#because my brain is spinning a thousand miles an hour

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

.

[mittch22]

An insidious leak: the analysis of seemingly shady uncloakings

My brain is rolling and spinning yet again at one thousand miles per hour and Leland Turbo is right at the centre of it. Certain writing persuits have triggered a pattern of thought surrounding the circumstances of his discovery by the lemons, and I have a few things Id like to further examine.

"This is Agent Leland Turbo. I have a flash transmission for Agent Finn McMissile. Finn, my cover's been compromised. Everything's gone pear-shaped."

He doesn't elaborate any further than this for potential reasons I shall delve into a little bit later in this post. So the question I have is this:

Why? Why did it all go to hell in the first instance? How was he compromised?

Leland is very much on par with Finn in the sense of experience. They spent both of their entire adult lives together in training at the CHROME academy and have carried out countless missions both seperately and with each other. He is more than competent with, what I estimate would be, around forty years of field experience. And considering he would have known that complacency would always get him killed, he would never have allowed himself to become complacent enough to permit his facade to come into the light. And to be permitted to perform any type of mission on his own, then his ability is extensively trusted indeed. Mistakes happen, sure. But I sincerely doubt Leland would have made one that held this type of consequence.

My current aswer to this question?

CHROME had a mole.

Upon beginning this post, I came to the realisation that there is a second segment that didn't initially cross my mind that adds evidence to this particular ideology:

"Finn, I need backup. But don't call the cavalry, it could blow the operation."

Leland knew about the mole. Or at least he had his suspicions.

Initially I simply put this statement down to 'too many cooks spoil the broth', or in this case, 'too many agents will screw up the mission.' However, I'm no longer so sure that this is the case.

Visually speaking, his face says a million words. He is terrified. Evidently, if he's caught, he knows he is in for a whole universe of hurt. And death is very much on the horizon. But the fear makes a drastic appearance when he specifies not calling the "cavalry". This makes perfect sense to me if he thinks that the lemons were tipped off about his presence. And if there was someone within CHROME who could not be trusted, then the only vehicle he was be able to notify was Finn.

He knows him better than any other vehicle in the world and trusts him with his life. He's also aware that, if the flash transmission were to be seen by any other CHROME agent by accident, and he had of mentioned anything about a potential leak, it could have put Finn in a gargantuan amount of peril. So he kept quiet about the idea, simply telling him to not get the agency as a whole involved.

Now, I can't bring up Leland in this circumstance without also talking about Rod Redline. The second agent in the equation who also lost their life because he was compromised. And the same question applies since we don't really know how it happened to him either.

Rod was also a highly skilled and competent individual, hence the statement: 'Rod "Torque" Redline is considered by many as the greatest American spy in the world.' So all, if not most, of the criteria that applies to Leland applies to Agent Redline as well. And yet, he was also caught.

His shock when Grem and Acer followed him into the bathroom at the Towkyo party is quite telling. Its indicitive that he didn't know he had been caught until that exact moment. And the lack of any other emotion but deep seated anger on the faces of Grem and Acer could potentially indicate that they knew exactly who they were looking for.

If he was discovered due to a mole, since inter-agency cooperation isn't uncommon when working on the same mission, then it may just have been the same mole that told the lemons about Leland Turbo.

And of course there's the question of how Grem, Acer and the professor knew about the agents in the first place. Zundapp even mentions them both by name.

"Hey, Professor Z! This is one of those British spies we told you about." Yeah. Most likely a mole.

So what was the mole's driving force? Money? Blackmail? Sadism? A crippling hatred for the agencies or individuals? Who knows.

Of course we might never know for sure the exact reasoning for why they were both compromised. But it's always interesting to speculate.

Chrysler help the vehicles who caused Leland's death when Finn gets hold of them. Particularly if they are someone that he once trusted.

[owl-deer]

So, since Twitter is dying a slow and painful death (or at least going through something chronic from which it will never recover), I decided to move my non-native English maybe-poetry here, because why not. Nobody reads it anyway and I learned long ago that if I worry whether people read me I'll never write, just hoard it in my brain like some word dragon.

So, let's go.

1.

(2017)

When December is over we'll start again from the very very beginning. The world is spinning, shaking and we dance.

Come here, hold my hand again - you know this waltz. Three steps for promises, that slip off my tongue like fishes, one swing for your little kiss that fills me with an ocean of hope. We're dancing, the world is spinning, shaking, crumbling under our feet.

We hear nothing but music and the rhythmic sound of our steps.

December is over, New Year's coming, and the snow, white and cleansing, falls, covering all the cracks and gently melts in your hands.

2.

(2017)

Silence is magic that fills the air with a thin web of unspoken words

The curse of struggling with the screaming world

The void between you, extending your hand, and me, small and trembling, not strong enough to hold it.

3.

(2018)

You have a dream

I listen while hiding between your heartbeats, how you toss on the sheets: your soft exhale mingles with roaring waves of your ocean.

You have a dream.

With the first sunlight reflected in your eyes, still half-blind and drowsy, it flows away leaving only a subtle shadow of something beautiful.

But sometimes you wake up, limp and fuzzy, and then you are dragged back into the depths where you tremble, you struggle to breathe. And the walls seem to slowly crumble, and the light from an open window seems to be painfully bright.

And it lasts for hours.

I always hear it.

Thousands of miles away I lay down as if to fit into your body and whisper soundlessly the lullaby of the full Moon casting her light upon your raging ocean, hushing the storm.

And you have a dream again.

4.

I have been carving our story On the walls On your fair skin On my shaky hands I wake up, slowly And the morning Is sweaty, salty So lonely And there is nothing else left To say

I know, it's been too long So I am sorry For still feeling That way

5.

you know this feeling of being busy making myself useful waiting so painfully waiting to that light tic-tac-toc and the low chime of a century-old clock the call for seven

seven hours without a word from you seven wasted chances to hold your hand seven kisses that failed to happen more than seven months ago

I'm waiting for that telltale sign to end my workday to send you a text to imagine your soft smile (the ghost of a dimple that I so desperately want to taste is always present) 'hey there' I'm typing 'it's been a while'

and seven hours and thousands of kilometers turn into seven soft kisses captured in seven words

6.

it's nothing new I'm walking down the avenue of love I'm watching the landscapes of my everchanging feelings like an erratic line of a heartbeat in the ER

No nurse will come as it peaks and a high-pitched sound screams in my ears as my breath hitches and, with hands, trembling with fear, I hand out all this bloody mess of my feelings to you, my lovely to you, my dawn and my dusk

to you, the one I think of when the coastal city sheds the warmth of the sun and dresses up in blurry lights of the night

7.

Missing you is like breathing under the water The lump in my throat The heaviness in my chest — all of it has your name all of it is filling my empty body Until the glass breaks Until the water is rushing forward, crushing my ribcage, overflowing my eyes, my voice.

My words are sobbing for you. But I am silent, silenced, muted, like a boring, forgotten movie. But I am blank, grey, buried under the water.

I have so much to say, but words fail to form, fail to become a sound,

a call, reaching out to you.

8.

it's not love I'm not allowed to name this thing you and me share

we share thoughts lightest of touches giggles late night confessions

we share worries scars scratches torn paper clawed truth

I stand there, naked born anew I open my soul, shredding skin and bones away I open gates to my core and wait

And, like a miracle you go through

9.

Imagine poetry as a word unwritten incomprehensible repeated by thousands of lips over and over

The feeling composed into a thought composed into a poem hovers in my clouded mind

Imagine poetry as an unkind God he unforgivingly strips me from layers of armored past reveals the truth

Imagine poetry as you silent, standing In the eye of the storm, trembling, but strong -

so beautiful

My eyes close and there is nothing but cool air of your content sigh

Imagine poetry as love

10.

It always comes back.

At first - Slow, Like a ripple On the surface Of the quiet lake At dawn. It's gentle, Peaceful And, oh, so beautiful.

But you know better. You saw typhoons Started by those. You faced Tsunamis.

You know better and yet: Mesmerized, you take a stone, Flat and polished from the days You were drowning in salty water. You throw it, curious, (As if it's going to be different As if you'd find something new) And water Is rippling And rippling And rippling back

With a wave, caressing your toes.

With a wave, hitting you in the stomach Flowing into your eyes

You can't breathe Your lungs, filled with questions, Struggle to find air. Your legs, heavy with failures, Wobble, Buckle, Break.

The waves (Raging, Heartless, And, oh, so beautiful) Throw you into the coast Into the sandy soil, Leave you, like a jellyfish, To melt under the sun.

The soft whisper Of the ocean Takes you back To the days You hated its calmness Wishing It promised The storm.

Gonna post the rest tomorrow since there's a lot left and I don't want to make a monster post.

[maizumis]

— HAIKYUU BOYS WHEN YOU KISS THEM OUT OF THE BLUE

ft. timeskip! Hinata shoyo, osamu Miya, atsumu Miya, bokuto koutaro, iwaizumi hajime

note: suggestive❗suggestive my copying mechanism

❦HINATA was watching one of his old high school games on Saturday afternoon, casually, his only free day. You missed him, so much during the weekend and of course you couldn’t get mad at him for relaxing a little, but you wanted a little of his attention too “shoyo, do you want to do something, like, together? I miss you” no response, of course. That’s it im gonna do it, you think; “babe what are you doing-“ next thing he knows is that you are on top of his lap, kissing, trying to get him of you are feeling, he kissed back after a second, knowing you weren’t gonna stop “babe its not like im complaining, but why was that” you roll your eyes with a little smile on your face and peck him before answering “I miss you shoyo, please at least let me cuddle you while you watch that match, please?” with both of his big arms he accommodates you on top of him so you could see the game too “of course bub, anything for you”

❦OSAMU was stressed you could tell, owning a whole onigiri shop it’s not something easy, his mind was a thousand miles per hour, he needed a break, but his big brain couldn’t let him take it “ ‘samu just a little break yeah? You are going to be refresh after that and things aren’t going to be as difficult” he didn’t  look up to you, still too busy searching for the special ingredient his new recipe needed “baby a promise im gonna take a break, in a little bit” that was the nth time he told you that already feeling frustrated because of him “ ‘samu, I want you to know that im not sorry for what im about to do” he looks up to you and your lips are on his, his eyes open before closing them and guiding his hand behind your neck so he could pull you deeper into the kiss “ummm ma baby ya know what, a think a wanna lay down with ya a little” you’re happy, finally he is taking a very much needed and deserved break; with both of your arms around his neck, your lips ghosting his you answer “uh-huh, a nap would do us good”

❦ATSUMU need to go to work, but he is still whining about how he wants to stay ‘with his baby in bed for the rest of his life’  “tsumu, I want that too, but things in life are not free, I pinky promise we can stay in bed watching movies all night” he sighs, still sure about his purpose in life “ugh babe, do ya even love me? Is this yer way to tell me im clingy? Please let me lay down with ma favorite person in da world, please” it was starting to be difficult for you too, he is pretty convincing sometimes “babe why aren’t ya answering? Is this yer way ta tell me im right? Please don’t leave me, I love ya” wasn’t he noisy? you kiss him to shut him up, glad that the bed was behind the two of you cause falling to the floor would have hurt. He kissed back in that exact same moment, he is not letting go the chance to feel so close to his precious baby “tsumu, let me finish when im talking, now go to work then maybe im gonna kiss you like that again when you are home” his legs are moving faster than his brain does, anything for kisses, he think “bye ma love! take care of ya and don’t miss me!”

❦BOKUTO was now waiting for you to arrive home, sad that the only free day he had in the week you were working, he couldn’t stop thinking of you for a second, imagine what the two of you could do once you were home, like bake something, play a board game, maybe stay under the covers enjoying each other’s presence, he would be satisfied with anything at the moment, what he didn’t knew is that you got out early from work and now you are making your way towards his tall and beefy body to surprise him with a kiss, running to him , you actually get to kiss him, what you didn’t expect what his answer “aaaaaah! Please stranger do not kiss me, I have a lovely girlfriend I want to make my wifey- oh, it’s you, hi bub, I missed you so much, actually I thought about what we could do together once you were home” you smile, getting yourself out of the floor, wrapping your arms around his torso and smacking your face to his chest “Bo, I missed you too, and you know something? I want to make you my hubby too” he smiles, now his arms are around you picking you up and spinning you around “I love you so much baby, just let me think a proper propose and im gonna make our dream real”

❦IWAIZUMI was busy, being with a bunch of energetic players sometimes could be exhausting, he loved his job, but lately it was draining him. He was now in the dinner table trying to make some rehabilitations routines for the big boys he had to take care of. You loved hajime with all your heart and seeing him like that broke your heart “iwa, do you want something? You seem tired bub” he chuckles and brings his eyes up to you “I do not look tired, im actually tired hehe, but thanks doll, im okay” choosing to light up the mood a little, you went beside him, making you comfortable in his legs, giving him a deep and long kiss that he needed, one of his hand making his way to your waist while the other one was down your thigh, kissing back furiously “uhm, I think you need that hajime” you told him while moving out his dark locks of his face  “I indeed needed that, thank to my baby that always know what I want, do you want to stay here, please?” you answered whit a little nod hiding your face on his neck, his left hand resting in your thigh while his right one was writing down the routines “love you baby, thank you for all the support you give me” chuckling and closing your eyes, focusing on his breathing, you reply “I love you too hajime, thanks to you for sticking with me”

[ivyyreid]

pain: gone, gone

description: reader escapes from abductor.

category: fluff

warnings: mention of wounds, blood, and sexual assault

masterlist

the cold breeze blows your already tangled hair. your vision blurs at the edges, and your long t-shirt provides little warmth.

you have been running for what feels like years. you know you lost him, but you have to keep going.

you have no idea where you are. the only visual recognition you have of the small, quiet town is a starbucks. but it’s closed, like everything else. and even if it was open, you wouldn’t be allowed to go in looking the way you do.

you wear nothing but your underclothes and a long t-shirt. your hair is a knotted mess, and your eyes are wild and large. cuts and bruises decorate you’re body, and blood covers any exposed skin. the only place where the blood isn’t present are your cheeks, where tears pushed the blood away.

you have no idea what time it is, only the understanding that it’s late. the sky’s dark, and everything’s closed. if you’re vision and head would stop spinning, you would have been able to guess that it was about 3am, based on the position of the moon in the sky.

your breath is ragged as you search for an open shop, anywhere to get help.

the night and fog seems to swallow you. you don’t have time to wait around for morning. you are about to give up, curl into a ball and wish for death because you should have died weeks ago, but then you see a red beacon of hope.

a telephone booth.

seven weeks and seven hours earlier.

the moonlight casts an eerie glow on the corn maze. you hold your gun out in front of you, your flashlight under it. 

your breath creates small clouds, and the stalks of corn rustle as you prowl through them.

the unsub abducts women in their twenties, sexually abuses them, and tortures them in a variety of ways, all over a span of one to two weeks. and you and the team have tracked him to this small farmhouse. it’s not where he performs the murders, but it’s where he resides.

you lost spencer a few minutes when he took a different turn, but you’re confident in your ability to take down the unsub alone.

a rustling in the distance catches your attention. your body tenses, and you slowly and silently follow the sound. you hold your flashlight out, keeping your hand steady as you turn a corner, two fingers on the trigger of the gun.

but in the next few seconds, your gun will do you no good.

because as you turn the corner, your head collides with cold metal. and you collapse.

present day.

your shakily dial the number etched into your brain. it takes a few tries, because your hands are wobbly and stiff, but the phone eventually begins to ring.

and it rings.

and rings.

and then stops.

“hello, this is penelope garcia, technical analyst for the behavioral analysis unit of the fbi, how can i assist you?”

and the familiar voice clogs your throat. a tear spills from your eyes.

“hello, how can i assist you”

and for the first time in weeks your lips part and almost form a smile.

“hello, is anyone there?”

and you try and control your breathing, try and talk.

“p-p-penel...penelope.” you breathe, your voice hoarse and scratchy from the weeks of silence, and little water.

“oh my god! oh my god! y/n!” she gasps, and you can hear her voice break. but you know she’s happy.

“penel- penelope....please” you choke out, collapsing against the wall of the booth due to exhaustion.

“hold on y/n, i’m locating you.” you hear frantic typing, and penelope speaks again. “we were so worried, we thought you were... we’ve been trying to find you, i can’t believe it’s you!”

they thought i was dead. and the funny thing is, you think you were too. you felt dead. after weeks of laying in a small cell, being repeatedly violated and tortured, you started to feel dead.

“ok y/n, i have your location. we’ll be there as soon as we can. i’m going to hang up now, please be safe”

two-thousand, five-hundred eighty-five miles away.

the team, minus you, sits in the briefing room. sloppy outfits, eye bags, and a hopeless expression is one thing they all share. the common denominator.

everyone has dressed in dark tones, even garcia, like you’re already dead, and they’re attending one big, long funeral.

at first, garcia tried to keep up her usual quirky, colorful outfits, but after two weeks, it started to become hard.

in the past seven weeks, most of the teams time has been spent in the briefing room, looking over files and trying to find leads. the case was closed after a month of silence from the unsub, but the team is still desperately trying to find you.

emily is about to share an idea about where you could be (that is rather far-fetched) but garcia swiftly enters the room.

everyone knows what the wide smile on her face means.

back to y/n.

you’ve been on the phone with garcia for an hour. she says the team is coming. she says you’re in gabbs, nevada.

now she says they’ll be within 200 yards of you in 5 minutes.

the breath leaves your body.

seven weeks. seven weeks with seeing no one but your abuser.

and now your team is coming. your friends are coming to save you.

a few tears slip out of your eyes, and you look at the sky as a joyful sob leaves your body.

“you’re going to be ok, y/n” penelope says.

the sound of speeding vehicles fills your ears. the quiet that you’ve grown accustomed to is gone, replaced with the sounds of your saviors.

you drop the phone, leaving it dangling from the cord, and rush out of the telephone booth into the street. about two-hundred yards away, you see a black suv pull over, and a group of people get out.

your friends.

“i’m here....help!” you try to yell, but it comes out hoarsely, and quiet.

they don’t see you.

but then, someone turns.

a tall, skinny figure. with a mess of brown hair.

and he stands there, shocked.

you run toward him, limping slightly.

“spencer,” you cry, and he runs toward you.

you crash into him, and he pulls you into a hug, kissing your forehead. he’s calling the team on his radio, and he’s crying, and he’s blaming himself, and your tears are mixing, but you don’t feel dead anymore. you’re going to be ok.

you and spencer are silent. just embracing each other, and crying.

the rest of the team comes, followed by an ambulance. emily’s and jj’s and derek’s and hotch’s and rossi’s voices all mix, but the only voice you notice is spencer.

“i thought i lost you,” he says, resting his head on mine. i shake my head feebly, my tears blurring my vision.

“i love you,” he whispers into my head, and i feel my heart stop.

he loves me. and i love him.

he

loves 

me

loves 

him

“i love you too.”

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: The Top

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Roscoe Dillon, also known as the Top. Patient suffers from Bipolar Disorder, type one, and is on the autism spectrum. Session One. Good day, Mr. Dillon. 

The Top: I am not autistic, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Mr. Dillon, the psychologist at Iron Heights has tested you for the condition multiple times, and the results are always consistent with your being on the autism spectrum. What’s more, the psychological tests we gave to you upon your arrival to Arkham Asylum also suggest that you are, indeed, autistic. 

The Top: I do not care what that quack at Iron Heights says, Doctor Hugo Strange. I am not intellectually subnormal. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Dillon, being on the autism spectrum has nothing to do with your level of intelligence. It simply means that you have difficulty in understanding social cues. 

The Top: In my experience, it is the world that has trouble understanding me, not the other way around. I do not understand why everyone believes that I am odd because I enjoy educating them about tops. Tops are fascinating; certainly much more so than sports or beer or whatever else it is that so-called “normal” people enjoy. 

