airtight?”- I kept pacing around the room when Jennifer realized what I had just said. Meanwhile, I had already discarded eleven plans to get out of that space. - “Are we gonna run out of air?”

- “No, high carbon dioxide levels are gonna kill us before low oxygen levels do.”- I explained and tried to focus on another plan.

- “What about the keypad, Spence?”

- “On a zero to 9 keypad, assuming a 4-digit code, there are 10,000 possible combinations. If you figure 5 seconds to input each combination, that’ll be 13.89 hours and that is not even accounting finger fatigue.”

- “Right. So, even if we did try, after too many failed attempts, we would probably be locked in here anyway.”

- “(Y/N) is gonna kill me.”- I whispered and sighed, closing my eyes for a second.

- “Why?”

- “I promised I’d be there after her first class.”

- “I’m sure she’ll understand. She knows how this job is.”- JJ didn’t understand my wife’s relationship with the job at that minute, and I couldn’t blame her. (Y/N) didn’t want to share much about her personal crisis with the team. Only Prentiss and Garcia knew how she actually felt. And they were as supportive and understanding as I knew they would be.

- “Yeah, sure.”- I mumbled and kept looking for a way out.

- “Hey, is (Y/N) ok? We haven’t talked much lately. I don’t… I don’t know if she is mad at me or…”

But whatever JJ was about to say, I didn’t pay attention to, because two of the victims appeared at the other side of the glass, holding hostage a woman they claimed was the unsub’s partner. We were lucky enough to be out of that trap quickly, release all the victims, and catch the unsub and his partner. The team was right outside as we made it out of the bunker with the victims, and I was in an SUV in less than ten minutes.

I made it on time, barely. I ran to the classroom door and I was still catching my breath when the door opened and the students started walking out. It was a warm afternoon, the sun was just setting, and as I walked into that room, I found my wife closing her computer, and gathering all her things.

- “Excuse me, professor.”- I said as I walked closer and watched her face light up.

- “It’s Doctor, actually.”- she corrected as my lips curled up in a smile. I just felt so good to see her happy.

- “I’m sorry, Doctor Reid. I’ve always been very interested in learning more about linguistics and I was wondering if I could attend this class…”

- “Oh, I’m so sorry Mr…”

- “It’s Doctor, Doctor Reid.”- I corrected her with a smirk and she just nodded, playing along.

- “Oh I’m sorry, Doctor Reid, but this class is closed.”

- “No… really?”- I finally stood in front of her and placed my hands on her waist as she nodded and smiled back at me.

- “Really.”- her voice dropped an octave, sounding so sexy I started considering that bending her on that desk was a very good idea.

- “Is there a chance I can get a private lesson?”- I asked her and she giggled.

- “Are you really that passionate about linguistics?”

- “You have no idea.”- I whispered, pressing her body closer to mine and kissing her lips. I tried to be sweet and gentle, but I felt a hunger inside me, and I needed to feel my wife.

- “Not many people feel this way about linguistics.”- (Y/N) whispered and smiled as I rubbed my lips against hers and tugged her hair carefully not to hurt her, but hard enough for her to gasp and open her mouth, giving me all access.

- “Maybe I could audit your class…”- and my wife just nodded as I rested my forehead against her, as we tried our best to cool off a little.

- “Excuse… me…”- a student coughed from the door. - “Doctor Reid, I needed to…”

- “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”- (Y/N) cleared her throat and moved away from me in a second. I smiled and took a step aside. It was so incredible watching her talking with a student, giving him notes from her lecture, talking about what he didn’t get. She was glowing, excited, and in her element. I hadn’t seen her that happy in a very long while.

So I made it my new goal: giving my wife the space to find what she wanted to do professionally, and which classes she wanted to teach. I never liked change before, and I was still struggling with it, but for her, I would do anything. For her, I would embrace change and roll with it. If it was what it took to make her that happy, I would do it gladly.

The first step was to speed up the process of moving from the apartment: I hated it, but I knew it needed to be done. I didn’t want to get out of there, but at the same time, I knew she wasn’t happy living in that apartment anymore. What happened with Cat Adams and Lindsey had affected her to the point of taking the joy from our flat. So we started looking for our own house. It wasn’t a quick process, trust me. It took almost a year to find the right house.

During that time, I started teaching a few seminars in the Academy, as Prentiss had suggested and my wife continued teaching her class in Georgetown. We started spending more time in Washington, which felt incredibly right. It was almost a year since our crisis, since my mother had stayed with us, bringing all the stress and fights, and I was, for once, enjoying life day by day.

Vinny was already two years and eight months old, and he was going through a bedtime crisis. He insisted he wasn’t tired and that he didn’t want to sleep. So every time, we had to come up with the craziest ways to get that kid weary for bed. We would dance, play, run, and tell the longest and most intricate bedtime stories. Most of the time, we struggled to stay away while trying to put him to bed. But somehow, it was the kind of struggle I didn’t mind having in my life. Not after dealing with serial killers.

We had a system and it was working. (Y/N) was a lot happier, and I was facing changes one day at a time. That was until the FBI's Assistant Director of National Security, Linda Barnes, put her eye on the BAU and decided to put us under investigation. She started by suspending Prentiss indefinitely, leaving JJ as temporary Unit Chief. It had been heartbreaking hearing Emily’s voice crack as she apologized for not being able to protect us from Barnes. We knew she meant serious trouble for us. She had dismantled Simmon’s former team, and she had her eye put on us. We knew what she was after: us. She wanted to end the BAu, or at least, end how it worked until that day.

The following day, after Prentiss gave us the news, things got even worse. (Y/N) was teaching a class early in the morning, so she missed the briefing. Which, I’ve always thought was a great thing because she would have snapped way more aggressively than I did when we all realized Barnes had picked the case for the team and planned on going to the field with us.

- “Meet you at the Tarmac.”- she announced as we all stood up from the table and stared at her lost.

- “You are going into the field with us?”- Tara asked her, not hiding her surprise and annoyance.

- “Yes.”- Linda replied coldly.

- “No offense, but you are not a profiler.”- Rossi pointed out, but Barnes didn’t seem to bother.

- “True, but I’ve worked on the field and a fresh set of eyes might be useful.”

She stared at us, probably waiting for any kind of reply, but no one said anything. I had to bite my lips ‘cos I was losing it second by second with her around.

- “I know you think I’m the enemy, but I am not. I can be your greatest advocate if you let me. Now, you’ve had some poor leadership in the past, but I know I can help right the ship.”

It was that last sentence that was the straw that broke the camel's back for me. I was not going to let that woman speak ill of Hotch or Prentiss.

- “No.”- I said as soon as she made a pause. - “You are wrong. Emily Prentiss is not a poor leader. She defined what a BAU chief should be. I am not gonna stand here and let you destroy her career like this. If you are going, I am not.”

And I didn’t even let her reply. I just stormed out of the conference room and walked back to my desk, I gathered my things and walked away from the BAU.

- “Spencer, oh my god. What did you do?”- Prentiss argued as soon as I finished telling my story. I didn't want to bother (Y/N) at work, so I did the only thing I could come up with: visit Emily at her house and try to help her return to the team.

- “I had to.”- that was my only explanation.

- “No, you didn't.”

- “Life's too short to deal with people like Linda Barnes.”- I knew that was something my wife would say, but after so many years together, I think there was a lot of her rubbing on my behavior. And I liked it.

- “Spence…”- Prentiss wanted to keep telling me off, but I wasn’t gonna let her. So I just continued talking

- “I wasn't gonna, you know, go with her and help her dismantle the team.”

Emily stared at me and rearranged her thoughts in silence for a moment. Then, she took a big step and stood in front of me, just next to her kitchen island.

- “Thank you for standing up for me. I appreciate you coming to the house for support, but what you did was reckless.”- and I rolled my eyes at her, as she started lecturing me again. - “The BAU is under the microscope right now, and the last thing you should be doing is giving Barnes more ammunition. You're making her job easier.”

- “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”- I frowned as I noticed she had started walking and moving closer to the front door one more time. She turned to me, looking caught, and pretended not to understand.

- “What?”

- “Ever since I got here, you've been trying to keep me out of…”- I took a look around and started wandering around the place. I wouldn’t usually do that, but Prentiss’ attitude was off.

- “No, I just, uh… no, I wasn't expecting anyone and the place…”

And just like that, I found what she was trying to hide.

- “Spence, stop!”

I jogged to her dining room and found a few boxes. She had started packing her things. Emily Prentiss was getting ready to fly away and leave us behind.

- “It's been less than two days and you're already leaving.”- I turned to face her, disappointed and angry.

- “I'm… I…”

Emily sighed as she tried to find the right way to explain what was going through her mind. Why would she just run away from trouble? That wasn’t like her.

- “Ok, look. Barnes wants somebody to take the fall for what happened in Roswell. I'm willing to be that somebody if it will help stabilize the BAU. You're in good hands with JJ.”

- “There's no guarantee that she won't replace her the minute you're gone.”- I argued immediately, but it wasn’t enough reason for her.

- “I think that if I go away for good, she'll leave you alone.”

- “You can still fight this. We can still fight this!”- but as I spoke those words, I could read on her face how the fire was dying inside of her.

- “Ah… Maybe I don't want to.”- and that answer was just as infuriating as discovering those boxes. Maybe even more.

- “Well, now who's making it easy for Barnes?”- I spat those words with anger as I frowned and stared into her eyes. I wanted her to see my disappointment.

- “You don’t get it, Spence.”- Emily said after a few minutes. She just walked around the apartment and started gathering more things to put in boxes and I sat on her couch, trying to find the right argument to change her mind.- “This is the right decision for me. I need you to support that.”