Hugo Strange: Tops? 

The Top: Yes, tops. You know, Doctor Hugo Strange, the basic principles involved in the spinning of a top are also those used in gyroscopes, guided missile systems, and the gyro stabilizers in ocean liners. Tops are amazing! 

Hugo Strange: Tops? 

The Top: Yes, Doctor Hugo Strange. Tops! 

Hugo Strange: Tops? As in, the children’s toy? 

The Top: Is there something wrong with your hearing, Doctor Hugo Strange? 

Hugo Strange: Do you mean to tell me that, in calling yourself the Top, you are not making a claim as to your superiority, but rather making a reference to a toy? 

The Top: Actually, Doctor Hugo Strange, I am doing both. I am both a living top and at the top of my profession. My costume has stripes on it so that I may better emulate a top when I spin. 

Hugo Strange: Your costume is intended to make you look like a giant top? 

The Top: It is, Doctor Hugo Strange. Why? 

Hugo Strange: Well, that certainly explains its...unusual appearance. 

The Top: (Offended) My costume is no more unusual than that of the Trickster or the Mirror Master, Doctor Hugo Strange. 

Hugo Strange: I didn’t say that it was, Mr. Dillon. 

The Top: Good. (Pause) Now, Doctor Hugo Strange, would you care to explain why I was transported to an institution a thousand miles away from my base of operations upon my most recent arrest? 

Hugo Strange: I wish I knew myself, Mr. Dillon. The workings of the judicial system as it regards the costumed population never cease to bewilder me. However, I must say that I am glad to have you here, Mr. Dillon. You are clearly mentally ill, and Iron Heights clearly has made no progress in treating your condition. 

The Top: I am not mentally ill, Doctor Hugo Strange! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Dillon, mental illness is not a sign of a moral or intellectual deficit. It simply means that your brain has become diseased, just as any other part of your body might. 

The Top: Nevertheless, I maintain that I am not mentally ill, Doctor Hugo Strange. 

Doctor Strange: According to your record, when you first became the Top, you threatened to blow up half the world with a, quote, “atomic grenade”  if all the governments of the world did not acknowledge you as the ruler of the world within ten hours. You did this while under the belief that you would somehow be safe on the other side of the planet should the bomb go off. Mr. Dillon, can you spot the flaw in this plan? You are obviously an intelligent man. 

The Top: Of course I can, Doctor Hugo Strange. If half the planet was blown up, the entire planet would have been devastated. Even if I was on the other side of the planet from the epicenter of the explosion, I likely still would have been killed.

Hugo Strange: (Shocked) Wait...you actually built an atomic grenade with the power to blow up half the world? 

The Top: Of course. I am a genius, Doctor Hugo Strange. 

Hugo Strange: You built an atomic grenade that could spin around like a top and possessed the capacity to blow up half the world? 

The Top: You have a dreadful habit of repeating yourself, Doctor Hugo Strange. But yes, I did. 

Hugo Strange: Then all those other tops your record claims you invented actually worked as well? And you actually made a giant top-shaped satellite that you launched into orbit? 

The Top: I am supposed to have a mood disorder, not a psychotic disorder, Dr. Hugo Strange. 

Hugo Strange: Well, yes, but severe bouts of mania and depression are known to sometimes bring on psychotic symptoms. I had thought that your claims of having successfully invented such an improbable array of top-shaped weapons were the result of delusions brought on by one of your mood episodes. 

The Top: No. The quack at Iron Heights says that I was having a manic episode during my attempt to become ruler of the Earth, and that that is why I did not realize the flaws in my plan. They allege that I was having “mood-congruent delusions of grandeur and invulnerability”, but at no point did they accuse me of outright hallucinating. Surely that is in the report, Doctor Hugo Strange. 

Hugo Strange: (Annoyed, but not with the Top) While I do not fully agree with your assertions that the psychologist at Iron Heights is a quack, Mr. Dillon, I must admit that they are distinctly lacking in some key areas-such as specifying which of your behaviors and claims were the results of a mood episode and which were not. Knowing that you have had at least five manic episodes and at least three depressive episodes is worthwhile knowledge, but without adequate context, how do they expect me to know what behaviors are a sign that you are no longer in a healthy state of mind? 

The Top: Three depressive episodes, Doctor Hugo Strange? As far as I am aware, the quack has only had me hospitalized for depression twice. 

Hugo Strange: That is because the first listed depressive episode was an attempted suicide at the age of 17, which would have been before you ever went to prison. 

The Top: Oh. Yes, that did...that did happen, Doctor Hugo Strange. It was how I learned that taking a dozen different types of pills is not the most efficient way in which to kill oneself. 

Hugo Strange: (Alarmed, but making an effort to remain calm) You aren’t planning to make another attempt, are you? The Top: No, no. I have far too much to live for-and besides, my fianceé would never forgive me if I killed myself, Doctor Hugo Strange. 

Hugo Strange: Your fianceé?

The Top: Yes. Her name is Lisa Snart, although you, Doctor Hugo Strange, are likely more familiar with her nom de guerre: the Golden Glider. 

Hugo Strange: So, another one of the Rogues? 

The Top: Yes. I met her while posing as an ice skating coach, and we have been deeply in love ever since, Doctor Hugo Strange. 

Hugo Strange: I see. How long have the two of you been romantically linked? 

The Top: About seven years now, Doctor Hugo Strange. 

Hugo Strange: In other words, the relationship began shortly after your second attempted suicide? 

The Top: I admit I was in a rather dark place at that point in my life, Doctor Hugo Strange. My beloved was responsible for helping to pull me out of it. 

Hugo Strange: (Concerned) And what would happen if she died, or broke off your relationship? 

The Top: That will not happen, Doctor Hugo Strange. 

Hugo Strange: But if it did? 

The Top: (Agitated) I… I don’t know. She...she’s the only person who ever really loved me, Doctor Hugo Strange. The only one. 

Hugo Strange: I’m concerned that you seem to be placing your mental stability and overall self-esteem so heavily on one relationship, Mr. Dillon. That cannot be healthy, for either one of you. (Pause) I know you don’t believe yourself to be mentally ill, but for Lisa’s sake, if nothing else, I really do think that it is urgent that we continue these sessions. 

The Top: I would never do anything to hurt Lisa, Doctor Hugo Strange. Never! 

Hugo Strange: In an earlier manic episode, you threatened to blow up half the world. That would have included your beloved Lisa, would it not? 

The Top: I had not yet met Lisa when I came up with that scheme. If I had known her, I never would have endangered her in such a way, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Maybe so, but that incident serves to prove that your judgement is compromised when you are in the midst of a manic episode. While I believe that you would never intentionally hurt Lisa, should you have another manic episode, you might cause harm to her without realizing it. 

The Top: I...I suppose you may have a point, Doctor Hugo Strange. I will take your suggestion into consideration. I certainly do not wish to accidentally harm Lisa. 

Hugo Strange: I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Dillon. (Pause) You are a metahuman, correct? 

The Top: Do you think I am wearing this collar because it is fashionable, Doctor Hugo Strange? 

Hugo Strange: A metahuman power dampener. Well, I suppose that answers that question. What powers do you possess, Mr. Dillon? 

The Top: I have the ability to spin at superhuman speeds, I am telekinetic, and I have a limited degree of telepathy, Doctor Hugo Strange. I cannot read or outright control minds, but I can induce vertigo and push people into doing things that they otherwise might not be inclined to do. 

Hugo Strange: I see. So, Mr. Dillon, what prompted you to put on a costume, call yourself the Top, and use your intellect and your not inconsiderable array of powers to commit crimes? 

The Top: My father always told me that I needed to be a success; get on top of the world. I had to prove that I wasn’t the failure that everyone thought I was...and I did. No one laughs at Roscoe Dillon anymore, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Yes, yes...but why do it in a silly costume and with gimmicked tops? 

The Top: I thought we already went over this. It’s because I like tops. They are fascinating. (Pause) Do you want to hear about my collection, Doctor Hugo Strange? There’s so much you could learn from it. 

Hugo Strange: Perhaps some other time, Mr. Dillon. (Pause) And the Flash had nothing to do with your decision to put on the costume? 

The Top: The Flash? You insult me, Doctor Hugo Strange. Why would I ever be inspired to do anything by someone like him? 

Hugo Strange: Isn’t he your enemy? 

The Top: Only because he constantly stands in the way of my achieving greatness. If he left me alone, I would not fight him….but as it is, he’s made things rather personal. 

Hugo Strange: So the reason you have continued to commit crimes is in order to get revenge on the Flash? 

The Top: Really, Doctor Hugo Strange, you must get your hearing problems checked out. I do not commit crimes to get revenge on the Flash. I commit crimes to make myself wealthy and to get revenge on the world. It rejected me; branded me as a freak. I simply rejected it in turn. 

Hugo Strange: And has your life of crime made you happy, Mr. Dillon? 

The Top: Not yet...but I am afraid, Doctor Hugo Strange, that it does not matter whether being a criminal makes me happy or not. It’s the only life that will ever accept someone like me. I learned that lesson long ago. 

Hugo Strange: I stand by my initial assessment of you, Mr. Dillon. You need help. I just hope you will permit me to provide it. 

[thebigqueer]

Do you think you could talk more about Will becoming an army medic? Maybe you could write a little fic about him coming home and surprising Nico like all of those youtube videos 🥺

ahhhh!! hi anon!! sorry for such a late response, i’ve been working on my own personal one-shots and haven’t had the time. 

thank you so much for the fic prompt, and i hope you like this!! and, as always: i do little to no editing on these fic prompts, so please don’t be too judgmental as you read through them as they will not be my best work.

Nico’s hand brushes across the blank page, leaving trails of charcoal along the whiteness as he runs through it. His blood roars in his ears as he works furiously. Anxiety thrums in his heart. He has no idea what he’s drawing or why, but he knows that he just has to. His nerves have been short-circuiting all day and he just needs a relief from the world around him.

But even as he sits in the Strawberry Fields, enveloped under the shade of a tree, he can’t seem to find the comfort. Too many thoughts circulate in his head. The world is tilting under his body and he’s about to fall off the earth.

Since Will left for the army so many months ago, he’s been on edge. What if something happens to him? What if Will never comes back?

What if he loses his Sunshine Boy forever? 

Tears burn against his eyes but he fights hard to push them away. He can’t let himself think like that. He continues swiping his hand against the page, leaking his pain into the paper, puncturing his anger across in black strokes. He can’t think like that. He can’t afford to.

A warm breeze circles around Nico, brushing across his cheeks and ruffling his dark hair. It settles his nerves, just a little, but then his heart thrums quicker again. The wind throws his mind back to the past, back to only months ago when he was sitting in this very spot with Will, talking about who knows what. All he can remember is Will’s arm around him, that cheesy smile across his mouth, his curls gleaming in the sunlight. 

And the scent. Like warm summer days, like citrus, like strawberries. Just like it is now. 

When the ache of emotion presses against his throat, Nico doesn’t suppress himself. A tear slips out his eye, then another, and a few more. Some fall onto his blank page and burst over the white, bleeding gray across the art. It trickles across the stenciled strokes and drips over the page, turning his once-black art into an ugly, emotional wreck.

Just like he’s an ugly, emotional wreck.

He throws the unfinished project to the side and brings his knees to his chest. He can’t deal with the sun right now. He can’t deal with the brightness when anxiety keeps crawling over his brain. The possibilities of so many drastic ends for Will press against his skull, haunt his thoughts, plague his nightmares. 

He just wants Will to be okay. He wants Will to be safe. He wants Will to come back in one piece. Would that be too much to ask? 

Nico isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting there. Maybe it’s been minutes; possibly hours. But his emotions keep pouring out, keep flooding around him, keep wringing him out, and he can’t control himself anymore. He’s kept his fears at bay too long and he needs to let them out into the open. Maybe this is good for him.

He knows that it isn’t something he should be getting emotional over. He’s a demigod, for heaven’s sake. This is the kind of shit he should be expecting. Demigods aren’t always going to be safe. 

But the problem isn’t that it’s a demigod thing. When demigods are in trouble, it’s because they’re usually forced into that trouble. No, the issue is that Will chose to go into the army. He put it on himself. And Nico supports him, of course. It was Will’s choice, and whatever Will wants, Nico will gladly be there for him. 

But it’s the pain of knowing that he won’t exactly have anyone to blame if Will’s gone out of his own volition. If this were a demigod issue, Nico could easily blame a god for his anger. It wouldn’t be healthy, no, but at least he could locate his rage somewhere. Because this is a matter of personal choice, however, it makes him all the more scared. 

He’s so lost in his emotions and anxieties that he barely hears the crunch off to the side, barely acknowledges the shift in the air. He’s spinning in his own world and no longer has a grip on the universe. 

Then a voice speaks up, soft and warm and comforting as a summer’s day: “Hey.” 

Nico looks up, anxiety spiking in his bloodstream. How is he supposed to explain why he’s sobbing in the Strawberry Fields to someone? What kind of excuse can he make up? 

His tear-filled eyes rove over the figure before him, trying to make him out through the blurriness. A tall, vaguely-familiar being stands in front of Nico, the tan of his skin absorbing the beams of sunlight. A mop of golden hair dances as the wind brushes against it, and Nico’s chest bursts with joy at the sight of the figure though he isn’t entirely sure why.

Perhaps it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen him in a while, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s already too disoriented from his breakdown, but he it takes much longer than it should for Nico to understand who it is. 

Will. 

The son of Apollo offers a shy smile. “Hi, Nico.”

Joy explodes through Nico’s entire system; relief crashes into him like a tsunami. His thoughts tangle up together and unfurl again, going at about a thousand miles per hour. Hundreds of questions strangle him. 

But he doesn’t dare voice them. Instead, with adrenaline coursing through his veins, Nico jumps up and throws his arms around Will.

He feels as familiar as ever, yet so very strange. It’s been so long - too long - since Nico’s held his boyfriend. His arms feel foreign across Will’s shoulders, his body too big to fit in the blond’s arms. He tries to melt into Will, to absorb his presence, but there’s too much giddiness in him, too much excitement. His blood thrums with energy. 

Will laughs, and the sound of it spills through Nico’s ear, melts into his brain and seeps into his core. That laugh. It’s been so long. So long. So long. 

Will’s arms circle Nico’s waist, and for a few moments, they stand there holding each other, loving each other, finding each other. A wave of emotions rise up to Nico’s chest and new tears fall across Will’s shoulder, explode across his shirt, but for the moment, neither of them care nor acknowledge it. It’s just them in the world in this moment. 

Then Nico pulls away and gazes up at Will’s eyes, a bright smile flashing against his mouth. Words hang off the cliff of his tongue, questions and reactions and emotions, but before he can voice any of them, his heart stops.

Because now that he’s seeing Will, seeing him head-on with his face and freckles and eyes, there’s something different about him. Something missing. 

As Nico gazes into Will’s eyes, he realizes that they’re not as crystal clear as they used to be. Something hazy floats above his blue eyes, a filmy wall that makes his irises duller. They look almost gray in the light. 

Will’s eyes look like icicles, sharp and dangerous. They look like shards of glass. 

Will looks shattered. 

Immediately all of Nico’s relief drips out of him, leaving him once more in dread. “Will,” he whispers. “Oh, gods, how are you?”

Will offers a wavering smile. But within the next second, something entirely new comes across his features: exhaustion. 

The brightness of his face dulls out and he sighs, closing his eyes. He leans his head against Nico’s neck. “I’m so tired, Nico.” Something wet sprouts against the son of Hades’ neck, and with a stab of dread he realizes Will’s crying. “I’m so tired.” 

And that’s when the realization hits Nico. He feels as though an icy sword has pierced his heart. 

It’s exactly as Nico feared.

This is not Will. This is something battered and broken, shattered to the point where it’s almost impossible to repair him. 

Nico’s Sunshine Boy is gone.

[pseudonympls]

Something To Take The Edge Off: Chapter Fifteen

For warnings and A/N please see the Masterpost

You burst through the apartment door, dropping your phone on the floor as you did, making your entrance a little noisier than you would have liked. You aggressively kicked off your shoes and slumped into the living room. 

The room spinning a little as you sank into the couch, you swore to yourself that you’d never drink this much - while being this sad - again.

Irene’s bedroom door opened and she walked towards you slowly, her hair disheveled and her bathrobe agape. 

“I’m sosorry” you started “Did I wake you?” you ran a hand down your face - you weren’t concerned any more with ruining your makeup, it was already all the way down your face by this point.

“Uh, no, you didn’t” she glanced back at her room, and you saw Dennis extend a small ‘hello’ wave to you from the bed.

You huffed a few laughs, “Oh, you weren’t sleeping” 

Irene hummed in agreement slightly as she walked over to the sink and poured you a glass of water. She sat next to you on the couch, and shoved the glass between your hands, feeling grateful, you took a long drink.

“You finally break things off with Bo?” she asked, her hand on your shoulders.

A grimace spread across your face as you looked at her, and shook your head slowly.

“Irene...he…” you suppressed a hiccup “he told me that he was falling for me…” you saw her eyes widen. 

“And I just...just couldn’t say anything…I just stared at him when he was saying all this stuff...” you gesture to the dining table where he stood, you could barely believe he was here only a few days ago, and now, he was almost three thousand miles away.

“So, so I called him, and every single time, it’s gone straight to voicemail, every time” you softly pounded your fist against your knee. 

“And then, then I decided to pass by his apartment, he’s not there either, and his god damn concierge tells me he’s gone back home to Boston, the other side of the bloody country, Irene!!” She was rubbing your shoulder slightly, her eyebrows knit together and her lips pursed.

“So I guess, he ran three thousand miles to get away from” you gesture a little to yourself “from this mess, and to be honest, I don’t fucking blame him.”

“I’m sure there’s a proper reason…” Irene whispered, taking it all in.

“Yeah, a proper reason that he’s either blocked my number, or turned off his phone, and fucked off to what might as well be halfway around the bloody world” - you felt yourself sobering up slightly, thanks to the water.

“Look, all this happened so fast, have you spoken to Sam yet?” she questioned.

You exhaled a little out of your nose “Oh yeah, that ship has sailed,”  you chuckled a little to yourself.

“He thinks I’m a terrible person because I had sex with him...for my writing…” 

Irene interjected “Well, I just think that he really liked you, so he took it too personally-” you cut in “And you know what, I don’t think he’s wrong, you can try and twist it to suit me, but leading him on like that...I just shouldn’t have done it” 

“Why lie to myself, I fucked him for two reasons; one was to have more to write about, and the second was to try and push Bo out of my brain...only it didn’t work, did it?” 

“But,” Irene started “it turns out that Bo really did like you back” her lips upturned into a small smile as she said it, and for a moment, you almost mirrored her. 

Hearing someone else say it gave it more weight, made it feel more real.

“Right, but I fucked it up, I went and did that silent thing I do when I’m shocked” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah...you do tend to do that from time to time...like the time you came home and found me and Dennis on the couch…” she trailed off, you let out a wet laugh, trying to stop the tears from falling from your eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t talk for hours after I saw… that” you looked back at Irene, with a half smile.

You let a few silent tears drip down your face, before you breathed in deeply, pushed your fingers back over your face and through your hair, and said “I think it’s done, Irene, I think I fucked it up a bit too much this time, and you know what? I’ll get over it, I’ve done it before…” she nodded silently along with your words.

“But you know what the worst thing is? It’s the loss of something that was yet to be, in a way. I’m sadder at the fact that we never got to become what we wanted, the potential was there, and we just....let it float away”

“We never got to fully enjoy what we had, because we were constantly worried about what the other person was feeling...wondering what was going on….just behind the curtain” 

You bite back a sarcastic laugh “And you know, despite how shit I feel right now, this will make pretty decent stuff to write about” 

You downed the rest of the water, and set the glass on the coffee table. You sighed, and stood up, “Go back to bed, Irene, I’ll be okay...I think” you forced a smile and she did the same. She engulfed you in a stifling hug. “You know where I am, if you need me, yeah?” she said into your hair. You nodded.