- “What's your plan? I mean, where are you gonna go?"- she had to be joking if she thought I was going to support her running away.

- “When I left Interpol, they said the door was always open to return. I like London. So…”- I looked at her in silence for a moment, as she kept putting books in boxes, driving me insane.

- “Well, if you really want me to support you, just answer me this one question.”- I finally said, standing up from her couch and looking at her. - “Why is it not ok for me to walk out on the team but it is for you?

- “Because you and I are different.”

- “We're not. And if the situation was reversed, you wouldn't give up on me. And you know what? I happen to know that for a fact because you didn't. When my mother was taken and I was losing my sanity, you did everything in your power to help my family.”

Emily stared at me and sighed. Clearly, I had hit a sensitive issue when I mentioned what happened with my mother.

- “What?”- I asked her as I scowled, confused.

- “Yeah. I did everything. I needed to make sure things worked their best for you, your family, and the team.”

- “And they did, all things considered.”- I replied, knowing nothing bad could come from that case, except the trauma me and my family were working to heal.

- “Including leaving out of the documents your trip to Mexico.”- Prentiss confessed and I wide opened my eyes, surprised.

- “Wh… what?”

- “When you went to Mexico to meet doctor Nadia Ramos, you used your personal passport. You should have used your work-issued one.”- Emily looked at me and held her breath for a second.- “I know you weren’t working, but you should have been briefed before leaving the country. That was a violation of security protocol. And I left it out of the case.” - her eyes watered up as she explained what had happened.

- “But… I didn’t do anything bad in Mexico.”- my voice was a whisper, and my friend nodded.

- “I know, Spence. But as an FBI agent, you are always a target, and you know it. You have to follow protocol before leaving the country. But I crossed a line I swore I never would. Barnes called me out on it. And that's when I realized she was right. I do hold this team above the very laws we are supposed to uphold. You made a mistake, but you didn’t do anything wrong, I did. That's why it's wrong for you to quit. But me, I've lost the privilege to run this team.”

I was speechless as I stared at my friend. I never knew she had done such a thing. I wouldn’t have let her do that. Just to think of all the things that could have gone wrong if I had gone more than that one time to Mexico still haunted me, and staring at my friend paying for a crime like that to keep me on the team made me feel incredibly lucky to have her, and immensely stupid for ruining things like that.

We fell into an awkward silence. I knew she didn’t want to talk, and I knew I was gonna have to push her, but I gave her a moment of quiet and peace as I arranged the facts in my head to convince her to stay. I wasn’t going to give up that easily.

- “Thank you.”- I whispered as I grabbed some books and files and put them in random boxes, as I pretended I was gonna help her move.

- “What?”

- “Thank you for covering for me.”

- “You're welcome.”- my friend looked at me and smiled

- “I'm not done.”- I added and she frowned as I continued talking. - “Thank you, but I didn't ask you to. Who knows? Maybe the bureau would have understood why I did it.”

- “Maybe. Now we'll never know.”- Emily replied and continued packing nonchalantly.

- “And that's exactly my point. You know, sometimes it's painful when you look back at your life and you realize how little choice you had in it. Right?”

Em paused her packing and looked at me with curiosity and some frustration.

- “Spence, if there's something you want to say, just say it.”

- “All I'm saying is that it's a lot like when JJ and Hotch faked your death so that you could escape from Ian Doyle.”- I knew I was hitting a nerve by bringing him into the conversation, but I needed her to see my point.- “You didn't have any choice in the matter, but it's what they had to do. They fought just as hard to save your life as you did to save mine. It's what we do."

- “It's… not like this."

- “It is. Do you want proof? Here are some examples. Michael Lee Peterson, Chad Higgins, Kathy and Jessica Evanson, Gloria Barker, and Declan Doyle. These are men, women, and children you've saved at the BAU, personally.”

- “But that's our job. Yours, mine, that's what we do. We save lives.”

- “And here are eight more that need it now. David Rossi, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Matt Simmons, Tara Lewis… (Y/N) Reid and Spencer Reid.”

- “Stop.”

- “I don't think you understand. After Hotch left, the team could have imploded. It didn't because you were there. You were there to keep us together. We don't always have a choice in what happens to us, but you know what? Sometimes we do. And right now…”

I choked up because tears were threatening to roll down my cheeks, and I couldn’t speak, feeling my throat closing with emotion.

- “I'm just asking you to make the choice to stay and fight for us. You know, fight for the team. That's what we do. We fight for each other.”

Emily opened her mouth to argue, but she just shook her head and chuckled, tearing up.

- “Ok.”- that was all she said and I immediately stood up to hug her.

- “Let's call the team and get back to work. (Y/N) should be out of classes by now.”

- “I'm suspended.”- Emily announced, like that could ever stop us.

- “Well, I'm not. If you just so happen to hear what I say, then so be it.”

- “That rebel attitude is very (Y/N) of you, Spence.”

- “I know”- and I smiled proudly.

But, by the end of the day, Linda Barnes had gone behind the team and got the primary suspect dead. The team had solved the case, but someone had died. Rossi called us and invited us all for drinks. (Y/N) had joined us in Emily's apartment as soon as her class was over and I had updated her with everything that had happened that day.

- “I am out two mornings a week and I miss all the fun.”- she argued as I finished telling her how I stormed out of the conference room.

However, when we got to the bullpen, to pick up the team, Linda Barnes had saved us one more surprise.

- “Did I hear something about drinks?”- my wife said as she stood in front of Rossi and hugged him and Penelope at the same time.

- “Yes. And I am buying the first round.”- Luke added and (Y/N) raised her hand to give him a high five, but that was the second we all turned and saw Barnes standing there, in the middle of the office. Ruining our moment.

- “Agent Prentiss, Agent Reid, I'm happy to see you.”- her voice was cold as she nodded at us.- “Agent Jareau, I didn't get the opportunity to tell you how much I enjoyed your speech on the jet. But you're wrong that I'm here to shut down the BAU because I'm not. This unit is the crown jewel of behavioral profiling. I couldn't shut it down if I wanted to. But I can help restructure it.”

My blood ran cold as I heard those words. That woman wanted to destroy our department, and she was about to succeed.

- “The director watched the airport video, and he felt, as I did, that we were in public and your validation strategy was failing.”

- “You already met with him?”- JJ asked in shock, we knew she was waiting to talk to him and explain what had happened. But Barnes had, once again, gone behind her back to win.

- “Yes. I've known him for a long time. He answers my calls.”

- “I haven't even had a chance to file my report.”- Jennifer argued, but Barnes dismissed her words like she dismissed everything she didn't care for.

- “He agreed that events should have unfolded quicker, and because they didn't, the suspect died. Now we need to ensure that mistakes, like the ones you made today, never happen again.”

- “Mistakes we made?”- JJ questioned crossing her arms on her chest.

- “That said, Agent Prentiss, your suspension is lifted. You'll be reassigned within the Bureau. Your new post has yet to be determined.”

- “What?”

- “Agent Lewis, you will also be reassigned. Agent Reid, you will be a full-time professor with our exchange program. Agent (Y/L/N), your recent teaching career is taking off, the Bureau will be happy to help you find more classes to teach, along with your husband.”

- “It’s Doctor Reid, and who says that’s something I even want to do?”- my wife questioned her and I held her hand to stop her from talking any further.

- “It’s clear your head is not with the team anymore, agent.”- Barnes replied and didn’t give her time to say a word back.- “Agent Rossi, the FBI deeply appreciates your service, and the director wishes you nothing but the best in your retirement.”

Barnes made a pause and gave Rossi time to argue with her decision, but he didn’t say a word.

- “Agent Simmons, Agent Alvez, you will remain here at the BAU. Garcia, your loyalty to the team is appreciated, but it feels like a fresh start in a different department would be best.”

- “Fresh start? I don't want a fresh start. I need… I need to be here.”- Garcia was already crying as she spoke, but Barnes didn’t even answer her plea.

- “I'm fired, aren't I?”- JJ asked coldly.

- “No. You're the conditional unit chief of the BAU. Congratulations.”- Barnes’ words kept getting colder and colder as she spoke. She was, in fact, enjoying her revenge.

- “There's no such thing.”- Jennifer argued.

- “You're right. There wasn't. But I was able with the director's approval to create a new position just for you. I won't be going into the field with you anymore, but you will run every decision past me, big and small, before you act.”

Linda Barnes stared at us. None of us was able to say a word. We were shocked by her power and the promptness of her actions. She didn’t even give us time to fight back.

- “Good night.”- she cut us one evil smile and walked out of the bullpen.

- “This can't be the end. Can it?”- Garcia asked us, and we didn’t really know how to reply to that. So we stayed in silence, stunned.

(Y/N)’s point of view

Two weeks after Barnes decided to “reassign” most of the BAU members, we were all going insane and I was ready for revenge. One thing is wanting out of the team ‘cos I want to do what I love, and another thing is having some bureaucratic asshole telling me what to do, when to do it, and how.

I hated that bitch.

Do you wanna know what else I hated during those two weeks? All the students that were falling for my husband at the academy. Linda Barnes wasn’t joking when she said she was gonna help me get more classes to teach along with Spencer. She got me a whole linguistic course for young cadets at the academy. And the fact the course’s teacher was me, Doctor Reid, caused a lot of confusion among the female students.

- “Excuse me.”- one of them raised her hand during class.- “I was told this class was taught by Doctor Reid.”

- “Yes, that’s me.”- I explained with an innocent smile, not knowing what was about to happen.

- “As in… doctor Spencer Reid?”- she asked, confused.

- “Oh no, sorry. That’s my husband. It’s a common mistake, we both have PhDs. ”

- “He is… your husband? Spencer is married?”- I could see on her face ‘cos her heart was breaking.

- “Yes, been married for almost nine years now. I don’t know how that could be relevant for the class, but…”- I paused and noticed a few more girls in the auditorium were shocked.- “Anyone else took this class thinking it was my husband’s?”

Eleven more girls raised their hands.

- “You can leave if you want.”- I simply answered and tried not to shoot daggers at any of them. Frank always says I do that when I am mad. Spencer agrees, which makes it even more believable.

Two weeks and life was making me feel like I hadn’t been grateful for my job. Don’t get me wrong, I loved teaching, but there was something incredibly wrong about the way Barnes had pushed us away from the BAU. Garcia was in Cyber Crimes and she was going insane. Prentiss was with the OPR, hating every second of it, especially her teammate, a guy called James Odenkirk, who kept getting on her nerves. JJ kept Spencer informed about the BAU and the lack of cases the team had. Barnes kept JJ, Simmons, and Alvez on the bench, not authorizing any case work until they got one that would- and I quote - “Make the FBI look good.”

It was like she was trying to be hated. And succeeding.

When Prentiss called and invited me over for a ladies' night with Tara, I was in before I could even reply. I texted Spencer and asked if he could stay with the kid for a while. That was the only good side of that whole deal, being there with our babies every day. You could see how they loved having us there for bedtime stories, driving them to school, and cuddling.

- “Who knew there were so many dysfunctional partners in the Bureau?”- Tara chuckled as she told us her experience as a therapist for FBI partners in crisis. We stood on Emily’s balcony, holding a glass of red, trying to make sense of what was happening.

- “I'm learning the hard way. I had three stakeouts with Odenkirk last week.”

- “He sounds like such a charming bud.”- I teased and Emily rolled her eyes

- “Oh yeah, we know how much you love hanging out with him.”- Tara added as we both chuckled, like kids.

- “And it's one thing to be out in the field with him, but sitting with him in a car for hours on end. He smells like dirty tighty whities dipped in sweat.”- Emily’s description actually made him look worse word by word.

- “Gross!!”- I replied, disguised.

- “Barnes really knew how to punish you.”- Tara added with a short smile.- “I mean, sticking you with him. A not-so-subtle reference to what happens to agents who transgress.”

- “And there is no dirt on Barnes in the OPR database. She is squeaky clean.”- we both turned to Emily after her confession, shocked.

- “You pulled her file?”- Tara asked and sipped her wine.

- “I thought maybe we'd get lucky.”- Emily replied trying to look innocent. Which she wasn't at all.

- “I’m guessing that bitch knows how to hide her dirty laundry.”- I finished my glass and rested my elbow on the edge of Emily’s balcony. My friends stood by my side, mimicking my movement.

- “So what now?”- Tara asked

- “Refill?”- I replied and moved my empty glass. Em grabbed the bottle and filled our glasses, as she spoke.

- “I don't know what our next move is. I’m sorry girls.”

- “Well, we have got to think of something. I do not know how much more of this assignment I can take.”- Tara mumbled and I agreed.

- “Eleven students left my class today ‘cos they thought it was Spencer’s.”- I announced and kept my eyes on the horizon as I spoke.- “Eleven. That was half of my audience.”

- “What are you talking about? Why would they…”

- “Because I have a hot husband, Tara! I knew that, but I never thought these stupid students would drool so shamelessly for him! You should have seen their faces when I told them I am his wife.”

- “You told them? Why?”- Emily asked, nearly laughing at my face.

- “Because one of those brats interrupted my class asking if there was any kind of mistake, ‘cos she was expecting Dr. Reid.”- I explained and closed my eyes, mortified.

- “They interrupted you? To ask for Spencer?”- Tara was shocked.

- “Apparently my husband is the current eye candy of the department. His classes are full, but most of the attendees are auditing, just to look at him and drool.”- I finally confessed to someone what had been tormenting me that week.

- “Does he know? What has he said about it?”

- “He has no idea!”- I argued and took another sip of wine.- “He is just so happy people are interested in his classes, I don’t have the heart to tell him.”

- “Then don’t.”- Emily suggested. - “The kid is enjoying teaching, sometimes I feel that’s what he was born to do. I wouldn’t want to spoil it for him just because a bunch of girls are drooling over him. You know they are harmless. Spencer would never cheat on you.”

- “Prentiss has a point, Reid is crazy for you and the kids. He would never jeopardize that for anything in the world.”

I nodded and looked at my friends. Having them around meant the world. I missed working with them and hanging out with them daily.

The next day, I was preparing for my following class when Luke called. He asked us to meet at Prentiss’ for a case. Apparently, JJ didn’t get permission to take a case, and we were going to go behind Barnes’ back and investigate it anyway. Sounded like my team, and my kind of plan.

Spencer showed up in my class and stood by the door as I gathered my things. He didn’t have to say a thing, I knew he knew. He was beaming with excitement. Of course, my husband missed the BAU. He was born to catch unsubs, solve cases, and save the day. He has always been a hero.

- “Thank you, all of you, for coming. I've missed this, us.”- Emily said as the entire gang sat in her living room to investigate a case without formal authorization.

- “We met yesterday for drinks, Em.”- I teased her and she just chuckled.

- “I meant work, Reid. And be serious, before we do this, I need to be sure everyone understands what we're getting into. We have been told not to investigate this case. If we do, we are violating direct orders, and eventually, Barnes will find out. So, if something goes wrong or we don't catch this unsub, she will shut down the BAU and most likely fire all of us. No more reassignments.”

- “You know what?”- JJ said, looking incredibly fed up with anything Barnes’ related- “Even if everything does go right and we do catch our unsub, I mean, the same thing could happen.”

- “Right. Barnes would try to spin it, labeling the BAU a rogue unit that needs to be shut down.”- Simmons knew what he was talking about.

- “Right. So if anyone has doubts, no shame, no judgment.”- Emily said and looked at us, waiting for a reaction. Like any of us would walk away from a case.

- “The BAU started in a room just like this one. If this is how it goes out, so be it.”- Rossi sounded defeated already. So I had to tease him a little, just to make him smile.

- “All right Coronell Cannelloni, no need to get sentimental.”- and he turned to me with a warm grin.

- “We're all in?”- Spencer asked and the entire team nodded. I held his hand, knowing that was something he wanted to do, work with our friends, solve the case, catch the bad guys. And most of all, kick Linda Barnes’ ass.

But, it turned out Prentiss’ warning wasn’t a bluff. Only 24 hours later, JJ was forced to turn over her baggage and her gun, after asking Barnes to open the file of an investigation she had closed a few years before. However, that wasn’t going to stop us. If anything, it made us crack the case, and work harder, even from the shadows.

JJ kept working, and Penelope, from Cyber Crimes, managed to get us the crime scene pictures without getting us caught.

Rossi might have mentioned earlier that day the charm of doing the right thing, even in the wrong way. It felt so fucking good when we got the unsub. I still wish I had been there to look at Barnes’ face when the team caught the psycho and saved the senator’s daughter he had kidnapped. And not only that but Emily told the senator himself that Barnes had fired JJ for trying to solve the case. That woman didn’t stand a chance. She was out before we knew it.

- “I couldn’t wait until morning!!”- Garcia beamed as she walked into the bullpen, holding a box filled with all the toys she keeps on her desk.

- “You weren't the only one.”- JJ said as Luke quickly moved and grabbed Garcia’s box. I stared at that sweet acting coming from a couple that barely seemed to get along, and I realized those two had some angry sex coming their way. If only Luke didn’t have a girlfriend.

- “You look great.”- my husband said to Penelope and she nearly jumped in excitement.

- “I feel great. You guys really did it!”

- “Ohh, I wish I could have been there to see Barnes' face when the senator showed up.”- Tara whined and I joined her immediately.

- “Me too!! Was she fuming from her ears? Did she send daggers from her eyes? I need a full description of the scene, please!”- I begged from my desk as I finished setting the family pictures I had kept there for years.

- “I thought she was gonna melt like the wicked witch of the west when he said Prentiss could hire whoever she wanted.”- Simmons described and we all chuckled at the thought.

- “You think she'll back off for good?”- Luke asked, and we all turned to Prentiss, who stood with Rossi at the top of the stairs outside her office.

- “The director called me.”- she started.- “He said Barnes was told to keep her hands off the BAU.

- “And so, we live to fight another day. Ladies and gentlemen, we're back!”

We all cheered and lifted our cups of coffee. It felt good to be back at the BAU, with my family. Though I wanted to keep teaching at Georgetown, I wasn’t ready to fully leave my friends. Especially knowing how much Spencer loved being there. 

Series' Masterlist - Author's masterlist

Next chapter

[justarithinnngs]

Spaces. (Squid Game x Player!Reader)

Chapter 1 - Dynasty

Warnings: death (character death), terminal illness, mentions of medical trauma, mental health struggles, emotional distress,

It was a perfect night. The kind that felt like it could stretch on forever—easy, light, and full of laughter. (Y/N) sat at the bar, leaning over to listen to her best friend, Jiwoo, as she rambled on about some guy she’d met earlier that evening. The music was loud, and the chatter was lively, but for a moment, everything felt right. (Y/N) could feel the hum of contentment in her chest, the steady beat of happiness she always found when she was with her friends.

“…And then, I swear, he tried to impress me with some lame pick-up line about my shoes,” Jiwoo laughed, her voice barely audible over the beat of the club. “Like I didn’t know exactly what he was doing.”

(Y/N) giggled, playfully nudging Jiwoo’s arm. “Classic. But hey, at least he tried, right? Most guys wouldn’t even bother.”