……..

Peeling back your bedsheets, you make quick work of your clothes, spilling them lazily on to the floor, and crawl into your bed. As the cool sheets hit your body you feel soothed, you feel cried out, you feel...maybe even a little at peace. 

You’re not sure if you’ve come to terms with losing Bo just yet, but you feel as though you might be on the right track, at least.

The remnants of the booze you drank earlier, still circulating your system help you in dozing off quickly, and this time, the nightmares spare you.

……..

The light streams in through your forgotten blinds, hitting you like a laser beam directly into your brain.

You reach around for the sheets and pull them up, over your face to shield your eyes from the sunlight. You let out a low groan as the thin veil of sleep is lifted, and you remember last night's events. A wave of sadness washing over you, there’s no way you could go back to sleep now.

You yearn for the forgetfulness that sleep provides, the sweet dreamland of semi-unconsciousness, where real life fails to penetrate.

You gently pull the sheet down away from your face, and let the sunlight wake your brain up.

A sudden nausea hits the back of your throat, and you have to hastily untangle yourself from the sheets so you can run to the bathroom, you don’t make it to the toilet but you manage to be sick in the sink.

“Ughhh” you moan, turning the tap on to wash down the remnants of last night, clearly you didn’t drink enough water.

You spat out the last of the tangy bile on your tongue, and bent your head to take a small sip from the tap, before gargling and spitting that out, too.

You let the tap water pool in your palm for a moment, before splashing it on your face. You grabbed your washcloth and dabbed at what remained of the makeup you applied yesterday evening.

You looked at yourself in the mirror to make sure you’d got all the makeup off, but you daren’t make eye contact with yourself, it made your stomach tense every time your eyes came close.

Walking into the kitchen, you see the pot of coffee Irene must have made for you, you smile a little as you pour yourself a cup, and you hear her and Dennis giggling from inside her bedroom. No rest for the wicked, you thought, taking a sip and letting that sweet caffeine get to work.

Finding your comfiest pair of dungarees, you slipped into them, found a hairclip and messily shoved your hair into a bun at the crown of your head. This was peak writing comfort, you thought: your brain still a little addled from the alcohol you had fed it yesterday, but a fresh coffee on the go, and comfy, slouchy clothes.

No matter how much you told yourself you were in peak writing condition, you couldn’t so much as type out a few words at a time. You even grabbed an old, dusty rubik's cube from one of your shelves, before quickly remembering how much you hated it, and tossing it back.

You closed your laptop lid, and walked over to your altar. You took your tarot deck off the shelf and sat on your bed with it. Just a simple, one card reading to reset, you thought, shuffling the cards.

Splitting the deck, you placed both in front of you, and you went for the right hand side deck and plucked the card off the top.

Turning it over, you saw it was The Fool.

You laughed a little, taking it literally, you had definitely been the fool recently.

You placed it down on the bed in front of you, heaving a deep sigh.

“The Fool represents new beginnings, having faith in the future, being inexperienced, not knowing what to expect, having beginner's luck, improvisation and believing in the universe.”

Hm, new beginnings, you thought. That could definitely be in reference to your writing, Trent seemed to think you were making some serious headway, and good things were coming.

You placed The Fool back into the deck, and placed it back on your altar. You sat down at your desk once again, and opened your laptop, it wasn’t for lack of trying that you weren’t able to write anything. 

You started typing, and quickly held down the backspace, nothing that was coming out of you felt like it had any worth.

All of a sudden, you heard your phone ringing, your heart felt like it had stopped, all the blood rushed to your ears as you tried to hear where your phone was. 

You threw the bedsheets up, it wasn’t there. 

You hunted around the side of your bed, your handbag from last night was slung against one of the bed posts on the floor. You grabbed it hastily and wrenched your phone out of there, only for your stomach to drop when you saw it was Trent who was calling you. You sighed, and answered the call.

“Hey” 

“Hey, it’s my favourite writer!” Trent said in a sing-song voice. 

Ah, you thought, he was back on the sauce, you never heard him this joyful.

“Hey, Trent, what’s up?” you asked, trying to conceal the slight annoyance in your voice.

“Well,” he started “A little birdie from Live Magazine has been in talks with me...and...they want to bring you on as a columnist about mental health and relationships…”

Your mouth was open so wide, you felt like you must have been catching flies with it.

“Ah, what?!” you almost screamed down the phone, you felt like you were going to explode, and cry, and laugh, all at the same time.

“The pay’s competitive, it’s not bad at all, truthfully, and the start date is in a month or so…” he continued.

“You’re serious?!” you whisper into the phone.

“Yep, they want you, I tried to talk them out of it, believe me…” he joked, although it fell flat on your side of the phone.

“They want you to come over and sign the relevant contracts later today, say, 7pm? And, keep this between me and you, but they want to put a face to the writing so to speak, so dress nice, maybe leave your doctor martens at home…” he trailed off. 

Your brain was working a million miles a minute, this was by no means a book deal, but it was, something! Not enough to pay your rent but maybe enough to scale your shifts down at the bar to once, twice a week maybe? 

Being paid to write? Again, you tried to keep your thoughts grounded in reality, but your stomach was positively effervescent with excitement.

You realised you hadn’t spoken for a few minutes when you heard Trent clear his throat and say your name at the end of the line.

“Fuck, yes, sorry, um, yeah, I’ll be there at seven, yes, absolutely”

“Cool, see you then!” he replied, and promptly hung up the phone.

You threw your phone on the bed, and ran, squealing with excitement into the living room, catching Irene on the couch trying to enjoy a cup of tea.

“Guess what?!” you said, sinking your forearms into the couch and bobbing your head up and down a little in excitement.

“What?!” Irene replied, seeing the fervoured intensity on your face.

“Live magazine...want me to write for them...as a relationships and mental health columnist!!” You pressed down with your palms into the couch, a smile so wide it hurt, spreading across your face.

“Oh fuck!!” Irene said, standing up, “Girl, that’s amazing news!” she came over and engulfed you in a tight hug.

“I know, and now, I need to get ready, I’m going to sign the contract at 7, but I thought, fuck it, I’m gonna take myself out for lunch, grab a coffee, on the way, like a sort of “congratulations me” thing” you laughed, running to the sink for a glass of water, your throat suddenly felt incredibly dry.

“What are you gonna wear?” she asked. “Um, I dunno, something smart, but casual, you know? Is this a little black dress occasion?” you asked, draining the glass dry.

“Why the fuck not!” Irene exclaimed.

You walked back into your room, cheeks flushed with excitement. You looked through your wardrobe, picking out the black strappy dress you saved for occasions. It was a mid calf affair - much longer than most of your other dresses, and it had a bodycon shape which hugged all your curves. 

You pulled out your chelsea boot dr martens, the fanciest and least dog-eared of all your boots. You thought, fuck it, they wanted you to write for them, there was no way you were going to turn up, looking fabulous, but just because you were wearing docs they were going to snub you?

Running a comb through your hair, you grabbed your straight-iron and set a few curls in at the ends of your hair.

As you started to apply some makeup, you found yourself glancing into the mirror at your neck. The bruises there had almost faded entirely, there were just a few faint yellow marks now, easily covered with a bit of powder.

You sighed inwardly as you passed your brush over them, removing them from view completely.

Forty five minutes later, you looked at yourself in the mirror - gentle curls bobbed around your shoulders, which were exposed by the dress. The dress glided down your waist, dipping in and then back out at your hips, grazing your legs before halting at your calves.

You looked - dare you say it, a little glam?

You finished your look off with a dab of red lipstick.

You looked at the time on your phone, 4pm now, plenty of time to take yourself out, give yourself a little pat on the back for this, before you went to Trent’s office to sign the contracts.

You waltzed into the living room, giving Irene the full display, she was dressed too, about to head out for work.

“Shiiittt” Irene said, bringing a hand up to her face, “You look insane” she said, raking her eyes up and down your body.

“Thanks” you said, bursting with pride and adjusting your purse straps a little.

“Yeah, you look smart, professional, a little sexy, and are those…” she pointed to your shoes 

You smiled awkwardly “You know, I don’t think I own any shoes that aren’t boots…” you laughed

“Well, they look good, you look great! And still very ‘you’” she patted you on the shoulder.

“I’ve gotta get going,” she said, heading to the door, she turns around quickly “Oh, and I’m probably staying at Dennis’ tonight, so don’t wait up!” 

“Sure, okay, I’ll see you later?” you reply “You will, knock ‘em dead, lovely” she winks as she pulls the apartment door shut.

You take a deep breath, thinking about where to go for lunch...you’d probably walk down to that Italian place a couple blocks over…

You looked back at the apartment as you closed the door over, smiling a little to yourself, you could barely believe any of this was happening.

Finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, you went to open the doors to the building, and you spotted a cab outside.

You thought back to a few moments ago, you were positive you didn’t order a taxi. 

Opening the front door, you stepped out, only to see a tall blond man getting out of the car, still speaking to the driver, and handing him money.

Your chest felt like it was about to explode, he stood up to his full height on the sidewalk in front of the steps to your apartment, pulling a small carry-on case from behind him.

He was wearing black joggers, and a Where the Wild things Are t-shirt. With a long finger, he slid his glasses further up his nose.

He said a thank you to the driver, and as he looked up, you could see the moment he spotted you in his eyes, even from this far away.

“Bo” you whispered.

His eyes on you, he looks up at you from the sidewalk as the cab pulls away. 

You see his cheeks blush a little, as he says “Hi, there” with a small smile.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 5/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

The Final is a big deal. Even more so this year since it’s the last international competition before the Olympics — the last chance to show the world that you’re worthy of their attention come February. Buck’s been to five of the last eight Finals, and usually all the extra attention from press and fans, even during non-Olympic seasons, make him giddy with excitement, adrenaline pumping through him for almost a solid week before he actually competes.

This time, however, it’s been a week of feeling like he’s going to throw up any second.

It’s not because he’s doing bad at practices — in fact, he’s feeling better than ever, even got to work out his shaky landing on his quad flip that’s been haunting him for weeks. Ice looks the same no matter where you are, so it’s easy for him to get lost in the two hours he’s out there and forget everything and everyone else around him while he works.

When he steps off the ice, though, he’s thrust right back into a world where everyone is keeping an eye on him, watching him to see if he’ll live up to the expectations of being one of the best US skaters a top Olympic hopeful, or if he’ll crumble under the pressure of trying to be the best but always falling a little bit short, especially since the last Games. He’s always viewed it as a redemption — overcoming his injury and clawing his way back to the top — but he can’t control how outsiders view it, has no idea if they feel the same way or have counted him out all together. ESPN can do as many pieces on him as they want, but they can’t guarantee that people are still rooting for him. He’s sure people are talking about him, but he’s steered clear of social media knowing that even if there are nice things about him floating around, it’ll still make him feel worse, crushed by more and more expectations that he’s still not sure he’s going to live up to.

He misses when all that attention would make him feel like he was invincible. 

The biggest thing keeping him sane — despite the 6,000 miles between LA and Turin — is Eddie. They’d seen each other plenty before Buck left, Eddie still coming to the rink every day for PT and light workouts so he could stay in shape while he recovered. It was good, it was normal, even if Eddie wasn’t skating. 

But the night before his flight to Italy, the prospect of being at one of the most important competitions of the season, of his life, without most of his other teammates had hit him hard once again, sucking all the air out of his lungs and making the room spin. 

He called Eddie without even thinking and barely heard him say “Hello?” before he was spilling everything, letting out all the fears and worries he had been trying to keep under control since Bobby told him he was going to the Final. Despite being caught very off guard at 12:30 in the morning, Eddie had listened to it all — really listened, Buck could tell even over the phone. He sympathized with his fears and doubts and didn’t try to downplay them with empty platitudes. And somehow, in those frantic moments, to be heard like that was enough. Enough for the worries in Buck’s head to quiet down and retreat back into the shadows, enough for him to finally be able to breathe. They kept talking afterwards, the smooth timbre of Eddie’s voice making his eyes feel heavier and heavier, until they close and open again to sunlight filtering into his room, his phone on the pillow next to him with a disconnected call and a text that says You’re going to be amazing. Call me whenever you need me.

Buck didn’t think he’d take Eddie up on that, but he’s called him every day since he arrived and every time, no matter what time it is, Eddie picks up and listens to him.

On the last day of practice before short programs, dread settles heavy in Buck’s stomach and doesn’t get any lighter as the day wears on. He skates at the practice rink until his fingers feel numb with cold, and works out after even longer, blasting music in his headphones so he’s not alone with his thoughts for too long. He’s exhausted when he gets back to his room, the quiet that’s become so unfamiliar mixing with the dread and weighing down Buck’s entire body, feeling like it’s trying to push him straight down into the earth. Sinking onto the bed, he dials Eddie’s number.

Five rings, and no answer. He tries again. Nothing.

He tosses his phone to the side and sighs. The dread had lightened ever so slightly at the mere prospect of getting to talk to Eddie, but now it’s back in full force. If he lays here for too long, he’s worried he might melt right into the bedspread.

There’s a knock at the door, and takes every ounce of mental and physical strength he has to get him up. He has a brief, delusional thought that maybe the person on the other side of the door is the same one who didn’t answer his phone, but it’s quickly squashed when there’s another knock, followed by a voice that’s definitely not Eddie’s.

“Buck? I know you’re in there, and I can get my hands on a master key if you don’t let me in right now.”

Hen. 

He opens the door quickly, because he thinks she’s bluffing, but there’s also a very real chance that she’s not. He stands at his full height, pushing back against the dread, and plasters on a smile. “Don’t tell me you have notes 12 hours before the competition starts?”

She looks him up and down, looks through him it seems, judging by the way he suddenly wants to curl in on himself, hide whatever it is she’s looking for. She finds it, he guesses, because she nods decisively and pushes into his room. She grabs his still packed skating bag from the foot of the bed and tosses him his jacket as she goes back into the hallway.

“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. “We’re going for a drive.”

It takes a minute for Buck’s brain to catch up with everything, but when it does, he hustles to meet her at the elevators. They make their way to the parking lot next to the hotel, where Hen unlocks the Fiat Bobby had rented for the week to get them around. “Bobby’s cool with you taking the car?”

She shrugs. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

“So I’m basically being kidnapped right now.”

“You would’ve stayed in your room if you really didn’t want to come.”

He smiles a real smile at that — she knows him too well.

Turin is beautiful at night. The city bustles with energy as people mill around, window shopping and filling up tables outside of cafes despite the early December chill. Christmas decorations have already been hung in windows and strung over rooftops, thousands of lights washing the streets in twinkling colors. Buck lets his eyes relax as he stares out the window, losing himself in the colors that pass by, hoping they’ll burn the heaviness right out of him. They stop outside the Palavela, standing out in its shadowy height among the brightness, decked out in ISU flags in anticipation for the start of competition tomorrow. Hen turns off the car and gets out, walking into the shadows of the arena and almost disappearing before Buck catches up. They make their way to the service entrance at the back of the building, where Hen pulls a key out of her coat pocket and unlocks the door.

Buck’s jaw drops. “I believed you about the hotel, but how did you get a key to this place?”

“A lot of people owe me a lot of favors,” she says, leading the way through the back hallways. 

It occurs to Buck that he doesn’t even know why they’re here, didn’t bother to ask, but regardless, he follows her deeper into the belly of the building. Hallways twist and turn as they follow them seemingly at random, until they finally make it to a set of double doors. Hen pushes them open, and Buck has a moment of panic when he sees what’s on the other side.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the main rink the day before a competition?”

Hen rolls her eyes and walks inside. “You’re not getting married, Buck. And we’re not just here for the ice.” She keeps moving, up into the stands and further up the stairs to the mid-level walkway. It’s a former Olympic venue, so there’s thousands and thousands of seats, and the reminder that in a few short hours, they’ll be filled with people waiting to see Buck thrive or fail spectacularly weighs him down even more, coming down on his shoulders and threatening to make him stumble. He does stumble when he runs into Hen, who’s stopped dead center of the walkway, eyes warm and bright as she nods towards the other side of the rink.

Tears swim into his vision, but not because of shot nerves or worry this time (though those may be contributing to how quickly this is making him emotional).

Fans bring posters to events all the time — beautiful, handmade posters emblazoned with flags and encouraging quotes, showing their love for their favorite skaters and teams. They’re made of cardboard or printed on fabric, but are usually small, hard to see unless you’re watching on TV or very close to the boards. Sometimes, though — with special permission from the venue, usually — they go big, creating huge tarps that get hung up on the banisters surrounding the seats and stay there all week, loudly cheering for their favorites even when they may not be in the stands.

Which is exactly what Buck comes face to face with — two banners hung across part of the middle banister, covering at least 15 seats. One has a picture of him from Autumn Classic, smiling with his gold medal, with “Go Buck Go!” in big block letters over his head, all on a deep red background and surrounded by golden fireworks. The other — the one that really takes his breath away — is a collage of pictures from his programs over the years, some of his more memorable spins and poses emblazoned across the dark blue fabric. His final pose from his short this season, reaching toward the crowd and looking off into the distance, is featured most prominently, with an ornate script next to it that reads “Evan Buckley: Future Olympic Champion”.

He grips the railing a little tighter to keep himself steady, feels Hen’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“How—” he starts, voice a little raw.

“Bobby and I saw them when we came by earlier to get our credentials. We think someone hung them up after the short dance today so they’d be ready for tomorrow.”

“Wow,” is all Buck can manage. He’s seen his face on plenty of posters, but never like this, never something that he could see from anywhere in the arena, loudly proclaiming that there are fans in his corner, people beyond himself and his sister that see him at the top of the Olympic podium. He knows they're out there, rationally, when he’s not riddled with nerves and self doubt, but still. It’s nice to be reminded. And what a reminder this is.

“I know it’s been a rough week for you,” Hen says quietly, hand still on his back. “But just...take this in. Let it push you through the next few months. They’re rooting for you, Buck. We all are. You’ve got to keep rooting for yourself too.”

As usual, she’s right — Buck went into this season as his own biggest fan, with one goal in mind that felt like it had been slipping farther and farther away with every fall and every less than perfect score. That drive to win gold becoming more and more desperate as the weeks wore on — like if he didn’t get back to where he should be, where he needed to be, he might not survive. But he has people — his team, his family, and fans like this — who are still envisioning that success for him, who believe in him no matter what. Who will still be in his corner even if he doesn’t make it to the top. Who he wants to prove right for believing in him.

Hen pats his back one last time and heads back down the stairs. Buck lingers a little longer, taking in every detail of the banners that he can, since he won’t be able to appreciate them properly tomorrow. He sneaks a few pictures on his phone, quickly shooting them off to Maddie and Eddie. It doesn’t feel like bragging — they’re at the very top of the list of people that have constantly pulled him up when he falls down the hardest. He knows they’ll appreciate this for him, just like Hen did. They’ll understand how much this means to him.

As he follows Hen’s path down the stairs, the heaviness he had convinced himself was etched into his bones feels like it stays behind, making it easier to breathe, easier to be.

Hen’s next to the boards holding his skates out to him. “You’ve got like 30 minutes — skate it out. I’ll stand watch by the door.” He takes them and sets them on the bench before enveloping her in a hug, rocking back and forth as she laughs into his shoulder. She ruffles his hair and pats his cheek before going to her post.

He feels at peace on the ice, finally. The cold isn’t harsh, it’s invigorating. The fluorescent lights aren’t too bright, they’re comforting, lighting up the grooves and divots of the ice, showing all the paths Buck can follow. A couple of laps gets his blood pumping, roaring in his ears and blocking out everything else. He starts with some easy steps — rockers and three turns, over and over like he did in skating lessons when he was a kid, losing himself in the repetition. When he feels good, really good, he goes for a quad flip, confidence flowing into every stroke as he gets in position. He takes off, and he feels light again — right again — like he’s flying, not falling, not sinking.