Across from her, Soojin joined in, raising her glass and grinning mischievously. “Maybe he thought your shoes were worth impressing. But knowing you, you probably just went along with it.”

(Y/N) laughed again, a soft, genuine sound that could be heard above the noise. It was the kind of laugh that made others smile, the kind that came easily to her. She loved moments like this—being surrounded by her closest friends, the ones who knew her better than anyone. The night stretched on, filled with shared jokes, teasing, and stories. In the midst of all this, (Y/N) was happy. She was light, unburdened, free.

But her friends knew something she didn’t always recognize herself.

“You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?” Jiwoo had said earlier in the night, a serious edge in her voice that was rare for her.

(Y/N) had smiled it off, tossing her hair back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re always the one to look out for everyone,” Jiwoo had continued, a hint of concern creeping into her tone. “You’re always helping people, always trying to fix things. You need to be careful, (Y/N). It’s gonna catch up to you one day.”

(Y/N) had laughed it off, but deep down, she knew they were right. She was the one always trying to make everyone happy. The one who stayed up late to listen to someone’s problems, who would drop everything to help a friend in need. It wasn’t that (Y/N) minded. She couldn’t imagine being any other way. Her kindness was like a light, and it radiated from her in everything she did.

But now, as the night wound down and she stepped out into the crisp air with her friends, a sudden shift of unease began to settle deep in her gut.

“Are you okay to get home?” Soojin asked, her voice tinged with a touch of concern as she linked arms with (Y/N).

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little tired, that’s all,” (Y/N) smiled, waving off any worry. “I’ll be fine.”

“Call me when you get home,” Jiwoo added, glancing at (Y/N) with a look that made her hesitate. “We love you, you know that?”

(Y/N) grinned at her friends, pulling them in for a tight hug. “I love you guys too. Now, go home and get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

But the moment she stepped inside her apartment, the weight of everything from the night seemed to press down on her, and she knew something was off. Her phone buzzed as soon as she closed the door behind her.

It was her mom.

(Y/N) had spoken to her mom earlier that day. She’d been worried about her dad, who’d been feeling increasingly unwell. His health had been declining for a while, but they hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong. At first, they thought it was just stress. Then they thought it was something minor, maybe just exhaustion. But as the weeks went on, things weren’t improving, and now, it felt like the weight of it all was suffocating her.

She answered the call, trying to shake off the remnants of the night’s fun, bracing herself for the conversation.

“Hey, Mom. How’s Dad?” (Y/N) asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

There was a long pause on the other end, and then her mom’s voice came through, softer, more fragile than usual. “Sweetheart… We got the results back.”

The words hung in the air, a sharp sting that immediately made her heart race. “Results? What do you mean? What’s going on?”

Her mom took a shaky breath, and in that moment, (Y/N) felt her entire world tilt. “It’s… brain cancer, (Y/N). Your father… it’s brain cancer.”

There it was. The words hit her like a physical blow. Brain cancer. Those two words, so simple, yet so heavy, dropped like an anchor into her chest, pressing the air from her lungs.

She gripped the phone tighter, her fingers trembling. “No… No, that can’t be right. He’s… he’s been feeling sick, but not like that. Not—Mom, there’s got to be a mistake. Please, tell me there’s been a mistake.”

Her mother’s voice cracked. “I wish it were, honey. I wish it were a mistake. But… it’s not. The doctors—they said it’s advanced. We don’t know how much time we have.”

A hollow silence swallowed the room, and for a moment, (Y/N) couldn’t speak. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat, thundering in her ears.

The world outside her apartment, the noise of the city, the memories of the night—everything blurred, faded into a hazy mist. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed in her chest, each beat slower, more painful than the last. Her mind couldn’t grasp what her mom had just said. Brain cancer? Her dad, the man who had taught her to ride a bike, the one who made her laugh so hard she’d cry, the one who held her when she was hurt… he was sick. So sick.

“No…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of it all. She sank down onto the couch, the phone still pressed to her ear, the words spinning in her mind like a broken record. No, no, no.

Her mom’s voice came through again, gentle, but full of sorrow. “I know, baby. I know it’s a lot. But we need to be strong now. We need to be there for him.”

(Y/N) shut her eyes, squeezing them tight, as if she could block out the reality of it all. But it didn’t help. It didn’t change anything.

She could feel the spark inside her—her energy, her light—slowly dimming. It wasn’t something that happened all at once. It wasn’t a switch being flipped. It was the slow, agonizing realization that her world had just shifted, irreversibly. She wasn’t the same girl who had been laughing with her friends just hours ago. That girl was gone.

Her voice cracked again, this time louder. “I… I don’t know what to do, Mom. I don’t know what to do.” Tears blurred her vision, and she wiped at her eyes frantically, but they just kept coming. “I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him. Please, Mom, please tell me there’s something we can do.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and for a moment, it felt like time itself had stopped. Then, her mom spoke, her voice trembling, but filled with quiet strength.

“We’ll fight, (Y/N). We’ll fight for him. We don’t know how much time we have, but we’ll fight. You’re not alone in this.”

But (Y/N) felt alone. She felt the weight of the world pressing down on her chest, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t know how to keep going. The energy that had once been so full of life, so vibrant, felt hollow now. Her father, the one person who had always been her rock, was slipping away from her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Her sobs echoed through the quiet apartment, her body wracked with grief she didn’t know how to handle. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And she didn’t know how to fight against it.

She couldn’t be strong anymore. Not tonight. Not yet.

[floridecuts]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Yay, it's my favorite time of the week again! I'm always looking forward to read your reactions in the tag comments! They keep me motivated! A big thank you again for all people who have commented so far on this project!! <3

I actually didn't know what to draw for this part's "chapter art" so, have a Mashita with a frog on his shoulder! xD We're about halfway through the comic now and slowly making our way to the finale. (It's gonna be a long finale). So this part is again a bit more explanatory in nature before it will get more serious again.

This part also contains one of my favorite little moments of this comic - Daimon insinsting on taking care of Mashita's scratches, and not taking "no" for an answer! I really enjoyed drawing that part. ^w^ We learn more about Yashiki's powers, or theories about his powers from Yasuoka. I've always wondered why Yashiki thinks so lowly about his own spiritual powers. I've discussed this with a friend and the idea came to mind that he might have been belittled by his family, seen as a "disappointment" because his powers seem so much weaker than others. Consequently he'd think little of what he can do. But I like to think that there's actually some undiscovered powers still sleeping inside him. He might have unconsciously suppressed them because of that treatment and constant stress of expectations from his family.

Yasuoka gives Yashiki an O-mamori. It might become important later. And then there's a guilt ridden Shou. I'm not sure if it fits to his character but I thought be might feel guilty because he initially wanted to accompany Yashiki, because he knew it could be dangerous alone, but didn't after Yashiki's reassurance. Since he sees Mashita a little like his older brother it made sense to me that he would open up to him about his feelings, indirectly asking for advise. I admit Mashita's last words on the last page are heavily inspired by Fullmetal Alchemist (the scene of Edward's last talk to Rose before they part ways, in case anybody knows it). Well, I hope you liked it!!

Thanks for taking a look! :)

[syndrossi]

me when i'm stressing about the king's landing arc not being as tightly plotted as the vale arc: *barely able to scrape by with 1000 words a day*

me when i go fuck it we ball i write what i want: *suddenly doubling the day's word count*

[wickjump]

im gonna start posting fanfic recs btw whenever i find good ones. both here and my (awfully barren) 18+ account. because there are so many good fics out there with so few hits and fewer kudos and sometimes no comments period and it SUCKS because i REALLY LIKE THEM A LOT.. and i hope that by linking them here and yelling at everyone to COMMENT DAMMIT they might actually do it

seriously though any comment means a lot. most people who read a fic don’t even give a kudos. even if the fic wasn’t top tier, if you didn’t dislike it, hand over some kudos!! and if you liked it, comment!!!! even if the comment is one singular heart emoji it will be appreciated. if the comment just says “great fic!” the author will be happy. your comment doesn’t have to be this long winded gushing or analysis.

so many authors quit writing or lose motivation because the comments are few and far in between or just sometimes nonexistent. trust me when i say authors don’t care about how long or cool or smart sounding your comment is i promise!!!

i hope that mmmaybe recommending fics and telling people to comment might help fics i really like get more support maybe. and i, points at you reading this, hope that you will listen!!!at least a little….at least sum kudos….

[nekrosmos]

NikPrice fic should be coming out later today <3

[ssreeder]

Sorry if you’ve answered this before but do you have any idea of how many chapters into the fire will end up being or how the ending will pan out? (Also I love you and the world you’ve created thanks for being awesome <333)

I have answered this before, but I feel it changes day to day lol… ITF is about ummm halfway? It will absolutely be the largest fic of the three, but it has to be in order to bring this thing to a proper close. I could realistically do a fourth book but fuck it I am sticking to the original plan of three. I have the ending completely planned and most of the epilogue figured out as well… I will admit the only thing I don’t have completely planned out is the nitty-gritty details that tend to unfold as the story happens? So as the battle begins who knows how characters will react or what emotions will come up so I like to keep things loose with that to give the characters room to breathe.

But yeah! I do have an ending and I have all the MAJOR events planned, so any twists & turns along the way are already set in motion :)

(I love you thank you for sending me this ask you’re amazing)

[brittlebutch]

finally found a place to read With the Light online and i'm thrilled; if you haven't read this manga i do Legitimately recommend it

[leyyvi]

i miss pwasoi :C

yeah me too i should probably write it

[beautifulmakkaris]

if you’re waiting for chapter 5 of lucy takes the long way home… you won’t be waiting much longer

[waywardstation]

May I share a small idea?

You could use the poll as some sort of list for some future WIP Wednesdays. The most popular choice is first and then the next in line comes on the next Wednesday when you got the time and so on.

It could save you plenty of time to prepare something and may lessen the pressure a little!

Obviously it’s up to you but I’m leaving the suggestion here for you to think about.

Hope you’re having a good time and remember to stay hydrated and take care of yourself~!

Oh this is a fantastic idea!! I think I will do this!! (Though I am hoping at least three of the options on there will be going up within the next several weeks, all of them are so so close to completion!!)

I will do this though!! Thank you very much for the suggestion friend, it’s a great idea!!

[sibillascribbles08]

Put the first few paragraphs of chapter seven in before calling it for the day. Got through a good chunk ! Tomorrow is prolly gonna be really busy so hmmm we'll see

current word count: 21,109

[areweevercameraready]

a little snippet...

A/N: so....i actually have...... maybe 100,000k words unpublished with the boys in human au.,.... and since the human au infodump, i've been wondering if i should post things from the spinoff au. i asked a friend and she suggested i post at least a bit since there Were Folks who enjoyed these characters. im hugging everyone who has been keeping up :') thank you and i love you and you don't know how much this means to me, that people like my work.

i do plan on updating more than beliefs, though as you can probably tell, updates are pretty slow. i've had big weird life changes over the past three or so years, which is kinda sad, since i used to be able to update chivalry literally once a week :'D but thank you all for sticking with me through it!! i'm hoping, once i'm done writing my thesis, i can get back to updating MTB more often. i've had the whole thing plotted in my head for a while and you all deserve to see more of macbeth, along with where he was during like. all of chivalry.

heads up that this is NOT going on AO3 — it's a bit far from the actual fandom space so I'm really hesitant to put it up there. it'll only be here! somewhat related, but i might spruce up this blog layout. the banner image is kind of old/i don't like the anatomy, and same with the icon. and i just took a look at the blog and went "wow the text is smaller than i remember it being..." so that's a sign that it's Too Small! time for a change probably.

Words: 7,615

WARNINGS: descriptions of anxiety disorder, descriptions of past child abuse, suicidal/depressive thoughts, someone's ankle breaks (don't run in heels, kids!), alcohol and drunkenness

if i forgot anything, please let me know! this is only one chapter of a longer thing (i'm still on the fence about posting all of it but frankly, if i do revamp this blog, i straight fuckin might. i don't plan on publishing these novels for market consumption, but i would be happy to know if folks out there enjoyed them :') )

enjoy the snippet! <3

Eric Yuan hadn't considered himself lovable in a long, long time.

The anxiety disorder was just scraping the surface. There was the legal battle he'd gone into against his parents for custody over Gavin. He was so responsible it was irresponsible, sleeping odd hours, sometimes none at all, and living off of the cheapest coffee he could find to keep himself awake. There was the lack of time, the long hours of work to pay for the apartment and his and Gavin's lives, between working at the bar and at the restaurant, trying to pull together something to keep them afloat. He survived off of lunch and, when tips were good, the occasional dinner. 

Gavin had noticed, of course, but he was nice enough to not say anything. Eric tried to be as honest as he could about how sometimes they couldn't get new games or new things, how he would have to stay late at night at work. If Eric was thankful for anything, it was how understanding Gavin was. That kid rolled with as many punches as were thrown and while Eric knew he shouldn't have to, knew that his brother deserved a better upbringing than the shit that their parents and now the world were putting them through, he also recognized that this was the best he could do. 

He tried to hide himself in work, two jobs that provided enough money to keep them going. Honestly, if he’d talked with his managers and budgeted hours differently, he could get by with just the bartending job. But the days without work were spent taking Gavin to school, watching Gavin at home, laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling. He had to have something to bury himself in so he wouldn’t be stuck with his thoughts, the ones that promised danger, contempt, building paranoia and anxiety until he choked on his own breath. Thoughts that promised a kinder world. On the other side.

If he killed himself, Gavin would go right back to their parents, and Eric had to stay alive if only to prevent that. That was….that was the only reason. 

Sometimes, he wondered if Gavin knew, because on nights like that the kid always managed to find his way into Eric's bed. He'd crawl in and snuggle between Eric's arms and tell him he had a nightmare. Eric never knew how honest he was being, but he never turned the offer down.

He had to keep alive. So he did. 

And like, man worked a lot. Often, too much. How the fuck was he supposed to keep up with the world around him if he barely used his social media, didn't watch any of the new content put out in recent years, didn't engage with new platforms. Well, he had a Twitter, but that was just to look at funny memes. Those were his favorite development in recent years. Twitter also helped keep up with the news somewhat, but he didn’t exactly pay attention to that. Also, cat videos, those were important to him. 

Yeah, he was fairly disconnected, but what else was new and what could you do.

Eric Yuan's life flipped when he was opening the bar at 4 p.m. on a Wednesday. He wasn't an owner or manager, but he was a shift lead. The most dependable shift lead, if you asked his manager, and while he often told Eric that he was pretty reliable, it wasn’t as though Eric processed that kind of praise. He did know that he got the most done, and was the most efficient, because he could take that kind of metric comparison. But, like. Most reliable? He didn’t know how true that was. Eric liked to take the opening shifts, helped get home at a reasonable enough hour to see Gavin to sleep and for him to sleep enough to take the lunch shifts at his other job. 

The opening shift consisted of a few things. Making sure dishes were racked for the night, that the trash was all arranged and the bins were out in the alley, that bottles that looked like they were going to go empty had restocks close by. It was slow and quiet, for shift leads, but it was perfect for Eric. He liked to turn on some music and walk around, working efficient and quick enough usually to have a few minutes of quiet before the bartenders started showing up. 

The alley behind his bar was more like a driveway than anything, wide enough just for one car. Most of the time, the neighboring businesses would just put their bins back here during work hours. 

While opening on this day, though, Eric noticed a man running. He'd turned the sharp corner near the bar and hurried partway down the block, panting as if he'd been running a while. Eric actually pulled his own bins back as the man passed him. Then promptly tripped. What idiot runs in heels, anyway?

The man tried to get back up, but a few steps proved his ankle injured enough for him to collapse again. And that's when he looked up, frantically looking around for help, and his eyes locked with Eric's. 

Eric waved, ever so slightly. And, well. He's always been the type to help someone who needed it. He didn't know what the man was running from, but it seemed that time was of the essence. He jogged over and picked the man up easily, making sure he didn't grab the man's dreadlocks accidentally beneath his arm, and hurried him into the bar. At least the dude was pretty light, and he let Eric pick him up, wrapping his arms around Eric’s shoulders. 

The first and only real thing Eric noticed was that he smelt a little floral. Must have been perfume or something. The man wasn’t wearing clothes that Eric would have called casual, especially with the heels. A fall like that must have hurt his ankle.

"Thank you," the man whispered, and Eric noticed how gentle his voice was, how lofty and warm. "Close the door, please, they can't see me."

Eric didn't know who the fuck "They" was, but Eric kicked the door closed on his way in. Just as he did, too, he heard the sound of footsteps at the end of the alley. Eric helped the man hide behind the bar, out of view of the door, and shushed him quietly as a knock sounded on the door. 

He wiped his hands on his apron, stepping back towards the door. He paused before opening it only to prepare his face, so he could open it with the deadliest glare. And there were. People. There. Were many people. Many with cameras. All looking fairly out of breath. 

How did that guy outrun a whole ass crowd? 

The man who had knocked was haggard, taller than Eric but with an obviously lankier build, wheezing as he asked, “Have you seen anyone come up this road?”

He sounded kinda desperate. Eric shook his head slowly, cogs working in his head as he put together a cover story. “No, I’ve just been trying to open up shop. I took the bins out,” he gestured to the trash bins, set alongside the wall. “But I didn’t see anyone then. If someone was out there, they could have run past while I was stocking.”

The man nodded, either willing to accept that lie or too frantic to look too deep into it. Eric watched with sharp eyes as he and the group looked up and down the street. He didn’t think this concerned him, though, and he wanted to check back in on the absolute rando’ he’d just let into the bar. So he nudged the guy’s hand. 

“I think the candy shop over there’s open, around that corner.” Eric pointed to the end of the alley. “If someone ran past, they could have seen them. Other than that though, I don’t have anything, and I’ve gotta get back to opening.”

Just a few well-placed white lies. The man at the door nodded and motioned the group to leave without another word. Eric let the door slam behind them. 

Well. Then. He exhaled slow, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, then turned to the bar counter. 

The way the bar was arranged was such that there was a peninsula counter, sticking out of the wall with seats arranged on all sides. On one side, too, was a small stage. Often, they would just play music. Sometimes they had performers, live musicians, and every Thursday was comedy night for local comedians. In June, they have a small drag show every Friday, and in December, they have a run of charity shows. There are still fliers and decorations up from the last one; Eric should take them down while he’s opening. 

The man who he’d snuck in slowly peeks his head around the counter. There was something awfully familiar about him, like Eric had definitely seen this dude before, but he isn’t attuned to the daily gossip. Maybe it was just because the man was pretty as could be, eyes a warm brown that lingered around Eric before darting back at the door. His brows were perfectly shaped. Eric could see a little heart on his cheek, too, and silver decorations in his dreadlocks. Very, very pretty.

The man scan the area, see Eric going around to take the chairs out from where they’ve been stacked in the corner. And he asks, in a voice almost more delicate than Eric could have imagined, “Are they gone?”

“Yeah,” Eric said, setting down the barstools as he went around the bar’s lounge area. “They stalkers or something?”