Figuratively and literally rising.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s two missed calls from Eddie when he gets back to his room, and still riding the high of his good mood, he FaceTimes him. 

“Wow, I really missed that smile,” Eddie says when the call connects, and Buck rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide the blush he can feel warm his cheeks. Eddie must have just gotten back from PT — his hair is falling in swoops over his forehead, damp with sweat, his tank top sticking to what little Buck can see of his chest. His blush gets a couple of shades darker, he’s sure, as he tries not to let his eyes linger anywhere for too long.

Buck flops onto the bed on his back, holding his phone in front of his face. “I had a pretty good night,” he says with feigned nonchalance.

“Seeing banners of your giant face already proclaiming you the next gold medalist will do that to you.” Buck laughs and Eddie laughs with him, the sound like pure happiness, burning out the very last of the dread that had been following him since he arrived. It stops quickly when Eddie sits down on his couch and hisses, wincing as he shuffles to get comfortable. 

“Rough day with Lena?” He saw her every day for two months straight once upon a time, he knows how hard she can push.

“Rough couple of days.”

“Are you feeling better, at least? Do the doctors think it’s healing okay?”

“I have a check-up tomorrow, but it’s fine. Just sore.” He finally settles but he still looks like he’s in pain. Buck wants to press, wants to know every detail of his last few days — what exercises he’s done, when the pain really got worse, if he’s resting enough. But this isn’t his injury, and everyone heals differently. And he trusts Eddie, trusts him to know how to take care of himself like he promised he would.

“Anyway,” Eddie says lightly, clearly trying to change the subject. Buck lets him. “I’m sure this good night will make for a good day tomorrow, too. You feel ready?”

“I do,” Buck answers. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that he actually means it. 

“Good. I know you’ll be great. And you’ll have my sleep deprived text commentary to look forward to when you finish.”

Buck winces. “I’m not gonna be skating until like 4AM your time, you really don’t—”

“I really do. I really want to. And there’s not a whole lot you can do to stop me.” Eddie flashes his crowd-charming smile and Buck feels like he’s melting into the mattress again. He tries for a snappy comeback, anything to keep Eddie talking, but he cuts himself off with a yawn, the exhaustion from the week seeming to catch up with him all at once.

Eddie’s smile gets a little softer. “Go to sleep, Buck. I’m gonna take a nap too so I make sure I wake up on time.”

“Okay, okay. Goodnight Eds.”

“Goodnight. Knock ‘em dead tomorrow.”

After they hang up, Buck gives himself a minute, just a minute, to really bask in that, in Eddie’s active support of him from halfway across the world. It’s one thing to have your teammates watch your programs from the stands, but to find competitions on TV, if they’re being shown at all? To figure out time zones and wake up at ungodly hours just to watch you skate live? It may not seem like much, but it’s everything to Buck. He’s only gotten this kind of commitment from one other person in his life — even his parents stopped keeping up once he started competing abroad more. And it’s different with Maddie — they’ve been on this road together for almost two decades, so intertwined with each other’s successes and failures that they’re hard to differentiate sometimes. Sure, Eddie’s been a part of his life for years now too, but as competition, an obstacle he kept trying and failing to overcome. It’s different now that they’re...whatever they are. Friends. Almost something else. 

For the second time tonight, Buck’s reminded of how grateful he is to have another solid, supportive presence in his corner. The last lingering bits of heaviness and loneliness evaporate from within him, and he knows this weekend will be good for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Second place.

Second place is fine. Second place is great, actually. Second place is enough to show the USFSA that he’s still a contender, that he can still keep up with the best of the best despite a rocky first half of the season.

But second place is not first place. Even if it’s only six points away.

Overall, Buck is happy with his performance. He was clean on his step sequences, attacked every jump, and didn’t fall once. And six points behind the skater from Japan that everyone considers Eddie’s biggest international rival, his biggest threat against his potential Olympic gold, would make most other people ecstatic.

He’s not most other people, though. This past week has reignited the fire in his belly and it’s burning brighter than it has in a while. The medal ceremony, the interviews, the gala, everything flashes by because all he can think about is getting back to work, changing transitions and tweaking spins until even the smallest gap between him and any other skater is erased. Until he knows his programs are undoubtedly gold medal worthy.

It’s refreshing — a relief — to be back in this headspace, being pushed forward by obstacles and less-than-perfection instead of dragged into spiraling sadness.

He almost loses it a couple of times, especially when he decides to take an innocent peek at Twitter to see what fans had to say about the Final, the words “overscored” and “inconsistent” swimming in front of him until they don’t mean anything anymore, just leave doubt lingering, trying to find the home in Buck’s brain that it had just vacated. In those moments, he goes back to his messages and rereads the live texts he’d gotten all weekend, and one in particular that makes his heart skip two beats every time he sees it: 

[from: Eddie] I think you make everyone fall a little bit in love with you every time you skate

Eddie sent it in the middle of his free skate, in the middle of dozens of other compliments and criticism of other skaters, and Buck’s sure he was half awake when he sent it, but it fills him with something he doesn’t quite have a name for. Something that makes all of the harsh words and doubts disappear, because none of those matter when Eddie is here telling him that he’s good, that he deserves all of his scores and praises. That he’s loved, no matter how often he may forget.