As soon as Eric said the people chasing him were gone, the man sighed, standing up all the way and cracking his neck. He scooted to the sink behind the counter to wash his hands, which was fair. It wasn’t like the bar ground was the cleanest, even just before opening. 

Someone like this dude, this put together and manicured and astoundingly beautiful, shouldn’t have had to put his hands on the bar’s fuckin’ ground.

“Basically stalkers. Paparazzi,” the man sighed. 

“Paparazzi?” Eric asked, looking back at the man.

Was this dude fucking famous? Eric couldn’t recognize him. Damn, he was that far removed from things, that he couldn’t recognize an entire celebrity.

The man must have realized now that Eric hadn’t known who he was, because his grin turned sheepish as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Yep! I’m, uh. Songbird? That’s my stage name. And my YouTube channel.” 

That name rang, like, literally no bells in Eric’s head. Figures, though. He rarely watched Youtube. 

They stood in relative silence for a few beats before the man tried again. “Cadence? Cadence Beaulieu?” 

“Oh,” Eric said, and it must have been obvious how he didn’t know who the fuck this Cadence dude was, because Cadence laughed a little in his face. 

“You’re cute,” Cadence said, limping out around the bar, holding onto the bar’s side. “I don’t get that much anymore.” 

“Cool.” Eric instinctually hurried over, holding Cadence’s arm and waist as he helped him onto one of the bar’s seats, but his head was reeling from the idea of a famous celebrity calling him cute. Like? That didn’t just happen. Did it? This guy was fucking famous? 

What the fuck was he supposed to say? How do you talk to famous people? Eric helped him settle into the seat before asking, “Do you want water or something?”

“No, I’m good,” Cadence smiled at him.

Eric was going to loose his mind, he got called cute by a famous dude and now he’s looking at the famous dude and realizing how cute the famous guy was. He hadn’t paid attention to that earlier, too preoccupied with getting the guys at the door to leave, but now that he was actually looking at this guy—his anxiety was about to start kicking in, hard, he could tell. What if he made an ass of himself in front of the famous dude? The incredibly pretty famous dude. 

“Cool,” Eric looked down, at the bar, and whistled a little. “If you want, you can, uh, stay here for a bit, until your car comes?”

He figured the famous dude isn’t driving around himself. 

Cadence nodded. “If that’s okay,” he murmured, taking out his phone. “I can stay outta your way, then.”

Slowly, Eric nodded, too. He had to get the extra drinks ready. Finish opening up. And. He couldn’t really. Process? What was happening. He just thought he was helping someone up off the street, having tripped, and….Wait.

“Wait, how’s your ankle?” he tried to swallow his anxiety, looking back at Cadence, who seemed to be idling on his phone. 

Cadence looked back up at him, then at his ankle. He was wearing strappy heels, flowy pants, a tight shirt, and an old oversized jacket, and none of these looked like clothes that were good to be running around in. Especially those heels. Eric didn’t know much about heels but he figured they might be an inch? And that was probably enough to fucking break a leg. Rude to stare, though. So he just. Averted his eyes back to the glasses he was stacking for later.

This guy was so fucking pretty. Eric was holding him earlier. He’d carried him—Eric had deadlift carried a whole ass celebrity. 

“Probably sprained,” Cadence said with a sigh. “When I get home, I can ice it. I don’t think it’s fully broken, though, I could put a little weight on it.”

Now, they had ice in the box. Eric grabbed one of the spare bags for their limes and filled one with ice, part of their protocol for when drunkards would hurt themselves. He wrapped it in one of the clean towels and, once the Grey Goose was restocked, brought it over to Cadence. Who took it. Gratefully. It seemed. 

“Thanks,” Cadence gave him a smile, which like. Eric still didn’t really know how to feel about this. 

“No problem,” he said. “Sorry, uh. For, uh, being quiet. And not knowing who you were.”

Because like, that felt like something he should apologize for, you know? If Cadence is used to people recognizing him on the streets and some level of respect because of it, then maybe Eric treating him like a regular person (maybe even ignoring him, since he’s just sitting in the corner) might be rude? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the fucking etiquette for talking to famous people, this isn’t a problem he’s ever had!

“It’s okay, no, don’t even worry,” Cadence giggled—that sound, that fucking sound was so soft, what the hell?—and waved his hand dismissively. 

“Okay,” Eric nodded. And he didn’t have much to. Like. Add? 

So he turned around and went back to restocking the bar. And he didn’t say anything about how he could feel Cadence watching him. He didn’t say anything, but he could feel Cadence’s eyes on his back every so often, when he’d look up from his phone. 

Maybe he was tweeting something about him. Eric didn’t know much about social media so if he did get tweeted about, he definitely wasn’t going to be able to find it. Or maybe he was texting his famous friends about the weirdo bartender who’s just ignoring him as he lifts the crates out of the storage room and cracks them open. 

There’s no way this dude would be bullying him over shit like this for no reason, right? 

Regardless, Eric wasn’t about to start a conversation and ask. He just knew that the guy was staring at him. For what felt like an hour. Realistically, only like, half an hour. But for fucking forever, man.

At some point, though, it had to end. After about twenty minutes, Cadence stood up, wobbling a little on his hurt ankle. Eric, who’d been restocking the limes, looked up, then stood up. 

“Your car here?” he asked. 

“Yep,” Cadence smiled a little at him. “When does this place open, anyway?”

“Uh,” Eric frowned, checking the clock on the wall. “In ten.”

Where the fuck are his bartenders, anyway? They’re supposed to get here at around now. Fuckers. 

Cadence nodded, though, noting the time. “Glad this all happened before hours, then. Wouldn’t want it to get too crazy in here for you,” he looked at the clock on the wall, then back at Eric, with a small smile that made Eric’s already quick-beating heart skip a beat thinking of how his eyes creased with gentle happiness. 

“Uh. Yeah,” Eric tried to smile, too, but something told him it looked a little more like a grimace. 

Cadence waved, Eric waved. Then Cadence left. And the door closed behind him.

And that was the that. On that. 

Eric was fairly zoned out for the whole shift. He was mixing drinks on autopilot, not so much as handling customers. Some drunkard got rowdy, Eric wasted no time to tell them to fuck off. His patience was zilch. 

He got home and Gavin’s already put himself to bed, tucked in and in his PJ’s, though Eric heard him get up when he closed the front door. Eric picked him up, tucked him back in again, and kissed him on the head. Poor kid hated being alone late at night, especially when he had to put himself to bed. Eric laid on the bed with him, one foot off to hold himself steady, and made sure Gavin was all the way asleep before he stood up to change his own clothes. 

Only once he was sure Gavin’s not getting out of bed again does he check his phone, too. 

“Cadence Beaulieu” had over four million followers on Twitter, over fifteen million subscribers on Youtube, and an Instagram account that makes Eric blush almost inappropriately. And this is the guy who was. In his bar. Talking to him. Eric picked this man up earlier and didn’t even notice that the heart on his face was made up of three moles. It looked like a tattoo almost, but no, apparently. 

He spent almost too much time binging Cadence’s content before he managed to pass out to the sound of one of his beauty tutorials. Interesting, that this is the guy he met. This is the guy who he picked up, carried into his bar, hid in the corner.

Interesting. 

But not every day is so interesting. So Eric goes back to work and expects nothing to change. He tries to put this rare celebrity encounter behind him. Tries not to think of how much of an idiot he must have been, seeming to just fade into the background and ignore what could have been a real moment had he asked more questions, became something more memorable perhaps. He could have asked Cadence how he was doing, at least. How his day had been. Anything, really. 

Instead, Eric just has the memory of the prettiest man on the planet sitting in the corner of the bar, of his bar. Alone together. A stranger, sure, and maybe Eric understood somewhere that that was part of why the anxiety was so strong? But c’mon. Man was pretty. Nice, too. 

Damn. This is why he’s single, he joked bitterly to himself. Lonely, the joke in his head twisted. He didn’t have the gall to actually talk to anyone, what was he supposed to do.

He had been cleaning out glasses at the bar, late one night. He’d picked up a later shift, after Gavin had already gone to sleep. Usually, Eric liked to be home while the kid slept, but sometimes the scheduling didn’t work out like that and he’d need to pick up extra hours for other bartenders who had to tap out. He was a very strong cover, apparently. And on the spectrum of “thank god that lucky ass thing happened,” this was right below Cadence’s accident. 

About two weeks after Eric meets a whole ass celebrity, two men sit down at the bar during one of the live musical performances. It was Eric’s time working behind the bar, and he saw the one with the eyepatch wave him over. Which, like. Okay, sure, he was getting there. But customer service and you never know how many drinks they’ve had before they walk in at one in the morning and you definitely don’t want to get mad at the dude giving you the tip and maybe this dude’s never been to a bar, who the fuck wears soft cashmere at a bar, and his buddy there was in a bowtie and suspenders like this was some kind of book club and not remarkably past midnight on a Thursday. 

Like, okay, nerds, maybe they’ve just never been to this kinda bar. Sure. Fine.

“What can I get started for you boys,” Eric said, slinging his washcloth over his shoulder on his approach. 

“Two cosmopolitans, please,” the one with the eyepatch said, giving Eric a smile that read polite. 

Eric looked at the one with curly hair and glasses, who nodded in confirmation. “One shot in both? You got any vodka preferences?” he asked, taking out the house vodka and two tumblers. 

Before the eyepatch’ed one could reply, the one with glasses butted in, saying, “One with one shot, a double in the other, please. And if you have Ketel One, that would be grand.”

“A double shot? Marlowe!”

“What, it’s been a good day! I think I deserve a double shot. And you know two shots isn’t enough to do much.” This Marlowe guy sounded pretty cocky, if you were to ask Eric, but no one ever asks the bartender. So he didn’t say anything about it. 