Another fire is burning in him, a little above the one in his gut, but it’s pushing him just as hard to prove his worth. 

~~~~~~~~~

There’s four weeks left until Nationals, and Eddie still isn’t better. 

Buck can tell he’s getting frustrated too — the tension in his shoulders gets tighter and tighter, the set of his mouth harder and harder each day he comes to the rink still wearing his air cast, only able to work in the gym and with Lena, far away from the ice and the excited chatter of preparing for the second half of the season. Buck tries to be there, a shoulder to lean on, someone to listen, but he also knows how Eddie operates — he’ll slap on a smile and say he’s fine until he’s really not, until he cracks from the inside out and finally explodes with everything he’s been holding in so he keeps up this air of perfection he’s made for himself. Buck used to think it was annoying, that perfect facade, but now he knows it’s more defensive than anything, Eddie just trying to protect himself from the world and maybe from himself.

Buck doesn’t take it personally anymore, and he’s going to do his damned best to be there to keep the cracks from spreading.

It’s after 10pm when he walks into the gym, still breathing heavily from practice, his muscles burning from overuse and the need to be stretched. He was certain he was alone, so he just about jumps out of his skin when he sees someone lying on the padded floor in front of the mirrors. When he gets closer, his blood runs cold for an entirely different reason.

It’s Eddie.

Buck’s first thought is to call for an ambulance, because why else would Eddie be lying on the floor if he hadn’t hurt himself again? But as he gets closer still, Buck thinks this might be intentional. He’s on his back, headphones on, eyes closed, rhythmically tapping his hands to whatever song he’s listening to on his stomach. As Buck's shadow passes over his face, he opens his eyes and blinks at him for a minute before giving a half-hearted smile and closing his eyes again. He looks sadder, somehow, than he has in the past weeks, dark circles under his eyes and none of the golden glow that seems to follow him wherever he goes (though that may be coming just from Buck’s own imagination anyway).

Buck’s not really sure what to do here, how to fix whatever it is that’s making Eddie feel so bad.

So he lays down right next to him and waits.

The headphones come off after 10 minutes, and Eddie doesn’t open his eyes for another five. When he does, he looks over to Buck, and rather than something supportive or sweet or literally anything else, he says the first dumb thing that comes to his head:

“Are we meditating?”

But he gets an actual smile out of it from Eddie, so he takes it as a win. 

Eddie scrubs his hands over his face. “Trying to, I think.” He turns onto his side, facing Buck, and Buck turns to mirror him. He can tell Eddie is searching for his words, the right phrasing to get his point across, and he’s willing to wait as long as he needs to for Eddie to share. 

Finally, he takes a long, steadying breath. “My doctor said I might not be able to skate until the end of January, which means I might miss Nats, which means I might not—” he gestures vaguely at that, like he expects Buck to know what his silence means. Buck knows exactly what he means, and it makes him ache for Eddie, makes him reach out and squeeze his wrist when his eyes start to shine, thumb tracing over his pulse point trying to soothe him. “I’ve worked my ass off for weeks now to get better, and it still might not be good enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says quietly. “I know it sucks. More than anything.”

Eddie goes quiet again, eyes drifting to where Buck is still holding his wrist. He pulls away for just a second before slotting their fingers together properly and gently squeezing. Like always, Buck marvels at how right it feels, to be holding Eddie’s hand.

“Did you know they’ve been saying I’m the favorite to win gold for three years now? Not to brag, but—” he says quickly, eyes wide. Buck chuckles because he knows — knows now — that Eddie doesn’t have an arrogant bone in his body. He squeezes his hand back and waits for him to keep going. “It’s all I can think about. Every time I fuck up a level or finish off podium, it just stays with me, makes me feel like I’m about to crash and burn and everyone is going to be disappointed in me because I’m not actually as good as they think.” Eddie’s trembling, squeezing his hand tighter to try and stop it. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I tricked everyone into believing in me, and this stupid busted ankle is—”

“Hey, hey, no,” Buck says, pulling them up to sitting and cupping Eddie’s face in his hands as his tears threaten to spill over, slipping through the cracks. “You don’t deserve this, Eddie, no one deserves to be injured. Believe me, I know what it’s like to put all of your worth into this, and I still do it, but...you’re worth so much more than just your skating. To the fans, to the team. To me.” Eddie’s eyes drift away from his, trying to find an escape, but Buck holds firm until they drift back. “You are good. Not just a good skater, but a good person. You’ll always have that, gold medals or not. And if no one else believes in you, I do.”

Eddie stares at him, looking dumbstruck, and he’s quiet for so long that Buck worries he went too far, bared himself a little too much. He’s about to backtrack, save both of them whatever awkwardness might come, but Eddie surges forward before he can and kisses him so fiercely he swears the earth stands still.

He pushes away just as quickly, eyes wide in panic. “Shit, Buck, I’m sorry, I know we—” but Buck cuts him off, kissing him slow and deep, hands tangling into Eddie’s hair trying to pull him as close as possible. Eddie’s everywhere, his taste, his smell, his touch, and when he feels Eddie’s smile against his mouth, a smile that he put there, he feels like flying.

It finally clicks for Buck that he doesn’t have to — doesn’t want to — compartmentalize his life so much anymore. Skating and Eddie make him happier than pretty much anything. Why shouldn’t he have both?

They break apart slowly and rest their foreheads together. Buck ended up in Eddie’s lap at some point, and from here he can’t see anything but Eddie, gets lost in the curve of his cheekbones and the pout of his lips, and mentally smacks himself for thinking it was really better not having all of this. Eddie is in his corner, always, and he wants to be in Eddie’s too. Wants him to know he’s there, to remember even at his lowest points that he’s not alone, ever.

Eddie finally opens his eyes and smiles at Buck, soft but absolutely breathtaking. He squeezes his arms a little tighter around Buck’s waist, and Buck is more than happy to get as close as he can, would crawl into Eddie’s chest and stay there forever if he could.

“What are you thinking?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck’s thinking a lot of things, or at least he was, but now that he’s focused on honey brown eyes so full of affection he could drown in them, his only real thought is Eddie Eddie Eddie.

“I think we’re stupid,” he says after a minute, and Eddie’s laugh echos around the empty gym.

“We’re stupid?”

“Okay, I’m stupid. But I think I want to fix that.”

“Oh really?”

“I think I want to be here for you, for everything.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I think I want to remind you how amazing you are whenever I can.”

“Buck—”

“I think I want to convince you of how incredible you are whenever you stop believing it.”

Eddie’s eyes are shining again, but his smile could also put the sun to shame.

“And I think I really, really want to keep kissing you.”

Eddie shakes his head, smile getting bigger and somehow pulling Buck even closer. “I think we can make that happen,” he whispers. 

He kisses him again, and Buck is soaring.

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 8

Title: “I may just take your breath away” / Sweater Weather AU

Relationship: Jemily

Word count: 35,604

Summary:

Penelope hacks the college. JJ pets a cat. There are three blowjobs. Need I say more?

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

JJ adjusted the textbook in her hands, rolling onto her side to get comfortable with it. Behind her, was the calming sounds of Penelope’s pop music and her dancing fingertips as she typed code into her computer. 

She had only a few pages left to read, but she was having a hard time focusing. JJ’s brain kept drifting to the events of that weekend. On Halloween, they played spin the bottle. JJ’s spin landed right on Emily, meaning that they had to kiss. 

But it was not chaste. As Penelope most eloquently put it: “you two were seconds from ripping each other’s clothes off in front of us.”

JJ couldn’t wrap her head around it. 

Emily had really kissed her. There was tongue. It was not a peck to play the game; they had gone at it like teenagers in the backseat of a car at a lovers’ lane. 

It made reading her textbook difficult when she knew what Emily’s tongue felt like against hers. It made doing her essay challenging when she could remember the taste of her lips. It made doing just about anything next to impossible when JJ was desperate to kiss Emily again. 

“Did you know that it’s Hotch’s birthday tomorrow?” Penelope asked, spinning in her chair to look at JJ. 

“Wait, what?” JJ asked. She looked up from her textbook.  

“So... I’ve hacked into the college database,” Penelope said, turning back to her computer, her hands were once again typing a mile a minute. “Because of the whole thing with Reid not telling us about his birthday, the poor thing, and I didn’t want to miss anyone else’s.”

“Maybe we could do a co-birthday?” JJ mused, thinking about the logistics of that. 

“You read my mind, my beautiful sporty friend,” Penelope replied. “I’ve almost got everyone’s, just a minute.”

JJ stood up, walked over to Garcia’s side of the room. Somehow, her side of the room was cleaner than JJ’s, despite the sheer amount of things. Her desk was covered in trinkets, decorations and her wall covered in posters, art prints and photographs. JJ’s, on the other hand, had significantly less stuff, and way more mess. She was a busy girl and her desk was basically useless with all of her books and loose paper and miscellaneous things she needed to deal with ages ago. 

“Did you know that Morgan is a gemini?” Penelope asked. 

“Figures,” JJ replied, hoping that was the right response. 

Garcia had two monitors on her light, wooden desk, and a large desktop computer that she had built herself tucked underneath. On one monitor, was a file that she was slowly adding to, of birthdays written in white text on a grey background. Her own was there, alongside Spencer, Hotch, Derek….

JJ then watched as Garcia typed out Emily’s birthday: October 12. They had missed it too!

“Oh my god,” Penelope said, “why don’t they tell us these things?! How did we befriend such secretive people.”

“Wait, when was that?” JJ murmured, grabbing her wall calendar and flipping through the pages. “Oh my god I saw her that day. She was baking cookies, alone.”

“Alone?” Penelope whimpered. 

JJ thought back to that night. She had barged into the kitchen, talked all about her impending break up with Will, and ate Emily’s cookies. She felt awful. Obviously they didn’t know each other as well then, but why was she alone?

“She didn’t even tell Derek,” Penelope said, “oh that sweet summer child. Who hurt her?”

JJ always celebrated her birthday. Be it a family dinner or a full on birthday party when she was a kid, JJ was used to a fuss made about her each year. It was harder after Ros, but her parents refused to let the day pass without at least a cake and a present. 

As she befriended Penelope last year, their birthdays were filled with presents and friendship and alcohol, both girls making sure to give the other a thoughtful gift and make a fuss for the day.

Her heart was breaking that three of her new friends were about to let theirs pass without anything to show for it. 

“We should have a party,” JJ blurted. 

“You read my mind.”

JJ frankly welcomed the distraction from her circular thoughts about her kiss with Emily.

 ——— 

JJ left another store empty handed. She had first placed an order at a store downtown for a birthday cake, with three names on it which confused the baker, then began to wander downtown searching for presents. 

She had another half hour before she was supposed to meet back up with Derek and Penelope, who were at the dollar store buying decorations, and she had hoped to find something for Emily by then. 

The three of them were quite efficient at party planning, and they had to be with such a quick turnaround time. JJ had been tasked with finding a present for Emily.

For Hotch, they wrangled a bottle of the nicer whiskey that he liked, because even at the age of 21, he was somehow already an old man in his tastes. Spencer was also easy, because Penelope was working on knitting him a scarf. Apparently it was from the show Dr. Who, but JJ didn’t really know much about that besides that it was British and both he and Penelope were big fans. 

Emily was a lot harder to shop for. 

What could JJ get for her with the thirty dollars that they all had pitched in to fund her present? Not much. Especially since JJ knows that Emily comes from money. If she wanted something, she could probably just buy it for herself, right? 

It was also difficult because it would be from her. It would be a token of her affections. What were her affections? Did she want to simply sleep with her? Date with her? Be her best friend? JJ’s thoughts were a mess.

JJ had been in just about every store downtown, browsing clothes, gift stores, even a plant store in which she contemplated the meaning of getting Emily a cactus. Nothing was quite right.

She had almost given up when she wandered past a used book store. She had never been in before but always meant to. Out front was a stack of old milk crates filled with books, mostly romance novels and thrillers, and inside the window, beautifully bound antique books were resting in the display. 

A bell dinged as she walked in, and an elderly man waved at her from the counter before returning to his own book. 

Inside, the smell of old books filled her senses, mixed with the smell of apples and cinnamon and the earthy smell of all the old buildings in her college town. 

Stacked floor to ceiling were mountains of books, towering over her head. 

There were a few other patrons in the shop, some sitting and reading, others wandering the stacks, pulling out the occasional book. 

JJ slowly made her way through the maze. It was larger inside than she expected, with thousands of old books surrounding her, no matter where she looked. At times, she had to step over a pile of books in her path. 

The books were organized by topic, but within that, JJ couldn’t discern a clear system. 

She climbed the creaky staircase and pondered what kind of book Emily would like. Is buying her a romance novel too forward? JJ wondered. She probably wouldn’t be able to find one with two women anyways. 

Did Emily like fantasy? Sci-fi? Non Fiction? Should JJ get her something she’s read? JJ realized that she hadn’t read anything that wasn’t for school in ages. 

JJ felt overwhelmed. Was she thinking too hard? 

She did a double take at the window sill, realizing that the movement that caught her eye was a black cat basking in the sunlight. 

JJ reached out her hand tentatively to pet it. The cat nuzzled her hand, and began to purr. JJ smiled, spending a few minutes giving the cat much needed attention. 

The cat then stood, apparently growing bored, and ran off to investigate something or chase a mouse or whatever bookstore cats got up to. 

Where it lay was a small book. It was old, but not as old as some of the other leather bound texts in this store. Its white cover had a simple drawing of a boy, and written in a looping script: “Le Petit Prince.”

JJ smiled slightly, picking up the thin book. She leaned against the windowsill and carefully flipped through the pages, admiring the illustrations and trying to decipher the premise with her limited understanding of French. 

It seemed like it was for children, with whimsical art of a boy on a small planet, a king, a rose and a fox, among other things. She read the first few pages, about a boy falling in love with a flower, and decided it was perfect. 

It was a sign, JJ thought, the cat led her to this book. 

The cat—which reminded JJ of Emily with its standoffish exterior but affectionate personality—had clearly shown her that this was the perfect present. 

There was no price on it, and JJ worried that it would be out of her budget. Holding it to her chest, she descended the steps and brought the book to the clerk. 

“Hello sir,” JJ greated him, setting the book down on the table, “How much is this book? ”

He was seated in a comfortable looking chair behind a counter with an old-fashioned cash register. The sign on it read, ‘cash only’  and there was a tip jar in the form of a cat mug. 

“Oh this is an excellent choice!” The man lifted the book up, examining the cover. “On ne voit qu’avec le cœur.”

That was French. JJ didn’t know what it meant, only catching the word “heart” at the end. She nodded nonetheless. 

“You speak French?” He asked her. 

She shrugged. “I’m learning.” 

“This book will teach you more than just French,” the man said. “Trust me.”

JJ didn’t know what he meant, but nodded. He still hadn’t told her how much it was. 

“It’s a gift,” JJ explained, “for a friend.”

He handed her back the book, smiling at her. He gave it to her for fifteen dollars, seeming to make up the price on the spot. The black cat waited for her near the door, letting her pet him on the ears before she left. 

JJ left the door, hugging the book to her chest. 

 ——— 

Wrangling three of their friends into attending a surprise party was harder than it looked.

With three student athletes, nights during which none of them had games, or practices were scarce, so it took them until the next Friday before they found a free evening. Then, they had to go through the ordeal of convincing them to show up at Derek’s room at the right time. 

JJ felt giddy with the secret, greatly enjoying the party planning and doing something special for her new friends. On her Wednesday afternoon study date with Emily, her excitement for the party almost overpowered her nervousness with the girl due to their recent kiss. JJ caught herself looking more at Emily than her notes, alternating between imagining them kissing and imagining the look on Emily’s face when she received her present. 

By seven that Friday night, they had fully decorated Derek’s tiny dorm with streamers, balloons, and just about anything Penelope could find at the dollar store. A happy birthday sign was strung over one of the windows, with the addition of their friends' names written in marker on poster boards taped underneath.  

Their presents were wrapped messily, as JJ wasn’t particularly good at using wrapping paper. The cake sat on Derek’s desk reading “Happy (belated) birthday Emily, Hotch and Spencer!” in red icing on white cake. 

The three of them were frantically blowing up balloons and checking their phones. JJ felt slightly light headed by the time they were done. 

Hotch and Emily were coming for a “study date” with Derek, and Spencer was expecting a Dr. Who marathon with Garcia. All were supposed to be there any minute.

There was a knock on the door. 

“Get ready!” Garcia squealed, “someone’s here!” 

She opened the door, and instead of the birthday kids, it was David Rossi, who JJ had met for the first time a few weeks prior. He was 22, only a few months older than Hotch, in his first year of his masters. He and Hotch were close, and Emily and Derek knew him well since he TA’d one of their classes. 

“Rossi?” Derek said, “you came!”

“I never turn down an invitation to a party,” he said. 

“I have to admit,” Derek said, “it’s not that much of a party.“

“It’s more of a magical birthday get together,” Penelope said as she ushered him in. 

“Good thing I brought enough alcohol to make it a party,” he said. 

He pulled a very expensive looking bottle of vodka out of his backpack, and more beers than should fit in a normal sized bag. 

“I take it back,” Derek said, “this is definitely a party.”

There was another knock on the door.

“Come in!” Garcia said, picking up a balloon to throw. 

Spencer opened the door trailed by Hotch and Emily, all looking confused as they were bombarded by a dozen balloons cascading down from above and a series of hugs from the group. All were looking around with a mix of shock and happiness on their faces.

“It’s technically none of your birthdays today,” Penelope said, “Because you are all such awful private people, BUT I got the goods and figured it out. We thought we would celebrate all of you guys, and our amazing friend group, with this little shindig.”

“It’s wonderful Garcia,” Hotch said, almost smiling, “Thank you.”

“Don’t just thank me!” she said, “It was Miss Jennifer’s idea, and she got the cake. And my beautiful Derek helped me with the decorations and loaned his room, which might I say, is strangely large for a single room.”

Derek chucked, “It was my pleasure, happy birthday you three.”

He pulled Spencer in and ruffled his hair. 

“We’ve ordered pizza too!” JJ announced, “It should be here any minute now.”

“You’re too good to us,” Emily finally spoke up, after standing in the doorway with a dazed expression on her face. 

Penelope guided them in, and the group exchanged hugs and laughter, and Hotch got a very Italian kiss on the cheek from Rossi. Penelope put silly birthday hats on their heads, and took photos like a proud mother. 

After a few minutes of chatter—about the decorations, how they managed to keep it a secret, and most importantly, the illegality of Penelope hacking into their personal data on the university server— JJ’s phone pinged and she ran to the foyer to get the pizzas. 

Munching on greasy food, there was a companionable silence with the cheery sounds of the music in the background. 

As pizza wrapped up, their chatter resumed and the room filled with overlapping conversations. JJ noticed Rossi had snuck off to fish something out of Derek’s mini fridge, pouring something out into shot glasses. Then she heard the sound of whipped cream. 

At that sound, all heads turned towards him. He had three cups filled to the brim with whipped cream and he looked like he was about to burst into laughter at any point. 

“BIRTHDAY SHOTS!” Penelope squealed. 

“No way,” Hotch said, “I’m not doing one of those.”

“One of what?” Spencer asked nervously. 

“It’s not a blowjob is it?” Emily asked with a laugh. 

“A blowjob?” Spencer asked even more nervously. 

“It’s a shot, kid,” Derek assured him, “you just can’t use your hands and there’s the-“ 

He gestured at the whipped cream with a laugh.

“White stuff!” Emily said, tying up her hair into a ponytail in preparation. 

Rossi had to explain the premise several times, before it sunk in that they had to fish out the small shot and drink it all without using their hands. Reid looked at them suspiciously but he warmed up to the idea after Hotch offered to go first so he could see how it’s done. 

The older boy had definitely done a blowjob shot before, efficiently grabbing the plastic shot cup and downing it, his cheeks covered with whipped cream. 

Emily was enthusiastically buried in the whipped cream but struggled on the follow through, spilling most of the vodka into the larger cup before she drank it. 

Reid seemed nervous to get the whipped cream on his face, reeling back and wiping his cheeks then trying again. 

Eventually, Derek reached his hand into the cup, retrieved the shot and held it up to Spencer’s mouth.

“Look ma, no hands!” Morgan quipped before rubbing some leftover whipped cream on the younger boy’s face as the group laughed. Reid was laughing happily, beaming as he wiped his face. 

With the celebratory shot in their system, it was time for cake. JJ carefully used Penelope’s bright pink lighter to ignite candles on each piece for her three friends as they sang Happy Birthday to them.  

“Happy birthday to you!” They sang, “happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Hotch, Spence and Emily! Happy birthday to you!”

They blew out their candles. All were instructed to make wishes. 

As the night progressed, JJ got more and more nervous about the present. What if Emily hated it? Would she ruin the whole night? Penelope and Derek had assured her that it was a good present but what if they were wrong too?

JJ busied herself with cutting the cake, distributing pieces and making sure everyone had forks and napkins. 

Rossi, who was their unofficial bartender, was stationed near the mini fridge and passed out fresh beers when called upon. 

“Gifts!” Penelope exclaimed once they had made good work of the cake, dragging the presents out from their hiding space under Derek’s desk.

She handed them over to Emily, Hotch and Reid. 

“We all pitched in,” Derek said. 

All three looked perturbed at the fuss, murmuring “you shouldn’t have” as they looked at the gift. Spencer opened his and laughed, wrapping the incredibly long striped scarf around his neck and thanking Penelope. Aaron actually did smile at his present and expressed his gratitude by pouring them all shots. 

Emily held hers for a moment, staring at the wrapped book with an unreadable expression on her face. JJ watched, holding her breath as she turned it over, then placed it back down. 

“Will you excuse me for a second?” Emily said, her voice tight and sounding very… formal. 

JJ gulped as Emily stood, and exited the dorm, shutting the door behind her. She immediately thought that she had done something wrong.

The group looked back and forth, not quite sure what to do, as the commotion happened mid way through Hotch doling out shots of whiskey and some were already half raised. 

A moment passed as JJ thought about whether it would be worse for her to follow or leave her be. Maybe she wanted to be left alone? Maybe JJ was the last person Emily wanted to see?

She knew there was a lot about Emily that she didn’t know. Like JJ, the other girl kept a lot close to her chest. Over time, JJ had learned some details of her childhood, but not all, and what she knew didn’t look good. Maybe all of this was a bad idea? Emily might have had a reason that she didn’t celebrate her birthday. This could have been an awful plan and it would have been all JJ’s fault. 

She stood and grabbed the book, deciding to follow Emily. She slipped out the door and walked slowly down the hall, unsure of what she would even say to Emily once she faced her. Hey I just gave you a gift and you all but ran out of the room before you opened it, did I offend you somehow? Or I’m sorry?

JJ wasn’t sure what she was sorry for. She just knew something was upsetting Emily and the last thing JJ wanted to be was the cause of that. In fact, she wanted to make Emily happy and make sure nothing ever bothered her ever again. It would probably be weird for her to say that, right? 

She assumed that Emily had gone to the communal bathroom, as she left her lanyard with her room keys behind her in Derek’s room. If she had left the floor she would have been locked out. 

JJ took a breath outside the door, then pushed it open. 

Emily was standing in the bathroom that all of the girls floor shared, with its small row of stalls, old fashioned sinks and blue tiled floor. A frosted window that looked out into the courtyard. Many mornings JJ found herself brushing her teeth next to the other girl. 

Emily had her arms braced on the sides of the sink, leaning forward and looking at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was coming in quick breaths. 

“Em?” JJ said softly. 

Startled by the noise, Emily looked away from her, quickly pulling up a corner of her shirt to wipe her eyes. 

“You ok?” JJ asked, tucking the present behind her back. 

“I’m fine,” Emily said, standing up straight and giving her a half smile. Her posture was stiff, her smile forced.

“You don’t look fine.” 

Emily stepped back, leaning against the window sill. She crossed her arms, still avoiding any eye contact. 

JJ walked forward, slowly closing the distance. 

She leaned on the wall beside Emily, trying not to stare at her and make her feel uncomfortable. 

“Did I do something wrong?” JJ asked. Her voice sounded small in her ears. She immediately kicked herself, upset at how this might sound like she was making it all about herself. 

“No!” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head. “No. It wasn’t you it’s…”

She trailed off. 

“I’ve never had all this before. The friends and the party and the gifts. All this attention… it’s a lot.” 

She slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. JJ did the same, turning to face the other girl. She didn’t want to push too hard lest Emily flee from her again.

“It’s all so nice,” Emily whispered. 

“Then what’s wrong?” JJ asked softly. 

Emily sighed and began to bite her nails. Her posture was hunched over, curled up on the cold tile floor. 

She began to speak, then stopped herself, gritting her teeth and blinking hard. She looked over at JJ reluctantly, seeming to think hard about how to answer that question. 

“I was always the new girl wherever I was,” she said. “I was never anywhere enough to make friends, real friends that is. Or have anything like all this. I would do anything to fit in and it never seemed to work.”

JJ’s heart felt like it was breaking for her friend. She tried to imagine Emily trying to be anyone else other than the Emily she knew and couldn’t. Fitting in is hard, let alone fitting into new countries and learning new languages. JJ knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep it together.

Emily shook her head, picking at the skin around her nails anxiously, JJ could tell that sharing all of this was incredibly difficult. 

“I lived in a dozen different countries and was barely  there long enough to make friends and when I did…” Emily sighed. “I fucked it up. I make things worse for people.” 

Emily buried her face in her hands, her breaths coming harder now. Her voice was shaky and quiet, almost whispering to JJ. 

“My mom was never around on my birthdays. She would leave me a present. Maybe. This year she didn’t even call.”

Emily paused. 

“And then you guys do all this.” 

Emily looked up, staring with unfocused eyes into the bathroom, JJ could tell she was thinking of someone else, some other day. She looked lost. 

JJ wanted to hold her hand, wanted to comfort her, keep her close. She was always called the mom friend, it was in her nature to try and make sure her friends were taken care of. Her feelings for Emily complicated things. If she was anyone else, she would grab her hand, no questions asked, but she felt herself second-guessing each move.  

Her actions suddenly felt like they had more weight to them. Knowing that she liked Emily made everything strange. If she held her hand, would it be weird? She didn’t know. Normally, she wouldn’t question holding a friend’s hand, hell, she’d already held Emily’s hand. 

But that was before she was gay, or bi, or whatever. Before she knew she liked girls. Liked Emily. Now, touching her felt scary, like she was doing something wrong, even if she was simply trying to be nice. 

Fighting against her anxious thoughts, JJ reached out, tugging at Emily’s wrist until her hand clasped onto hers. JJ ran a reassuring thumb over her hand. She sighed a breath of relief when Emily leaned into the touch. 

“You’re our friend,” JJ said, simply. “And we care about you.” 

Emily nodded, still not looking at her. 

“When I held your present in my hands,” Emily said, “I just couldn't stop thinking of my friend Matthew. He surprised me on my sixteenth birthday, pulling me out of some stupid event my mother had dragged me to. That was the only time I got a real birthday present before now.”

JJ hadn’t heard about this friend. Emily didn’t really talk about her past, beyond the general facts. JJ had to stop herself from prying, fighting back her curiosity in favour of letting Emily talk. 

She squeezed Emily’s hand in a gesture she hoped would be encouraging.  

“Your gift just brought back a lot of memories,” Emily said with a whisper. “Matthew basically saved my life. He was the only friend I had before now I guess.” 

She looked over at JJ. 

“I’m sorry,” Emily said, wiping at her eyes. 

“Don’t be.”

JJ pulled Emily into her, wrapping her arms around her and holding her tight. Emily let out a muffled sob and fell into her, with her head tucked under JJ’s chin. They sat like that for a while, JJ listening to Emily’s ragged breathing and JJ running a calming hand over her back. Emily’s face was buried in her shoulder, her soft hair tickled JJ’s face as she held her tight.  

She focused on rubbing Emily’s back, making patterns with her hand on top of her soft sweater. Emily’s arms were wrapped around her waist. 

For a moment, tears pricked at JJ’s eyes. Watching Emily finally be vulnerable to her, for her to share something, even if she left out details, was a lot. She blinked them back and focused on steadying her breathing, being a calm presence for Emily. 

After a moment Emily pulled away, creating some distance between them, wiping her face with her sleeve and sniffling. 

“JJ I don’t want you to get hurt,” Emily said, her voice cracking, “I just bring people pain.”

“What happened, Em?” JJ asked. 

Emily looked at her with teary eyes and shook her head. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Emily. But I need you to know that whatever it is, I’ll still be here. I care so much about you and just… like being your friend. I don’t care what happened in your past or if you think you’re going to hurt me. All I care about is us.”

“I like being your friend,” Emily said with a teary laugh. 

JJ smiled at her, pulling her into another hug. Holding her tight feeling like the girl would break into pieces in front of her if she let go. 

“Do you want your present?” JJ asked carefully, still hugging Emily. She could feel the other girl nod. 

JJ pulled back, taking the wrapped book from the tile floor and placing it in Emily’s lap. Emily carefully began to unwrap it, as if she wasn’t allowed to rip the brightly patterned paper.

“You know you can rip it, right?” JJ said with a kind laugh. “Just tear it open, it’s part of the fun!”

Emily looked at her nervously, and half heartedly tugged at the wrapping paper. 

“Harder!” JJ said, demonstrating by pulling on it and making a satisfying tearing noise. JJ assumed that the girl didn’t have the opportunity to tear open presents as a kid, and JJ wanted to make sure she didn’t miss out on that joy anymore. 

Emily laughed and tore at it, ripping the paper off and revealing the small book underneath. Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. 

“I read this as a kid,” Emily breathed, staring at the cover reverently.  

She opened the cover and looked through the first few pages. 

“L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux,” Emily quoted the novel just as the book shop clerk had done.

“What is essential is invisible to the eyes,” JJ translated. “I don’t really get it. I tried to read it before I gave it to you, but didn’t make much headway.”

“It’s about love,” Emily said as she flipped through the pages.

Emily slowly turned the pages, smiling down at the whimsical illustrations and murmured about it in French that JJ couldn’t quite make out.

“I could translate it for you if you want?” Emily offered.

“Is it as good in English?”

“No,” Emily said with a laugh. 

JJ beamed, happy that her gift was no longer making Emily upset. She hoped that whatever bad memories she had about birthdays were being amended with some joy from today. 

“Well then I just have to get better at French so that I can understand it,” JJ said. “I’ll need a good tutor.”

“This is an amazing present. Thank you JJ.”

They smiled at each other.

“I’ll read it to you,” Emily said, “And you can stop me and I can explain anything you don’t understand.”

JJ’s heart fluttered at the thought of Emily reading a love story out loud. Though, from what she saw it was about a boy being in love with a flower so it couldn’t be that romantic, could it? 

“Sounds like a plan,” JJ said. “Should we get back? I wouldn’t want to worry the others.”

Emily nodded, then the two of them stood up together. JJ’s legs had fallen asleep while sitting on the cold, tiled floor so she dramatically shook them out, making Emily laugh. 

God her laugh, she wanted to hear that forever. She’d do anything to keep Emily smiling and happy.

As they walked back to the party, it was Emily who took JJ’s hand. 

Maybe they could be friends. Maybe that would be enough. 

[uwua3]

drivers license.

🍁📸 fushimi omi

summary: omi receives his license and goes to the cemetery to celebrate

warnings: angst, anxiety, arguments, car crashes, driving, family trauma/issues, grieving/mourning, major character death/parental death

author’s note: if you are going through the loss of a loved one, please remember you will always have people in this world who support and love you endlessly ♡ you are not alone and you will make it through. i believe in you with all my heart—i cannot tell you it’s okay, but i can tell you it’ll get better. please keep trying, it’ll be worth it. i hope you wake up tomorrow with a lighter heart, i love you

this is not romantic! this is a headcanon i have of omi’s family history as he only lives with his father and two brothers (ＴｗＴ。) thank you!!!

word count: 2,619

music: drivers license – olivia rodrigo

I GOT MY DRIVER’S LICENSE LAST WEEK

JUST LIKE WE ALWAYS TALKED ABOUT

‘CAUSE YOU WERE SO EXCITED FOR ME

TO FINALLY DRIVE UP TO YOUR HOUSE

Omi was the first person to pass his driver’s license test in his family.

His father wasn’t getting any younger, so his hands were hesitant and shaky every time they hovered over the stick shift. The buttons out of the corners of his eyes were much too confusing for his old brain so Omi’s father insisted on walking everywhere. As he grew older, the Fushimi household reached a compromise of taking public transport during the weekdays.

Omi’s two younger brothers weren’t old enough. They were still in their early preteen years, so getting behind the wheel wasn’t a legal option. As the oldest son, Omi took it upon himself to get into a four-wheeler and figure out all the tricky mechanics for himself. Hours and hours passed borrowing his friend’s vehicle, spinning around in circles in abandoned parking lots, and studying road laws.

When Omi learned all by himself and paid for it with his own money, his father clapped his shoulder with his usual proud smile and congratulated him.

The leather beneath his father’s wrinkled hands suddenly felt like skin, as if he could see right through him. When Omi took a moment to take a deep breath in, he closed his eyes and could almost see a younger version of his father. A father that wouldn’t be so close to retirement, that wasn’t so fragile and slow.

What did his father see? Could he see Omi was still the little boy sitting in the backseat all those years ago?

“That’s my boy! You’re just like your—” Omi didn’t want to hear the rest of the sentence, so he hurried upstairs and left his father alone in the corridor. Sometimes, he regrets it. But, most times, Omi’s glad he didn’t stay.

Whenever Omi got into a car after that, he sometimes still heard it in his head.

Omi knew he was like his mother.

BUT TODAY I DROVE THROUGH THE SUBURBS

CRYING ‘CAUSE YOU WEREN’T AROUND

YEAH, TODAY I DROVE THROUGH THE SUBURBS

‘CAUSE HOW COULD I EVER LOVE SOMEONE ELSE?

The first thing Omi did after receiving his license was visit his mother.

The car wasn’t preferable by any means, but it did its job. The seat creaked every time Omi had to adjust it, the air freshner didn’t make anything better, and there was no possibility that the air conditioning worked. But, the windows rolled down all the way, the wheels rarely ran out of air, and the car door only jammed sometimes. At the red light, Omi shifted and heard the crease of his jacket.

Omi didn’t know why he still wore it. Those days were long past him now, but the aged material made this whole experience a little easier. Before Omi could let himself reminicse, the light turned green and Omi automatically pushed forward.

Check the rear-view mirror. Two hands on the wheels at all time. Eyes on the road. Pay attention to stop signs. Be aware of everything around you. Omi repeated this again and again until the GPS on his phone announced he reached his location. Parking carefully, Omi let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding until everything stopped moving.

Picking up the small bouquet of flowers on the passenger’s seat, Omi locked his car and nodded at the security guard at the gates.

“Hi, Ma.” Omi said, pausing at a worn-down grave with the same flowers as last time.

“I got my driver’s license last week.”

AND I KNOW WE WEREN’T PERFECT

BUT I’VE NEVER FELT THIS WAY FOR ANYONE

AND I JUST CAN’T IMAGINE

HOW COULD YOU BE SO OKAY NOW THAT I’M GONE?

Omi sat besides her, leaning his head upon the cold grey stone. Like her tombstone, she was always strong, resilient, and offered a shoulder to cry on. Omi shuddered and wrapped an arm around the grave, as if she was still here.

“I did it.” Omi breathed and closed his eyes shut, hearing the distant rumbling of a thunderstorm. Even though Omi knew he should’ve left to get ahead of the rain, his legs were too weak. He couldn’t move without feeling like he was going to crash and burn.

“Ma... it was so hard.” Omi finally admitted to himself, squeezing the plastic of the bouquet in his hands and distracting himself with the crinkle. “Every time I sat in the driver’s side, I thought of you. I was... I’m so scared.”

Silence, before a clap of thunder. Omi flinched, hiding his face in the grey. “You were such a good driver, you followed every single rule. You should’ve been the one to teach me...”

Omi hated this feeling, like he was selfish for wanting his mother to be here with him. But, he knew he was right. Omi shouldn’t have had to suffer through panic attacks by himself. Make close calls with no one by his side. Balance school, work, family, and driving every single day. Omi could feel the exhaustion in his bones, as if he was the one who was dead.

“Pa couldn’t. Ever since...” Omi didn’t dare relive the tragedy. All he could bear was the inhumane screams, shattering glass, and alarms of the ambulance from miles away before snapping back to reality. “... the accident, he’s been so, so sad.”

It was an under-statement to say the Fushimi boys were struggling. Losing a parent didn’t hurt just emotionally, but financially as well. As Omi’s father picked up more shifts, more and more of that money went to medical bills that should’ve been years down the line.

“Your boys miss you so much. I miss you, so much. You would’ve been so proud... just like Pa. He said—” Omi’s voice cracked and he hated himself for it. Pulling the jacket tighter, Omi winced as the sudden gust of wind chilled his spine. The leaves rustled unceremoniously and Omi wished he could fly away, too.

“I’m just like you, Ma.” Placing the small flowers at the base of her grave, Omi read the faded engraving upon the surface until his vision was clearer.

Omi moved onto the next grave without a goodbye, because he’s had too many of those in this lifetime.

GUESS YOU DIDN’T MEAN WHAT YOU WROTE IN THAT SONG ABOUT ME

‘CAUSE YOU SAID FOREVER, NOW I DRIVE ALONE PAST YOUR STREET

After visiting his mother and Nachi, Omi returned to his car. It looked nothing like the car he almost died in. Back then, that car was big enough to hold a family of five snugly. Now, Omi’s car didn’t need all that room. His father would never get back into a car ever again, and his brothers could just sit in the back.

Resting his hand upon the car door, Omi didn’t have the heart to open it. Going inside meant driving home; driving home meant seeing his father flinch whenever the car pulled into the driveway. Driving home meant preparing dinner, making sure the boys did their homework, giving Pa his proper medications, doing homework, and barely sleeping. Going home meant being mom.

As the rain began to pour, Omi didn’t move. Soaked and unable to distinguish if he was crying or just stupid, Omi hung his head and let the water run over him. Was this his Ma’s way of crying for him? Omi didn’t want to know.

Omi finally yanked open the car door when a pair of glowing headlights passed by him. He nearly missed the splash of a puddle by his feet as Omi started the engine. Something was wrong. The usual ignition wasn’t audible and the lights barely illuminated the darkening path. Omi sat in the driver’s side with frustration that’s been growing ever since the car accident.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Omi swore, kicking the floor uselessly as he lifted his fist to hit the surface. Before he could slam his hand down, Omi sighed and simply hit the dashboard lightly at the last second. He had spent far too much money only to pay for repairs later on.

Omi pulled out his phone and checked, only to see no bars and no signal. Omi was cold, shivering, and crying in a cemetery and he had never felt more alone.

AND ALL MY FRIENDS ARE TIRED

OF HEARING HOW MUCH I MISS YOU, BUT

I KINDA FEEL SORRY FOR THEM

‘CAUSE THEY’LL NEVER KNOW YOU THE WAY I DO

Omi bought his first car after saving for months.

He honestly didn’t have to. Leaving behind the delinquent life meant making good friends. Friends that didn’t start fights, disobey the law, or be at risk of being put behind bars. Therefore, Omi had a friend that was willing to just give him a car.

“Come on, this is our gift to you. You don’t have to worry about this!” Omi’s friends insisted, trying to push the keys into Omi’s tight fists. No matter how much pressure was put upon him, Omi never faltered, just like stone.

“I’m sorry, but I... can’t take this.” Omi guiltily rejected the brand-new car. It was a model only rich people drove, the same exact demographic his friend was apart of. It was freshly washed with the proper tags and everything. Omi could’ve just taken it and saved thousands of dollars.

Except, he couldn’t. The car by no means was a vehicle he sat in before. But, the white color was the same. If Omi wasn’t paying attention, maybe he could ignore it. Yet every time he saw the exterior, it brought him back to that rainy day, desparately fumbling to rip off his seatbelt and wake his mother up.

“Omi... you can’t afford to say no...” They sympathetically tried to reason with him, but Omi was far gone. He backed up, nearly tripping with how hurriedly he stepped on his own heels. If he blinked, he could see the new car wrecked. If he didn’t focus, he could hear the sickening sound of the brakes failing.

“Omi, it’s been years since she—”

If he let himself get consumed by the past, he’d surely die.

“Thank you for this, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Omi bought a car a week later and when his father asked about price, Omi lied through his teeth.

“My friends saved up and bought me one for my birthday. Don’t worry, Pa. We can make the bills.”

Even when his friends sold it and tried to give him the money, Omi didn’t take it. His mother didn’t raise her son to take money from anyone.

Like mother, like son.

TODAY I DROVE THROUGH THE SUBURBS

AND PICTURED I WAS DRIVING HOME TO YOU

Omi left the windshield wipers on, watching as the rain drops got caught in the way. The heating wasn’t functioning, so Omi huddled in on himself and waited for some sort of sign that he could make it home tonight. The radio crackled every now and then, making Omi jump every time a voice spoke a word before getting cut off.

The world continued on as Omi lived through another rainy dark sky. Omi remembered staring up at this type of sky, his back laid out on a stretcher and hand reaching for the closest family member. Omi mentally punched himself, finding that he was getting caught up in his own trauma much more often than usual. Ever since driving lessons.

When it got too much to handle, the assignments, the expectations, the pressure, Omi indulged in make-believe. Omi imagined an universe where he was driving home to be welcomed by the warm embrace of his mother. Where his father was standing taller, where his brothers left their rooms on their own accord, where he wasn’t the backbone of the household anymore. It didn’t do him any good to hope for something impossible, but Omi did so anyways sometimes.

Perhaps it was his punishment for not being the one who died that night.

As Omi swiped mindlessly through his phone, willing for a bar, a crack of lightning made his skin crawl. Yet, beneath the pounding rain, a single yell of shock alerted Omi to look up from his screen. A deep sense of familarity forced Omi to look past his window, hoping to see past the blurriness of it all.

At the sight of a dark frame, Omi didn’t think twice before hurdling him outside, barely able to close his door before stripping his jacket and throwing it around the man. The shivering man weakly holding onto an umbrella that did nothing but cause more problems.

“Pa?! What are you doing here?”

RED LIGHTS, STOP SIGNS

I STILL SEE YOUR FACE IN WHITE CARS, FRONT YARDS

CAN’T DRIVE PAST THE PLACES WE USED TO GO TO

‘CAUSE I STILL FUCKING YOU LOVE YOU, BABY

“Son!” Omi’s father happily greeted despite being on the verge of catching a cold. Omi held the umbrella over his father’s head, taking the brunt of the cold willingly.

“I took the bus here. I knew you’d be visiting her today, but it was quite late.” He explained, wearing a newsboy cap that he must’ve had since youth. The sight of his father with a runny nose and wet clothes at his expense set something off in Omi.

“Why did you come?”

“To bring you home—”

“What would’ve happened if you died?”

The sound of rain was defeaning. Omi’s father stopped, staring at his son like he was seeing him for the first time. Omi’s arm started shaking, his grip on the umbrella’s handle was slacking. The truth weighed upon his shoulders, like he was about to collapse.

What if the bus had crashed? What if something happened to Pa while walking to the cemetery? What if it was Omi’s fault? Before Omi could apologize, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders.

Omi dropped the umbrella.

SIDEWALKS WE CROSSED

I STILL HEAR YOUR VOICE IN THE TRAFFIC, WE’RE LAUGHING OVER ALL THE NOISE

GOD, I’M SO BLUE, KNOW WE’RE THROUGH

Omi couldn’t die.

Not when he raised his weak father that wasn’t getting any younger. He had to take care of his two younger brothers. Omi had to finish university, graduate, and be hired at a high-paying job to support his family. Fushimi Omi couldn’t die.

But, here he was, breaking.

“My boy, I’m not going anywhere.” Omi’s father said it so surely, like it was a promise he could control. Omi hesitated before resting his chin on his father’s shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of cologne. It was the brand his mother used to love, but he knew his father hated this one. It was so fitting, Omi refrained from crying.

“You’re so strong, I’m so proud of you.” Omi nodded, hugging his father with unsaid words he’d never be able to speak. Omi could never tell him his greatest fear was Pa dying. Could never admit that seeing his father react a second late makes him pace. Could never reveal he only went to university close-by in case an emergency occurred. Everything Omi did was for his father, his Pa, his only parent.

“She’d be so proud of who you are today. You are her son.” Omi’s father patted him once, twice, then pulled back. He rested his aged palm upon Omi’s cheek gently, just like his mother used to. His thumb ran over his scar with no judgment, just fatherly love.

Omi had never felt more loved.

‘CAUSE I STILL FUCKING YOU LOVE YOU, BABY

“You’re just like your mother, Omi.”

[girlboss-molina]

Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 2: A Tale of Punches and Pancakes

AO3 Link

Words: 9389

-----

Alex POV

...

The jet ride was nice from a glance, but insufferable for Alex. His wish to leave his anxieties in Tambor? Yeah, he knew that was bullshit. As the miles passed, his stomach bubbled and knotted more and more until he had no room for the small wrapped chocolates in the dish at the back of the plane. The fluffy clouds seemed to taunt him with their serenity, making him feel out of place with his disgust, anxiety, and anger. 

Why, why, did he have to be put in an arranged goddamn marriage when he was nineteen? The gods hated him, for sure. 

He was back to considering options in his fake-your-death-to-get-out-of-it plan when Luke finally broke the silence.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Have a guess.” The sarcasm in his voice was tangible. 

“Yes?”

“Have another guess.” Alex barely smiled at Luke’s laugh. “I just… I hate this. Julie’s awesome, dude, she’s one of my best friends. But I don’t want to marry her.”

“I feel you,” Luke responded. “I really, really want to get you out of it.”

“Thanks.” Alex went back to staring at the clouds.

…

As the plane touched down, the rumbling shook up the nerves in Alex’s stomach, and he had to shut his eyes and focus on his breathing and the feeling of Luke’s hand on his. He did his best not to crease his vest as he leaned over, holding on tight. 

When he felt the motion in his ears stop, he carefully opened his eyes, relieved when he wasn’t nauseous. Of course, he couldn’t get rid of the anxiety. 

They’d landed in the runway behind the Dahlia palace, and thankfully, the small amount of vision he had out his plane window only showed the back of the palace and, on the other side, the tall, forested mountains in which he and Julie had run around in many times when they were younger. The scene was calming, and settled his nerves. 

As the doors opened, sending a crisp blast of cold Dahlian air in his face, the familiar smell of petrichor and honey reminded him of when he and Julie would run for hours, climbing trees as high as they could, despite Ray’s constant warnings and pleas for them to be careful. How simple it would be, really, to run out the plane door and across the runway until he was back, surrounded by the branches. It would be a nightmare, of course; he barely knew how to make a fire, which was definitely a skill he would need if he were to survive on his own in the cool Dahlian climate. Surely he could figure it out, though. It couldn’t be that hard. And the motivation of not having to act straight for the rest of his life would certainly help. He wondered just how fast he could run-