He tuned out of the argument there, as soft as it turned. Much less of an argument, more aggressive flirting, and that was something that was easy for him to zone out of until he set the two cocktails down. “Double shot,” he said, setting the double in front of Marlowe. “And a single. If you boys need anything else, my name’s Eric and I’ll be at the bar all night.” 

“Eric,” the one with the eyepatch smiled, and it was kind of pretty in that controlled, poised way that some models do. “Thank you. If we need anything, I’ll-I’ll call.”

“Thank you, Eric,” Marlowe said, raising his glass and taking a long sip. 

Eric just nodded and went around, checking on others. Earlier, he’d seen some dude try to roofie a girl, and had taken the drink back. She had left with a friend she trusted, and he’d kicked the guy out pretty forcefully, but the moment still left quite the imprint. He was always on edge whenever that happened, hoping to prevent it from happening again. 

He did a few rounds before he ended up in front of Marlowe and his friend again, maybe half an hour later. This friend was on his phone, typing something out, while Marlowe flagged Eric down, with an empty glass before him. 

“Hello, Eric,” Marlowe raised the glass. “Would you be a dime and make me a Long Island Iced Tea?” 

Okay. This dude had to be a heavier drinker, if he was going to be calling out drinks by name. And it wasn’t necessarily Eric’s job to know how much someone could drink, especially strangers. The guy didn’t, like….he didn’t look drunk just yet. You know? So Eric nodded. 

“Sure thing. You got any preferences?” he asked, taking the cup back and pulling out a tall glass. 

Now that seemed to be the right question, or at least one the man hadn’t thought of. Marlowe reached up, cupping his chin in thought, and spared a few glances at his friend still typing. Hopefully this wasn’t, like, for the friend. Eric would have to watch for that. But after a bit of time, Marlowe nods. “Yes. Ketel One again for the vodka.” 

“Sure.” They had Ketel One under the vodka cabinet, but people rarely ordered it. It was one of their premium vodka’s and house vodka was Smirnoff. 

“Do you have Patrón for tequila?” 

“Yeah, I’m….pretty sure,” Eric, before he could be made to swallow his words, took a stride to the tequila cabinet and checked. “Yep, I’ve got Patrón for you.” 

“Excellent. I don’t know enough about the other three alcohols to have preferences, but if you could tell me what you put in, I’d love to start learning.”

An….interesting request. But Eric knew the house drinks like the back of his hand (and he might not be able to hold his liquor like the best of them, but he’d still tried all of the standard drinks. For posterity.) so he pulled out the Bacardi first. “This’ the rum. In house, we use Bacardi. Pretty light for a rum, but it does have a better taste than Captain Morgan. A lot better to mix with,” he explained. 

Marlowe had turned himself toward the counter, watching Eric pour in the Bacardi first, then the Ketel One, then the Patrón. Then, he put those three down. The triple sec was all out on the shelf, since they were common enough and the bar stocked a small enough range to have the whole selection out for viewing. Eric pulled down a bottle of Bols to add, then Henrick’s gin from the shelf below. They were running out behind the bar anyways. “Bols is the triple sec,” Eric said as he poured. “It’s really good for mixing with multiple alcohols. Sometimes a drink’ll play nice with other alcohols and sometimes it’ll only play nice with, like. Coke.”

“That makes sense. The consistencies are very different,” Marlowe hummed. 

Sounded like this dude was the analytical type. Which might explain why he had some of his preferences on hand. If you don’t go to bars often, you’re going to be scared of the unknown. Eric was almost proud of the guy for that, if this was him trying new things. 

He just hoped Marlowe wouldn’t throw up in the bathroom or something. That would fuckin’ suck. Always a situation when the patrons didn’t know their own limits.

“Henrick’s is the gin, and it’s just a easy gin to use,” he said with a shrug. “And then we just….”

He pulled out the cola spritzer, topped the glass off with cola, and put the slice of lemon in. And then he slid it over to Marlowe, who took the drink in one hand with a fascinated look. Dude even pushed his glasses up. 

“Interesting. I’m excited to try it,” Marlowe said, glancing back up to Eric with a smile. 

And before Eric could even warn him about how strong of a gut punch it was about to be, Marlowe picked up the glass and took a swig about a third of the cup. “Woah, buddy,” Eric couldn’t stop himself from jumping at that. “You alright?”

“Marlowe, what the fuck are you doing?” dude’s friend finally looked up from his phone to see Marlowe slam the glass down and cough into his arm. 

“Holy shit,” Marlowe said, fixing his glasses with a smile that seemed a little too wide to be sober. “That’s quite strong, but very, very good. Thank you, Eric!” 

His glasses were still crooked. Eric almost leaned forward to fix them, before the guy’s friend got to it first, and that was all for the better. It’s not like Eric knew these people, after all. 

Marlowe took out his phone and Eric took the chance to lean towards his companion. “He asked for a pretty strong drink,” Eric warned. “If you need a hand taking care of him, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve held a dude’s hair back in the bathroom.”

His friend must have been surprised at the suggestion, but it can’t have been an uncommon thing considering how quickly he got over the possibility. “Thank you, that’s very k-very kind. He’s not usually one to drink a lot,” the friend sighed, then nodded to Eric. “Thank you for your service tonight, Eric. My name is Phillip.”

Phillip, alright. “Good to meet you, Phillip,” Eric said, and he went back around the bar to do rounds.

It was another hour and half before the bar closed, though. Eric wasn’t technically the shift lead for closing, but he was on the shift. When it got close enough to three, he turned on Semisonic’s song “Closing Time.” Most of the people had left by then, quick to leave on their rides or to new bars. 

But still sitting at the bar were the two people Eric had pegged as nerds earlier, Marlowe and Phillip. After Marlowe finished the Long Island Iced Tea, Eric had poured a water, but the man still ordered a margarita on top of it. And now it looked like he was paying for it, given how he was literally leaning on Phillip’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist. Phillip didn’t look all too pleased, however. 

“David is going to be worried si-worried si-sick when we get home.” Eric could hear Phillip chide Marlowe as he got close.

“It’s-It’s all dandy. I love David,” Marlowe hiccupped into Phillip’s shoulder, then leaned around and pressed his face into the base of his neck. “I love YOU, Prince.”

Phillip tutted, reaching back to run his hand through Marlowe’s curled hair. “I love you-love you too, you idiot.”

Cute. Really gay, and cute. Eric put away the cups he’d just washed and approached the pair, noting how they’d slowly but surely become the last people at the bar. 

“Hey,” he said, waving slightly. “Phillip, right?”

“Mhm. Eric,” Phillip greeted. “Sorry to still be here. I can see you’re closing up.”

“Eh. Marlowe’s falling asleep on you, I get it. Do you two have a ride home?” 

At that, Phillip winced. And Eric could have guessed the follow up, honestly. “Actually, Marlowe was supposed to be the driver,” Phillip confessed, patting Marlowe’s hand. “I think he overshot how much he could drink, though. As per usual.”

“I only had three drinks!” Marlowe interrupted, all too proud of himself for having three drinks that had the alcoholic consistency of a freight train. 

Phillip and Eric both seemed to be on the same page, though, because neither acknowledged him. Save for a few gentle pats from Phillip as Marlowe buried himself more in Phillip’s back. 

“Okay. Do you need to call someone?” Eric asked. 

Phillip rubbed the back of his neck, thinking for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I know someone who’ll be awake who can come help, but….well. Marlowe’s car is still in the parking lot. It has a parking limit in the morning, which will quickly become an issue.”

Fuckin’ city parking. Eric had definitely gotten a ticket or two before, parking his motorcycle in the wrong place. He usually just walked to work, though, since he was two blocks away. So he didn’t have a vehicle to worry about….

A drunk man and a man with a cane could get picked up real easy this late at night by some unfavorable people. Maybe that worry was what made Eric offer. Maybe it was because Phillip and Marlowe had been fairly kind to him throughout the night. It could also have had something to do with how nice Phillip seemed to be taking it now, how calm he was handling the situation. And maybe, too, how Phillip himself didn’t ask. 

There was something nice about being able to offer help, rather than having it asked of him always. 

“If you want, I can drive you home,” Eric suggested. “I’ll catch an Uber back to my house from yours.”

Phillip blinked, and Marlowe giggled. Eric didn’t know what was so funny. He thought it was probably pretty shady to offer. He knew he wouldn’t let just any stranger drive his bike, after all. But he’d gotten to the point where he could do a solid vibe check just by looking and interacting with someone, and these two seemed nice. He could see himself accepting this kind offer, under similar circumstances, from either of them. 

Still, kinda scary to think he’d be driving someone else’s car to their own house. He wouldn’t know where it was, Phillip would have to direct him. But Phillip legally couldn’t drive, not with the one eye gone, and Marlowe definitely couldn’t drive if he tried. Which he shouldn’t. 

“That would be so-so lovely, thank you,” Phillip said. 

Getting clearance to drive some drunk patrons home was a breeze, knowing it was Eric “workaholic glad you’re getting out early” Yuan. Soon enough, he had his arm looped around Marlowe’s waist, helping him up as Phillip led them to the car, which was parked about half a block away. Phillip also used a cane, which would have been a pretty difficult thing to work around if he needed to carry Marlowe himself. All the more reason Eric was glad to help them home. 

They walked up to a nice sedan, likely a newer model judging by the built in navigation. Phillip helped Eric lay Marlowe in the back seat as he mumbled something about a pony, and Phillip himself climbed into the shotgun. The car wasn’t that hard to drive, now that Eric looked around at the controls. Same as any. The break was a little more tense than he was used to, but once he got it onto the road, he could manage. 

Phillip, in shotgun, turned on a jazzy, late night radio station. And directed Eric gently towards their home, probably. Neither of them made conversation much but, to some extent, it didn’t seem like it was necessary. And that was kind of nice, to Eric. He didn’t always like conversing, especially with patrons and folks who didn’t know him. Which accounted for most people. But Phillip’s presence was nice, calming almost, which was rich for a guy who Eric had just met. He was tense, like he usually was, but for a stranger? In this kind of precarious circumstance?

It’s when the drive took them onto a small, two-lane road at the edges of the city and beginnings of the forest that Eric starts to worry. Was Marlowe actually a heavy-weight? Maybe he was pretending to be drunk back there so they could mug him? Take his kindness for granted and leave him in a ditch? He didn’t think he looked like he was worth mugging, but like….maybe. Was that a necessary cane or was it a weapon?

“It’s this-this house here,” Phillip said, pointing to a gravel driveway, and Eric swallowed despite the dryness of his mouth. 

“Sure,” he murmured, pulling onto the gravel. 

As he did, the house’s porch light turned on, front door thrown open as someone else jogged out. Eric stopped, threw the car into park immediately, but Phillip didn’t seem too phased by the newcomer. Instead, he turned to Eric and held out a one hundred dollar bill. “Thank you so much for all your help this evening,” he said with a smile.

Eric looked at the bill, then up at Phillip. He hadn’t really expected to be tipped for this, in all honesty. But it made sense. You know, if he’s going to drive you home, tip him. He’s done over the top enough. But a hundred fucking dollars? This dude just whipped a hundred dollars out on a tip? How loaded were these gay dudes, and then they didn’t have someone to drive them home?

“That’s a hundred dollars,” he said, unthinking. 

He blushed a little, stuttering on words to add on and say he didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but Phillip just laughed. His laugh was breezy, like leaves in the wind. “Yes, it’s a hundred dollars. I think it’s-it’s warranted, considering you drove me and my idiot home,” Phillip put the bill on Eric’s lap and undid his seatbelt. “It’s a hundred dollars plus something-something extra.”

Eric looked down at the bill, picked it up, and there was. A whole ass phone number written on the side. With the “Phillip & Marlowe” written on the side. 

Before he can ask what the fuck is happening and if he’s been dreaming this whole time, the backseat door opens. “Davy,” Marlowe’s voice is so slurred it’s almost incomprehensible, but the person who’d come out of the house, this “Davy,” unbuckles Marlowe swiftly. 

“Jesus, Marl’, how much did you drink?” Davy grumbles, pulling Marlowe out by his arms. 

Instead of setting him on the ground, though, Davy just wrapped them around his shoulders and then slowly, steadily, lifted Marlowe into his arms. Marlowe let him, swinging his own legs up to make it easier for Davy to catch them. Once he had some semblance of a grip, Marlowe leaned forward and pressed his face against Davy’s, kissing him rough enough for Phillip to laugh at, Eric to stare confusedly at. 

“He gets like this, when he’s-when he’s drunk,” Phillip leaned over to explain, though it does nothing to clear up Eric’s questions. 

At this point? He’s a lot more willing to walk home. Just get out of the car and walk. 

“Alright, y’ sap,” Davy grumbles, pulling Marlowe off of himself and nestling him into more of a hold. 

Eric was still sitting in the driver seat, just watching through the passenger window as Phillip opens his own door and climbs out. Davy leans his head towards Phillip, who pats his shoulder warmly and looks down at Eric. 

All three of them are looking at him now. 

The odd one out. 

And, like, fair. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing here, either. 

“Uh,” he said. “I can just, uh. I can call myself an Uber now.”

“Who the fuck’re you?” Davy asked, almost at exactly the same time.

Eric put his hands up and slowly climbed out of the car. This Davy person didn’t really look mad—Phillip leaned over, whispering something to him, and Davy nodded along. And Eric didn’t know what the fuck that was about really, but he didn’t feel in the mood to test anything. Not at three in the morning, in someone else’s driveway. He had to get back home. 

“I can just….” Eric gestured to the road again, taking a few steps back. 

Davy shook his head. “No fuckin’ way, dude,” he was much more abrasive than the other two, and something in the sturdiness of his tone got Eric to shut up. “I’ll drive you.”

On literally any other day, Eric would probably have started running right then and there. His palms were sweaty still, from gripping the steering wheel tighter than ever and from the mounting panic of driving someone else’s car to a house he didn’t know. In a car with a bunch of strangers. 

But, to be frank, Eric was just starting to believe this wasn’t real. 

He was probably just tired. He didn’t usually work shifts this late, and this was a whirlwind of a night already, and he’d already swallowed whatever panic arose earlier, which usually left him without the energy to worry about semi-tense situations. It was a kinda numb feeling. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? He dies and Gavin goes back with their parents? Bit too late in the night for Eric to care about something as trivial as dying. 

So he nodded slowly to Davy’s suggestion. “That would be nice,” he said. 

Davy grinned. He lifted Marlowe a little and said, “I’ll put this one to bed and come back out, ‘ight?” 

Eric just nodded again, which must have been good enough for Davy, because he just turned around and marched himself back into the house. Phillip stayed outside, though, leaning on his cane with both of his hands. Eric shuffled around the car, now feeling a little more awkward, and Phillip gave him a small shrug as if to say he sympathized.

“I’m sure this is-this is strange,” Phillip added on. 

It sure as fuck was. But Eric was like, almost too out of it to properly acknowledge that. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “This’ gonna be one hell of a dream to wake up from.”

Phillip chuckled at that one, laugh light like air. He leaned over and rested a hand on Eric’s shoulder—Eric flinched, hands reaching up into a defensive stance, and Phillip pulled back quick. 

It was. A little out of his comfort zone. 

Just a little. He didn’t like people touching him, especially people he didn’t know, because for the longest time he’d been used to sudden motions as a threat. And while he used to take it, Eric had long since trained himself to fight over flight. So it did take self-control to not just deck this dude.

He turned back around to Phillip, shoulders hiked enough for his neck to stiffen just a bit, and he tried to lower his own hands. They were shaking, much to his chagrin, so he stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Sorry,” he fumbled over his words. “Sorry, I, uh. I’m kinda...it’s late, and I don’t really like, uh. People touching me.”

“No need to apologize, that-that was on me,” Phillip responded. “No need at all. I should-I should have known better, but I’m ti-I guess I’m tired my-myself. I’m very sorry for touching.”

Eric smoothed himself out slowly, as best he could, and Phillip rested himself against the side of the car. He glanced over, watching Phillip as the man looked up at the tree line. In the moonlight, Eric could see him smile, ever so slightly. He looked weirdly regal, with how prim he was, even after being at a dive bar for three hours. His hair was still brushed to the side like it’d been gelled, though Eric had seen him run his hand through it a few times. And although it was dark, he could still make out the freckles that dotted Phillip’s face, like stars in their own right.

He turned away, looking at his feet, and hoped Phillip didn’t feel too badly. It wasn’t his fault Eric was a nervous fuckin’ wreck. But he didn’t say anything. Getting a little too tired to hold proper conversation.

They both look up as the front door opens and closes again, as that Davy guy jogs out. He’d changed out of his clothes into other pajama looking clothes, or maybe he’d just thrown on a jacket. 

“Alright, nerd’s been sung a lullaby and is all tucked into bed.” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together slowly. “You gonna be able to get yourself in bed okay, Princey?”

“Oh, I’ll be okay. Just-Just sad my favorite artist won’t be there to kiss me goodnight,” Phillip said, and Eric did a double take at how flippantly the flirt was doled out.

Wasn’t Phillip dating that Marlowe guy? Eric glanced between Davy and Phillip as Davy scoffed and grabbed Phillip by the shoulder of his sweater, yanking him close and kissing him for a second. Were they like, all dating? Was that what was happening here? 

Eric was more confused than anything else. He knew of polyamory. He’d just never seen it. Then again, he didn’t know about a lot in the queer community. Once, one of the queens who came in for drag night called him “gnc as hell” and he had to get an explanation from one of the girls sitting at the bar. Polyamory, though, was a new kind of fear for him. That was just more people to disappoint. 

He looked back at the car and climbed into the passenger seat while Davy pulled back from Phillip and mussed up his hair. Eric very intentionally ignored eye contact while Davy climbed into the driver’s seat and rolled down Eric’s window, though he did wave at Phillip while Davy pulled away.

“Drive safely, David!” Phillip called out, waving a hand. 

“Be back in a sec, baby!” David must have been his name proper, because he blew Phillip a kiss through the window and then rolled it back up. 

Eric just kept sitting. Quietly. He almost wanted to pull his knees up, but this was someone else’s car and he didn’t really want to put his shoes on the leather seats. He put his hands on his knees, though, and tensed his knuckles a little. 

Whereas the ride to the house was quiet in a calm manner, Eric felt a lot more tense now. He didn’t know this David. And this David dude seemed a lot less poised than Phillip or Marlowe, given how he just turned off the radio and mumbled music lyrics, off-key and without any actual tune. And Eric could recognize that only because, at some point, David was singing some Shinedown song he knew. “State of My Head?” Probably. 

Would David be mad? If this was a polyamory situation, would it be like encroaching on territory to have driven Phillip and Marlowe home? Eric didn’t know. He didn’t want it to seem like that; he just didn’t want them to have to call an Uber and get a ticket. Shit was expensive. 

At the first red light off the one-lane road, David glanced at him, and Eric caught the sight of a birthmark near his neck. It looked faded but it was still a recognizable shade of red. Eric looked away almost immediately, so David wouldn’t notice him staring. He must not have been too successful, though, because David chose that moment to start a conversation.