He was jolted back to reality by Luke excitedly hitting his shoulder. 

“Your highness, as your Royal Best Dude™ I am legally required to get you up and moving so that you don’t start spiraling. Plus, I’m hungry.” Alex rolled his eyes and laughed despite himself. 

He wasn’t going through this alone.  

…

He should’ve expected the cameras, really. But the bright flashes startled him as soon as he stepped out of the plane, and he had to quickly struggle to compose himself. He gave small smiles and respectful waves, walking across the long runway to the limousine waiting for him. He would be making a round past the palace gates before formally entering the palace from the front. So he climbed into the lush leather seats, with Erik and Luke right behind him, and sat down, squeezing his hands into fists and then running his fingertips over the indents from his nails. 

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as he tapped his foot. He wouldn’t admit it, but the feeling of Luke’s and Erik’s hands on his shoulders helped. A lot. Tension melted away from him, and while he was still nervous, he somehow managed to stand and steadily walk out of the limo, a smile breaking out on his face as he saw Julie. 

Alex wasn’t sure why he was surprised at how beautiful Julie was, there really was no paralleling her beauty. And yet, his heart swelled with pride at seeing her elegant violet dress, embroidered with dahlias. 

“Alex, why the hell do you walk so fast?” asked Luke, breathing heavily and trying to keep up. 

“I’m gay. Next question.” 

“That’s fair.” 

As he ran to Julie, Alex was so caught up in the euphoria of seeing his friend in person that, for a moment, he lived in a world where the paparazzi wasn’t a thing. But he didn’t care. Julie saw him and ran through the gardens, a huge grin visible from hundreds of feet away. She ran to him, her gown flowing in the breeze, and as soon as they were within a few feet of each other, Julie jumped and Alex let out an “oof” as he caught her in a hug, spinning around and laughing.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, and Alex nodded.

“Yeah, you too! Even though we, you know, FaceTimed last night.”

“Eh, details. Besides, the press wants a happy reunion.”

“Fair.”

“How was the plane ride?” 

“Amazing,” Alex said. “Nothing better than being on the edge of a panic attack while you’re thousands of feet in the air.”

“I’ll fight your anxiety,” Julie decided. “Tell it to meet me behind the Denny’s tonight.” Alex snorted. 

“I’d rather you didn’t punch my brain. I kinda need it.”

“Do you?” Alex gasped in mock offense.

“Okay, rudeness aside, I think this is the part where we walk around the garden and pretend we don’t know there are photojournalists hiding behind the bushes.” Julie nodded and took his arm.

As they strolled around the gardens, the aroma of flowers settled some of Alex’s nerves. He never turned around to make sure Luke was there, but he somehow knew. It was the Royal Best Dude™ telepathy, probably. And Erik was probably bringing his suitcase up to wherever he would be staying. So, Alex did his best to relax and hang out with his friend.

“Ava’s going to be ascending soon,” he noted. “She’s pumped. Though I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to let a twenty-three year old run a country.” Julie laughed.

“I’m happy for her! And I’m sure she’ll be fine. She knows how to party, for sure, but she’s also responsible. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I’ll let my anxiety know.” Julie burst out laughing, and Alex soon followed. 

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ava Mercer of Tambor,” Julie said. “It has a nice ring to it.” Alex nodded. 

“Yeah. I’m excited for her, too. All jokes aside, I think she’ll make a great queen.”

“Definitely.”

A few moments passed, including Julie gently picking a rose from the garden, one with a pale pink coloring, and sticking it behind Alex’s ear. When it wouldn’t stay, she scrunched her nose and carefully tucked it into the breast pocket of his vest. 

“You look absolutely dashing, your highness,” she said with a fake, posh accent. Alex giggled and rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a dork.”

“I know.” 

…

His room was really something. 

After he and Julie had finished their walk around the gardens, they’d given each other cordial bows (of course tied with a friendly wink, because they were just Like That), and Erik had shown him up to his quarters. Luke followed, and Alex noticed his cheeks were considerably red. 

It was chillier in Dahlia than it was in Tambor, though, and Luke had never been Plus, a breeze had flown in during the last ten minutes of their walk, on which Luke was shadowing. He was probably flushed from the cold air. 

He was down the hall from Julie’s room, in one of the guest rooms he’d used when playing hide-and-seek with Julie when they were kids. But it had been completely refurbished, since he would be staying there for a few months.

The soft carpet was a creamy tan, and the large, full-length mirrors let in sunlight that cast gentle shadows from the posters on the giant bed, which was adorned with blue sheets and pillows, with gold and pink accents. The dark, forest green walls gave the room a soothing effect, and the twinkling fairy lights were like fireflies in a meadow. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, glittering with diamonds and gold. A mahogany record player sat on a media table, along with wireless chargers for his phone and laptop, next to the sliding door that led to a huge bathroom. The tiles were light tan and grey, peppered with flecks of quartz that shimmered in the light. A giant tub sat near a tinted window, as well as a vanity with a majestic painted mirror. The shower could’ve fit his entire bed.

Even though he wasn’t keen on marrying Julie, he wouldn’t dislike his stay here. 

“Dude,” Luke whispered. “Your room is awesome.” 

“I know, right? Definitely nicer than my room in Tambor.” 

As Alex went to his giant suitcase full of neatly folded clothes, beginning to tuck them into drawers and onto hangers, Luke helped out. 

“So,” Alex began, breaking the silence. “How are you liking Dahlia so far?”

“It’s great! Kinda cold, but I’ll get used to it. And… Julie seems really nice.”

Alex definitely didn’t miss Luke’s blush when he mentioned the princess, and his lips raised into a smirk.

“Yeah, she is. You should get to know her at dinner tonight.” Luke cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

“You good?”

“Totally,” he insisted, though his voice rose an octave and Alex couldn’t suppress his laugh. 

“Sure.”

…

The dinner was incredible. Platters of roast beef sat next to giant bowls of mashed potatoes, and the bread appetizers were soft and delicious. And, even though he was legally allowed to have alcohol based on Dahlian laws, he thought better of it, instead filling his glass with water. He noticed that Julie did the same. 

“Not a fan of wine?” he asked. 

“Nah, not really. It always gives me a stomachache.” 

“Same.”

Alex went back to his food, before noticing a man around his age eyeing him. He had dark hair and was dressed in a red vest and dark grey shirt. He seemed quite kind, if the small smile on his face had any say.

“That’s your brother, Reggie, right? I think I’ve only met him once.”

Julie followed Alex’s gaze. “Oh yeah! You would get along great, I think.”

“Cool.”

…

Before dessert was brought up, everyone in the grand hall got to mingle for about twenty minutes and let their food settle. Alex let Julie introduce him to Reggie, with whom he immediately hit it off. 

“No way, you play the drums?” Reggie asked. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m no good.”

“Yeah, I do! You said you play bass?”

“Yep!”

“That’s awesome, dude.”

Their conversation lasted a bit longer, and Alex felt confident that he and Reggie would be good friends, especially because of his lighthearted demeanor, and their bro-hug before Alex was pulled away to talk to another nobleman. 

He was bounced around like a ping-pong ball, being chatted up by guest after guest. Soon, though, he needed some air, so he searched to room for King Ray.

“Your majesty?” he asked, jogging over. Ray turned to him and gave a warm smile, shaking his hand.

“Hello, Alex. You can call me Ray. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, thanks. I was just wondering if I could sneak out the back for a moment? I need some air.” Ray laughed.

“Of course, son. I told them to give you some space,” he noted, guestering to the nobles, “but I doubt they were able to contain their excitement.” Alex nodded, grateful for Ray’s chill vibes. “Try to be back in ten minutes?”

“Of course.”

Ray nodded and patted his shoulder, and Alex stepped through the back door of the grand hall, grateful when he didn’t see anyone. He took a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of his vest. 

A voice caught his ear. 

“-yeah, don’t worry, Alyssa. The mousse is in the refrigerator-” 

Alex whirled around, searching for whoever had spoken, but before he could…

WHAM. 

A cold rush of air blew from behind him as a door opened, and someone ran into him.

Hard.

Alex stumbled forward, trying to catch himself but to no avail. His momentum swung him forward, leaving him on the ground. 

“Whoa!” he started, looking at the person who’d ran him over, and…

Oh fuck, he thought. He’s hot. 

“Agh, sorry, I really need to watch where I’m-” the man cut off, his cheeks flushing. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, your highness.” He scrambled into a bow, and Alex blushed. 

“No, you’re good, bro.” 

Alex got a good look at him, and felt his cheeks flush. He had long, silky brown hair that fell over his shoulders in waves, and smooth brown skin that had darkened in a blush. His dark eyes were kind and playful, adorned with long eyelashes. 

Alex inhaled slowly, trying to ignore the rising gay panic. 

“Are you okay?” the man asked. 

“I’m fine, yeah. Thanks. Just trying to clear my head. Until you, you know, tried to crack it open.” To Alex’s surprise, the man giggled, and holy fuck, if he wasn’t already adorable, that would’ve been the tipping point. Creases folded at the corners of his eyes, and his perfect smile turned lopsided as he laughed. 

“I did pancake you, huh?” Alex tried to laugh, and the man cleared his throat. “Sorry. Oh, uh, I’m Willie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Alex reached for his hand. “Alex,” he greeted, still hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt. 

“Well, I’d better make sure we’re clear to bring up dessert. But I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness,” Willie said with a grin, spinning on his heel and going back to the kitchens. Alex nodded, even though he was already gone. 

-----

Julie POV

...

As soon as Alex’s plane touched down, Julie couldn’t hide her excitement. She rushed through her photos, and as soon as she could see him, she took off running, a huge grin on her face. The silky fabric of her dress flapped against her shins, and she sprinted even faster, ignoring the goosebumps on her arms. 

As soon as she reached him, she jumped into the hug, laughing as he spun her around. They might have FaceTimed the day before, but it just wasn’t the same as seeing him in person. He was one of her best friends, and the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in so long was frankly biphobic. 

But as she spun around, finally opening her eyes, Julie caught sight of Alex’s guard. She’d never formally met him, and she’d always thought he was cute, but wow. 

He had deep hazel eyes and pale skin, cheeks flushed from the cold, his wavy brown hair neatly styled, with a touch of personal flair. His chiseled jawline cast a shadow on his neck, and his biceps were visible through his dark jacket. Julie tried to look away and focus on her friend, because now was the literal worst time to develop a crush on someone she barely knew. 

Not that she had a crush on him, or anything. 

Julie forced those thoughts out of her head, and scolded her stupid heart for fluttering when she caught his gaze. She turned back to Alex, laughing when he insinuated that photojournalists would be hiding behind the bushes. 

“Ava’s going to be ascending soon,” Alex told her. “She’s pumped. Though I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to let a twenty-three year old run a country.” Julie laughed, silently agreeing.

“I’m happy for her! And I’m sure she’ll be fine. She knows how to party, for sure, but she’s also responsible. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I’ll let my anxiety know.” Julie burst out laughing, soon followed by Alex.

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ava Mercer of Tambor,” she said, letting the words flow off her tongue. “It has a nice ring to it.” 

“Yeah. I’m excited for her, too. All jokes aside, I think she’ll make a great queen.”

“Definitely.” There wasn’t a doubt in her voice, either. 

Julie had met Ava when she was eight. Ava had been thirteen, and was the coolest thirteen-year-old ever, in little Julie’s opinion. She vaguely remembered hanging out in her room with her, and thinking she was just the coolest ever. Then again, she was an eight year old. To an eight year old, all thirteen-year-olds are cool (or gross, but we don’t talk about that).

Julie walked with Alex, chatting about random things, including plans to get out of the arranged marriage, each more complicated than the next. Julie couldn’t stop herself from laughing when Alex brought up his temptation to just run into the woods with no supplies or survival skills, and just be a gay forest cryptid. She was quite fond of it, to be honest. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t have any plans that didn’t involve either faking their deaths, or something treasonous, neither of which would be good. At least, not in anyone else’s opinions. 

…

After Alex went up to his room, Julie did the same, and immediately flopped on her bed, finally allowing herself to process her thoughts about, well, everything.

God, she wanted out of this marriage. She knew Alex did as well. They’d talked about it endlessly over FaceTime, texting, and just now, in person. But neither of them could come up with an actual plan or a good enough reason to halt it. Because, you know, the people actually getting married never get a say. 

Plus, it did not help that Alex’s guard, who she’d learned was named Luke, was really cute. She furrowed her brow. She’d never even had a real conversation with the guy. Not that it mattered, of course. She remembered when she was fifteen and had already decided that Nick Danforth-Evans was a sweetheart, even though she’d only had one real conversation with him. 

But this felt different somehow. She couldn’t help but feel like Luke was actually really nice. She just got those vibes from him. She cursed her stupid heart for making her feel things. No, Molina. There’s no such thing as liking a cute guard. 

It didn’t work. 

She stared at her ceiling, watching flecks of dust float around the air, and jumped when Flynn and Carrie walked into her room without knocking. It wasn’t like she actually expected them to knock, but she’d zoned out and the sudden sound took her by surprise. 

“I know that look,” Flynn said matter-of-factly. “What’s the crisis about?”

“What isn’t it about?”

“Uh uh, don’t try to deflect by answering my question with another question,” Flynn scolded, and Carrie bit back a laugh. 

“I just…” she searched for an excuse. “I love that Alex is here, but I don’t want to marry him,” she said, remembering that the best lies were based on the truth. “And he’s gay, so I know for a fact he doesn’t want to marry me. Plus, you know. We’ve expressed that multiple times. And I know there’s really nothing I can do about it, because it’s all arranged, and bitching about it does nothing to help, but honestly? I’m just feeling bitchy.” 

“As you should,” Carrie agreed, to Julie’s surprise. “If anyone deserves to be a little bitchy, it’s you. I mean, come on. You’re a teenage girl who never actually got a normal life because you’re frickin’ Princess Julie Molina, heiress to the throne of Dahlia. And you’re stuck in an arranged marriage with one of your best friends, and neither of you want it, but you can’t actually change it. I’d be bitchy too.”

“Thank you for summing that up,” Julie deadpanned. “But… it helps. Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“She’s right, Jules,” Flynn agreed. “Be the bitchy bisexual you deserve to be.” That elicited a laugh, and Julie couldn’t help but leave the smile resting on her face. 

“Alright,” she decided. “We have self-defense in half an hour, so we should get ready.” Flynn nodded and pulled Julie off of her bed, leading her to the giant walk-in closet, searching the hundreds of options, but steering clear from the gowns. 

Flynn and Carrie must’ve known she needed cheering up, because they sarcastically suggested the biggest, poofiest gowns Julie owned, tied with a tight shawl and the wobbliest heels imaginable. Julie laughed despite herself, especially since she could barely walk in the shoes they’d picked. She was also taller than six feet, which was a plus, but she would pick stability over height any day, especially when she was going to practice kicking people’s asses. 

Eventually, she settled on flexible black leggings with a purple stripe going down the outside of each leg, and a simple white tunic that starkly contrasted her dark skin. It was fitted but she could move easily in it, stretching into a backbend to make sure. 

She sighed and allowed Flynn and Carrie to take either arm and lead her downstairs to the training arena. 

…

The training arena was a huge room, the floors completely covered in mats, aside from the giant gymnastic trampolines at the far corner and the running track that traversed the perimeter. On the far side opposite the trampolines were sets of weights and treadmills, as well as other equipment like bars and benches. Punching bags were hung sporadically around the martial arts area, which was also used for tumbling and floor routines. 

Lady Athena gave a smile as they walked in, soon followed by Reggie and Mira. Lady Athena was a tall, muscular woman with silky black hair that was always in a high ponytail. Her bronze skin glittered with sweat, and her two-piece athleisure outfit left her chiseled abs on display. 

“Alright,” she said, clapping her hands. “Reggie, since you’re bigger, you’re with me. You four, pair up and practice your hand-to-hand skills. Remember the blocks we learned last week.” Julie nodded and paired with Flynn, immediately getting into position.

“Head’s up,” she warned with a smirk, before lunging with a punch that would’ve hit Flynn square in the chest if not for her catlike reflexes. She knocked Julie’s hand out of the way, and Julie had to twist to avoid Flynn’s counterattack, letting herself lean backwards. But when she almost fell, she used it to her advantage, hopping backwards onto one hand and spinning, tripping Flynn by kicking her feet out from under her. Before Flynn could recover, Julie pounced over her, grabbing her shirt collar and pulling her fist back, ready to attack. She didn’t follow through, obviously, but she knew she had good form. 

“Well done, your highness,” praised Lady Athena. Julie blushed.

“Thanks.”

“Whatever,” Flynn grumbled, and Julie laughed. “Rematch?”

“You’re on.”

…

Julie had defeated Flynn four times to two, and was feeling very confident. It must’ve helped, exercising, because her worries about Alex and Luke were far away as she battled Carrie and then Mira. Or, they were until a certain brunette guard walked in the room in a sleeveless shirt and shorts that showed off his muscles. 

She shouldn’t have let herself get distracted, though, because in her haze, Mira managed to throw her off balance and win their round. 

“Hah! That’s two each!” She outstretched her hand, which Julie gratefully accepted, pulling her up. 

“Good job,” she said, still distracted but keeping her eyes far away from Luke. 

“Hi, is this the self-defense lesson?” Luke asked, and Julie could no longer ignore him. 

“It is,” Lady Athena confirmed. “You’re Prince Alexander’s guard, correct?”

“And certified Royal Best Dude™,” he added with a grin that was so adorable it made Julie flush. By some miracle, nobody noticed. 

“Alright, why don’t you train with Reggie? He can show you what we’re working on. I need to go make sure nobody’s going to throw out their back at the weights.” With that, Lady Athena stalked off, her ponytail swaying behind her. 

Luke walked over to Reggie, and Julie did her best not to stare as Reggie guided Luke, and they began sparring. Luke was surprisingly agile, but he was too enthusiastic, reaching for every possible blow, not realizing where he left himself vulnerable. But his puppy eyes when Reggie defeated him were too cute. 

Julie cleared her throat and turned away. 

“Tiebreaker?” Mira nodded, and they went to sparring. Julie ducked and dodged every hit of Mira’s, even getting in a few herself, but she was thrown off when she heard Luke laugh, a musical, joyful sound, and Mira took advantage of her momentary slip, finally beating her. 

“Yes!” Mira jumped and pumped her fist, then helped Julie up. 

“Nice job!” Julie grinned with the words, high-fiving Mira. 

“Alright, break time.”

Julie walked to the edge of the wall where she’d left her water bottle and towel, almost choking on her water when she heard Luke’s voice behind her. 

“Your highness?” he asked shyly. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.” Julie smiled and outstretched her hand, shaking Luke’s. “I’m Alex’s guard, Luke.”

“Hi! You can call me Julie,” she said with a smile, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too! Oh, by the way, great job during your fights. I saw your takedown on the other girl, the one with the braids.”

“Oh, that’s Flynn.”

“Cool. But yeah, I saw your fight, and that was really impressive. I doubt I could spin on one hand like you did.” 

Well.

If Julie hadn’t been blushing before, she certainly was now. At least Luke’s cheeks were only red because of the intense workouts. 

“It took me forever to get that move right,” she admitted. “I only just got it down, if I’m being honest. I still slip up sometimes, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he complimented. And oh, his smile really was a beautiful thing. 

“Alright, break time’s over,” called Lady Athena. “No more flirting.” Julie’s stomach dropped, and she inhaled, a denial already on her tongue, before she realized that her coach was looking at Flynn and Carrie, who were chatting animatedly, both blushing. 

She practiced a bit more with Carrie, doing her best to ignore the boy next to her. When the class finally ended, she hurriedly thanked Lady Athena before rushing up to shower.

Letting the hot water wash over her, she pondered how the hell Luke had wiggled his way into her heart so quickly within one conversation. 

Was she being brainwashed into liking a guy she barely knew?

Was this some elaborate trick that whatever higher being existed had orchestrated as a ploy to get her out of the arranged marriage?

… And more importantly, would it work? 

The thought made her laugh. Not that she didn’t slightly believe this was all some sort of elaborate trick to get her to commit treason and fall in love with someone she wasn’t supposed to, but it was funny nonetheless.

…

After she’d done her best to set the record for hottest, soapiest shower possible, Julie wrapped herself in a towel, massaging peach lotion into her skin, the scent matching her shampoo. As she rubbed it into her hands, she imagined what it would feel like holding Luke’s hand, before quickly banishing the thought away to the depths of simpy hell.

This was worse than she thought. 

She changed into her evening gown for the dinner, allowing Mira to lace up the back. It was all navy blue, a long strapless dress that reached her ankles, with a see-through tulle layer over top that went up to a sleeveless halter neckline, leaving the rest of the tulle layer to flow down neatly over the rest of the silky dress, which tightened at the waist. Tiny diamonds had been sewn into the tulle at her waist, high in concentration before gently tapering off the lower in the skirt they went.

“Okay,” Carrie said, walking in with Flynn beside her. “I think I speak for everyone when I say, damn. That dress is fine.” Flynn nodded enthusiastically. 

“I know, right?” Mira said excitedly. “I actually helped tailor this one! It was one of my favorites to make.”

“And for a good reason,” Julie agreed. “Mira, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Not quite,” she said, turning Julie towards the vanity. “I’m thinking we do something simple but elegant for your hair?”

“I vote for that,” Flynn interjected. 

“Sure!”

Mira set to work, combing through Julie’s hair with her fingers. Julie closed her eyes. She’d always loved the feeling of people playing with her hair, and as Mira wove her dark locks into two thick braids that soon joined together, letting the rest of her hair poof at the base of her neck, Julie was transported back to her mother’s room when she was five. She remembered the feeling of her mother braiding her hair like it was yesterday, the gentle tugs and nimble fingers on her scalp. It wasn’t the same with Mira, of course, but it was refreshing and comforting at the same time. 

“Hey, Jules?” Flynn called from her closet.

“Mm?”

“Mind if I steal that asymmetrical dress for tonight? The jade one,” she clarified. 

“Feel free!”

The dress in mind was a slim-fitting jade green dress that reached her knees, but the hem was cut asymmetrically, leaving one side longer than the other. It had golden ribbon-like threads spun around it with no particular rhyme or reason, and a built-in sash made of pale, spring green tulle roses. The thin straps showed off her shoulders, and when Flynn walked out with it on, Julie noticed Carrie blush.

“Dude, you look awesome,” Julie complimented. Flynn twirled, letting the light play off of the shimmery fabric.

“Thanks!”

Mira finished doing Julie’s hair, and held up a mirror for her to see. Julie admired the thick, smooth braids that gently rejoined at the base of her neck, letting the rest of her dark curls loose in an elegant fashion.

“It’s amazing, Mira! Thank you so much.”

“Of course! And thank you for letting me do it,” she said with a giggle. “Your hair is so fun to style.” Julie blushed. 

…

The dinner was rather uneventful, thankfully. Julie wasn’t sure if she would’ve had the energy to constantly be answering questions. Instead, though, she got to introduce people to each other, and relax and eat, and try to keep her eyes away from a certain hazel-eyed guard.

She was grateful for the relatively simple task.

-----

Luke POV

...

Luke had heard about the self-defense classes in the training arena, and he was itching to get moving, so he changed into workout clothes and headed down there. 

The spiral staircase was wide and glittered with colored glass, the silver banisters gleaming in the light. He trailed his hand down it as he made his way down.

When he reached the training arena, he closed the door behind him and went to set down his water bottle and towel- but not before noticing Julie.

At the self-defense class.

Thankfully, she didn’t see him. He hung back for a moment, watching as she sparred with another girl with long braids. The way she moved was incredible, like water flowing in a current, unpredictable and smooth. Of course, if anyone asked, he was most certainly not admiring it. He could silently appreciate her skills, though.

As she dodged hit after hit, throwing her own blocks and blows, it looked like the girl with braids had gotten the better of her, but as Julie leaned backwards, she hopped and - holy fuck - caught herself on one hand, spinning around in the air like some sort of ethereal breakdancer, and knocking the other girl’s feet out from under her, before pouncing, grabbing her shirt collar, and pulling back her fist, before freezing and laughing. 

Whoa. 

So not only was she a wicked beauty, Luke realized, she was a human wrecking ball, too. 

He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from the beautiful badass in front of him, tuning out Lady Athena’s praise in favor of clearing his head before approaching to join. Not that it worked. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Julie. The other three girls (and the guy, if he was being honest) were all stunningly fit and agile, but there was something about Julie that enchanted him. The way she was always smiling even in the middle of a training fight, how, even when she was defeated, she brushed it off with a laugh, how she was light on her feet like a cat as she dodged and spun, how she was needlessly extravagant with her self-defense and yet somehow always made it work. Maybe that’s just what princesses were like; even when defending themselves against possible attackers, they had to be as beautiful as ever. 

Of course, right now, Luke knew she didn’t look how she normally would, in her silky gowns and expertly styled hair. Now, she wore matching athletic clothes and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, with some strands coming out in a sweaty frizz. And yet, that somehow just made her even more breathtaking. Even when she was sweaty and working out, she managed to look like an angel.

An angel who could easily kick his ass, he remembered as she pulled the upside-down-one-handed-breakdancer move again, this time on a redheaded girl he didn’t recognize. 

Before he could stop himself, he approached Lady Athena. 

“Hi, is this the self-defense lesson?” He asked the woman.  

“It is,” Lady Athena confirmed, and he nodded.. “You’re Prince Alexander’s guard, correct?”

“And certified Royal Best Dude™,” he added with a grin. He would never let go of that title.

“Alright, why don’t you train with Reggie? He can show you what we’re working on. I need to go make sure nobody’s going to throw out their back at the weights.” Luke nodded again as Lady Athena walked away.

He walked over to Reggie, shaking his hand.

“Hey, I’m Luke,” he introduced with a smile. Reggie shot one back.

“Reggie!”

“Nice to meet you! So, do we just… fight? I’m not sure how this is run here compared to in Tambor.” Reggie laughed. 

“Yeah, pretty much. You good at hand-to-hand?”

“I’m not bad,” he admitted. “But I’m no expert.” He couldn’t help looking at Julie. “Is she always that much of a badass?” Reggie followed his eyes to Julie. 

“Pretty much,” he said with a laugh, and Luke dearly hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“Good to know. In that case, if I introduce myself to her, how scared should I be?” He asked it with a smile and a joking tone, but he was actually a bit nervous. But, you know, just because he now knew that she could kick his ass seven ways to Sunday.

No other reason.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Reggie assured him. “She’s actually really nice. I’ve known her since she was eight,” he explained. Luke nodded, grateful for the reassurance.

“Alrighty then,” he said, hopping into a fighting stance. “Let’s get cracking.” 

…

By “let’s get cracking,” he was hoping he wouldn’t be cracking his ego, but he was sorely mistaken. Reggie didn’t seem like it, but he was really strong, and really good at fighting. Luke was more agile than him, and strength-wise he could compare, but the Dahlian style of fighting was so different from the Tamborian style. They were similar in many ways, of course; they had the same moves and strategies. But the ways they moved were so different, the ways they executed their moves had an uncanny grace and deadliness.

He did his best, reaching for every blow he could, trying to get the upper hand. And, to his credit, he won a few rounds. But he accidentally left himself vulnerable most of the time, leaving perfect opportunities for his opponent to strike, because Of Course He Did. 

When they called for a break, Luke wiped his forehead with a towel, grabbing a drink of water. Then, he swallowed the lump in his throat and approached Julie.

“Your highness?” he asked shyly. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.” Luke tried not to blush when she smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Alex’s guard, Luke.”

“Hi! You can call me Julie,” she said with a gorgeous grin, and Luke knew he was a goner. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too! Oh, by the way, great job during your fights. I saw your takedown on the other girl, the one with the braids.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he mentally kicked himself. Not smooth, Patterson. What if she thought he was creepy? 

Thankfully, though, she smiled.

“Oh, that’s Flynn!”

“Cool,” he said, relieved. Nice and smooth, Patterson. “But yeah, I saw your fight, and that was really impressive. I doubt I could spin on one hand like you did.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck nervously, and he couldn’t help but feel accomplished when Julie’s cheeks flushed. Of course, his were probably just as red, but hopefully he could blame it on the workout.

“It took me forever to get that move right,” she admitted. “I only just got it down, if I’m being honest. I still slip up sometimes, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he complimented with a smile. And it wasn’t a lie, either. 

“Alright, break time’s over,” called Lady Athena. “No more flirting.” Luke cleared his throat, getting ready to insist that he wasn’t flirting, before he realized that Lady Athen was looking at Flynn and another redheaded girl, who were chatting animatedly, both blushing. He sighed in relief. 

As he went back to sparring with Reggie, zoned out but fighting just as well as he was before, maybe even better, he pondered Julie’s abilities. How did she manage to be so beautiful, so graceful, and yet so kind and badass? It shouldn’t have been possible for any one human to do that all, much less a teenage girl who was already juggling the responsibilities of being a princess. 

Julie was, Luke realized, even more incredible than he’d ever thought possible.

…

All throughout the dinner, he was trying not to stare at Julie. Her dress was absolutely gorgeous, and the way she flitted around the room like a butterfly was absolutely ethereal. Tie that with the diamonds sewn into her navy blue dress that looked like fading stars and twinkled in the light, and she looked like she was wrapped in starlight. He knew it was appropriate for that star of a woman, but still, he thought it should’ve been illegal for anyone to have that effect on him. 

His cheeks were red, and he stared at his plate, inhaling the scent of roast beef and mashed potatoes, along with the aroma of warm bread from his appetizer. 

Even with the cool air of Dahlia and his thin shirt and suit vest, he was still sweating. He was absolutely gone for a girl he’d only had one conversation with, a girl he’d only known for a maximum of five hours. 

A girl who his best friend was being forced to marry. 

That was the worst part of all of this. His best friend, who would never be in love with Julie no matter how good of friends they were, had to marry her because of goddamn international relations, and there was nothing he could do about it. And, a selfish part of him thought, it means you never had a chance. He shoved the thoughts out of his head, hating the lingering ache they left in his heart. 

Not that he would’ve ever had a chance anyway. She was a beautiful, badass princess, and he was just a guard she didn’t even know. 

-----

Reggie POV

...

As soon as the plane landed on the runway behind the palace, Reggie smiled at Julie, letting go of her hand as she readied herself.

He understood her worry. No matter how close you are with someone, being set to marry them - especially when you didn’t want to - was daunting. Of course, he’d never been through the same thing, but he was always an empathetic person, and he could practically feel his own sister’s worry and ache.

He saw Prince Alexander walking to the gardens, and smiled when Julie broke into a grin, running to him. He twirled rose petals between his fingers, letting out a small laugh when she jumped into Alex’s arms. He didn’t want to seem like a helicopter brother, though, so he went back inside, leaving Jules with Prince Alexander. 

When he stepped inside, he nearly ran into Ray.

“Whoa, sorry!” Ray laughed. 

“You’re perfectly fine, mijo. Everything okay?” Reggie sighed.

“I’m just worried for Julie. I’ve never really gotten to know Prince Alexander, and-”

“I’ll stop you there,” Ray said. “Believe me, I know what you mean, and if I could stop it without huge consequences, I would. But Alex isn’t someone you need to worry about. That boy is one of the sweetest, kindest people I’ve ever met,” he assured him. “And while I know neither of them want to get married, I know that they’re both mature, and good friends.”

“Thanks,” Reggie sighed. “I just wish I could get her out of it, you know? I mean, that’s my little sister.”

“I understand,” the king agreed. “But unfortunately, there isn’t anything to be done other than let Alex settle in.” Reggie nodded glumly. “Hey, wasn’t there a progression you wanted to show me? On your bass?” Ray clarified. Reggie immediately lit up. 

“Yeah! Julie and I have been working on a song called Icarus, and she’s got a killer piano melody worked out. I went off of some of her chords and found a super cool progression on my bass that adds a really nice line underneath hers, and it sounds-” he did the chef’s kiss thing with his hand- “divine.”

“Alright, well now I’ve gotta see it!” Reggie’s grin lit up even more and he ran to his room, followed by Ray, who was jogging behind him. 

Reggie’s room was huge, the walls painted dark blue. He’d always found the color soothing. He snatched his red and white bass guitar from its stand, spinning on his heel as he ducked under the strap, letting it settle by his waist. 

When Ray met him there, Reggie grinned, plucking the strings animatedly until he remembered the notes. He didn’t bother grabbing his phone to try and find them from wherever he’d written them down in the endless scrolling of his notes app. Soon, though, his chaotic ADHD brain remembered, and he began excitedly plucking specific notes in a rhythmic pattern, his fingers stretching to reach each fret as he hopped from the E string to A, then G back to E and D. He smiled even brighter when he saw Ray grinning and tapping his foot to the beat.

“So, it kinda just goes like that, until we get to the chorus. Then, I come in with a little…” he slid his finger down the string, letting the note slide down before he hopped back into the rhythm, the same notes as before, but ordered differently, giving a new feel to the music. 

He hopped around, spinning as he played his bass, humming the lyrics under his breath.

“That sounds super cool, mijo!” Ray exclaimed, one eyebrow furrowed, as was custom for him whenever he was excited. Reggie hopped up and down happily, fixing the cuff of one of his sleeves. 

“Thanks! Julie and I are gonna try to record it. I’m trying to learn how to play the drums, to add a steady beat, but I can’t seem to figure it out.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it soon.” Reggie beamed. “I’m so sorry, mijo, I have to go. I’d love to hear more later or tomorrow, though!”

“Okay,” Reggie said. “Bye!” He continued playing marking down cool progressions he found, and just hopping around to get out his wiggles. 

…

At the self-defense class, he sparred with Lady Athena. Sometimes he would spar with Julie or Flynn, but even though she was no doubt better at fighting, he was also bigger, and she was paired with Flynn. 

Lady Athena was amazing at fighting, and Reggie got his ass kicked most of the time, but he was able to win a couple rounds, which he was quite proud of. Lady Athena complimented his form, and he had no doubt that he would be gathering serotonin from that compliment for weeks. Even then, though, he got plenty from seeing his badass little sister master her insane breakdance-style move, with which she completely demolished Flynn in a few seconds. His chest swelled with pride when she won.

Soon, though, a man named Luke entered the studio, and Reggie definitely didn’t miss Julie’s blush when she looked at him. She might’ve been supposed to marry Alex, but it wasn’t like either of them wanted it. Plus, he was always down for a little treason, especially if it was with Julie. 

Lady Athena paired Luke with Reggie, perfect timing for her to go check on some of the other people in the arena. 

“Hey, I’m Luke,” the man introduced with a smile. Reggie gave his trademark grin.

“Reggie!” He outstretched his hand, and Luke shook it. 

“Nice to meet you! So, do we just… fight?” Luke asked. “I’m not sure how this is run here compared to in Tambor.” Reggie laughed. He’d never sparred with anyone from Tambor before, so this would be fun.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You good at hand-to-hand?”

“I’m not bad, but I’m no expert.” Reggie followed his gaze as it shifted over to Julie. “Is she always that much of a badass?” He asked, clearly in awe.

“Pretty much,” Reggie replied with a laugh, grinning at Luke’s blush.

Simp.

“Good to know. In that case, if I introduce myself to her, how scared should I be?” Luke was fiddling with the hem of his shirt by that point. 

“Oh, don’t worry!” Reggie assured him. “She’s actually really nice. I’ve known her since she was eight,” he explained.

“Alrighty then,” he said, hopping into a fighting stance. “Let’s get cracking.” Reggie grinned and reciprocated, taking the first strike. 

The first thing he learned was that Luke was very opportunistic in his fighting style. He went for nearly every possible blow, even if it meant leaving himself vulnerable. Reggie, of course, took advantage of this. He had to make sure his new friend (and sister’s possible future treasonous boyfriend) knew he could protect people. 

Luke pouted, and Reggie couldn’t help but admit that he had adorable puppy eyes. 

He helped him up, laughing. A few more sparring rounds passed, and Luke turned out to be quite adaptable. He found ways to get past Reggie’s blocks, and even put some up himself. Soon, they were evenly matched, and Reggie was impressed. Although, he soon found that he could get in another blow by telling a horrible joke, then striking when Luke laughed.

He thought it was pretty genius.

…

The dinner was rather uneventful. He did, however, get to meet Prince Alexander, which he was very happy about - even more so now that he was confident in Ray’s assurance that he was a good person. They’d chatted about politics and whatnot, before both admitting that they were bored. Somehow, the conversation strayed to music.

“No way, you play the drums?” Reggie asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’m no good.”

“Yeah, I do! You said you play bass?”

“Yep!” He beamed, making a mental note to ask if he wanted to see, sometime later.

“That’s awesome, dude.”

“Thanks!” 

They talked for a little while longer, before Alex was pulled away to talk to some other Dahlian nobleman whose name Reggie kept forgetting. Plus, Alex seemed tired; unsurprising, given the long day he must’ve had. 

Reggie eventually settled down and ran through his thoughts.

He knew he couldn’t protect Julie, not like he wanted to. Plus, she didn’t need protecting, he’d come to realize after Luke’s “badass” comment at the training arena. Julie Molina wasn’t just a badass in self-defense, she was also a badass in every other sense of the word. She was a teenage girl, the heiress to the Dahlian throne, juggling her academic lessons and royal lessons, along with making time for her friends, free time, and she managed to (usually) get enough sleep. She was a complete badass who didn’t need protecting. 

She needed support, instead. That was something Reggie could do. He could be by her side every step of the way, no matter how hard it got. He was her brother, and he loved her more than life itself, loved every crooked smile, every curl of hair, every eye roll after one of his famously bad jokes. She didn’t deserve any of this, but by God, he’d do his best to make it bearable for her. 

-----

Willie POV

...

After lunch, the burn on Willie’s hand had calmed. Rather than the angry red mark it was earlier, it had shrunk into an annoyed red streak. Still a nuisance, but he didn’t really care.

As Willie whipped the mousse, his mind strayed to Prince Alexander. 

What was he like? Was he as cute in person as he was in photos? Probably, Willie decided. Photos never fully captured someone’s beauty unless they knew what they were looking for, and that was always more of an emotion. Photojournalists aimed for lighting and composition. There were always emotion in the photos, yes, but they never actually got to see the people in the photo. 

He wondered if he would get to meet him. Would it go well? Would he like the bread he’d so carefully baked? Would he enjoy the mousse cake he was whipping up right now? All of these questions whirled around in Willie’s brain as he whipped the mousse, letting it become airy and fluffy. Sprinkles of cocoa powder dusted the counter next to his mixing bowl, but it was fine. It would all get wiped up later. 

He grabbed a tub of fine cinnamon, sprinkling in a pinch for a little bit of kick. It was barely noticeable, but it gave the mousse an extra depth that it normally would’ve lacked. He’d never told anyone his secret, despite prying from Lilian. 

Sprinkling in a tiny bit more to account for the large batch, his thoughts wandered again.

How was Princess Julie dealing with all of this? Willie had never had a real conversation with her, but she seemed to be very well put-together. She managed everything so well, at least from the outside. Though he knew better than anyone that, no matter how organized someone may seem, there’s always a storm underneath. 

Willie finished up, putting plastic wrap over the mousse and sticking it in the giant refrigerator, before taking off his apron, washing his hands, and heading for the door.

“Willie?” Called Alyssa from behind him. He turned around, walking backwards. 

“Yeah? I’m just going on break.”

“Did you finish making the mousse?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Alyssa,” he said, walking out the door. The mousse is in the refrigerator-” 

WHAM. 

Willie let out a slight “oof” as he ran into the person in the hallway.

He stumbled, catching himself before he fell, though not as gracefully as he would’ve liked. He’d fared better than the other person, though. 

“Whoa!” The man said.

“Agh, sorry, I really need to watch where I’m-” Willie cut himself off, his cheeks flushing as he realized he’d just ran into Prince Alexander.

Well, so much for making a good impression.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, your highness.” He scrambled into a bow, and blushed. 

“No, you’re good, bro.” Willie was taken aback by the casual response, but he wasn’t complaining. 

Willie finally got a good look at him, and wasn’t at all surprised when he found that he was even more stunning in person.Of course, it made it a whole lot harder to hide his gay panic.

He had blonde hair that was expertly styled, and a crisp, blue suit vest with minimalistic gold embroidery that brought out flecks of blue in his eyes and highlights in his hair. His muscles were defined and visible through the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and even when he was frazzled after just having been knocked over, he still looked as handsome as ever.

“Are you okay?” Willie asked, concerned. 

“I’m fine, yeah. Thanks. Just trying to clear my head. Until you, you know, tried to crack it open.” Willie couldn’t help himself from laughing, and dearly hoped it wasn’t the wrong move. But the prince had a small smile on his face and pink dusting his cheeks, so he had a feeling it was okay.

“I did pancake you, huh?” He tried to laugh, and Willie nervously cleared his throat. “Sorry. Oh, uh, I’m Willie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Willie outstretched his hand, delighted when the other man shook it. “Alex,” he greeted, still blushing a little bit, which could be chalked up to the embarrassment of being plowed over. Willie was worried things would get awkward soon, so he searched for an excuse, hating that he had to leave.

“Well, I’d better make sure we’re clear to bring up dessert,” he said. “But I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness,” Willie added with a grin, spinning on his heel and going back to the kitchens, hoping Alex hadn’t noticed his internal gay panic.

…

“Well, that was a quick break,” Alyssa pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Willie agreed, not fully listening. 

He’d fucking pancaked the prince. Prince Alexander Mercer of Tambor. And Willie, despite his constant hoping for a good impression, ran him over because he wasn’t even watching where he was going. 

How the hell was he such a mess? And even more, how would he ever be accepted by literal royalty who was way too cute to even exist? 

Willie shook his head, letting his hair fall over his shoulders, ignoring the feeling of Alyssa’s eyes on him as he walked into the giant refrigerated room, grabbing the huge bowl of chocolate mousse and scooping it into a piping bag, grabbing some of the chilled cakes.

His hands were steady and meticulous as he gently piped the mousse onto the cakes, making a thick layer on top of each, then lifting into a swirl that peaked in the center, adorning each cake with a bit of wafer and chocolate. He set each one on a tray, waiting for Alyssa to pick it up. Plating was her specialty, because according to Lilian, any time Willie did plating, it ended up “chaotic” and “messy” and “unorthodox.” Personally, he thought it was cool. But, not everyone could have taste, he supposed. 

…

Later that night, as he wandered into his small room in the chefs’ quarters, laying down on the soft bed, his mind wandered to Alex. Despite constantly being on the news, he was a mystery, an enigma, a puzzle Willie had the urge to solve. What were his interests? His desires? His hopes, his dreams? 

Of course, he would never be able to act on his feelings about the prince, how adorably awkward he was, how gorgeous he was in any outfit, no matter the style, how even in one simple conversation, Willie had become so enamoured that he wanted to know everything about him. Not in a creepy way, of course, but in the way one wishes to know someone they’ve just met, who intrigues them to no end. 

That night, his dreams were haunted by a familiar face, a shy smile, and a piercing set of bluish eyes.

[starlightinhumanform]

Discordant

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Platonic Logince

Summary: Based on the amazing @tscampfireau (specifically this brilliant ask)!!~   When Logan gets caught up in questioning his identity, he can’t sleep and he knows that if stays in that tent any longer, he may actually lose his mind. He didn’t consider that playing his guitar in the middle of the night would wake one of his friends up.

Warnings (in order of strength): Some Angst, Discussions of Gender/Sexuality, Mild Language Throughout, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Angst With a Happy Ending, Human (Highschool) AU

A/N: You don’t need to be familiar with this AU to understand this fic, but your life will be so so much better if you do check it out. I honestly enjoyed writing this so much. My love for music and the outdoors really popped out in this and I love the characters in this universe. Also I got the opportunity to stretch my platonic-writing muscles! It was so interesting to talk about questioning when that’s something I’m very familiar with. But enough rambling!!  I hope you like reading this as much I enjoyed writing it! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Logan stared at the thick woven thread that made up the material of above him. It was dark green, just thin enough to allow the moon’s glow to bleed through. Outside, the crickets sang brightly and the sound seemed to beckon him through the zippered door of the tent.

In the sleeping bag next to him, Remus was snoring at a volume level that could rival a chainsaw. Logan hardly knew this guy, but his breathing pattern was becoming increasingly ingrained in Logan’s brain.

He was tired and his head hurt but sleep was apparently not an option. Too many thoughts buzzed around in his head, filling his mind with a drone that built up pressure and made it hard to do anything but stare with glazed over eyes.

It was suffocating. It was overwhelming. It was wrong. Logan was supposed to be the one who knew everything, who always had things under control and had the answer to every question. But he didn’t have the answers- not this time, not about himself.

Logan turned his head to stare at the sleeping teenagers next to him. He had taken the spot closest to the edge of the tent so from here, he could see the entire group packed next to each other in the too-small-for-all-of-them tent. They all looked so peaceful, passed out after a day of questionable shenanigans in the surrounding woods.

Logan didn’t even try to push away the twinges of envy that were creeping into his mind. He wanted the peace that they had- and he didn’t just mean sleep. Everyone else in this tiny little tent was so sure of themselves; they knew exactly who they were and what they were. Even Virgil (who was generally excepted by all as The Baby) was comfortable and open about their nonbinary identity. They had all seemingly outgrown their questioning stages of life. And here was Logan. Stuck. Glitching. Like a thread of himself had gotten snagged and now the whole thing was unraveling.

He didn’t know who he liked or how he liked them. He didn’t know who he was. And it was eating him away.

Logan threw his head back into the pillow behind him. He just wanted to close his eyes and drift to darkness, ignore all of the question marks in his head until later. But if the past few hours proved anything, it was that he wasn’t going to sleep tonight. It would make more sense just to give up on the whole futile attempt.

He glanced sideways again at the pile. None of the others had shifted in minutes. They wouldn’t notice if he got up and left for a few minutes, would they? On his other side, his guitar was wedged between the side of the tent and his sleeping bag. He could just grab it and leave for a little while and the others would never notice.

Before Logan was really conscious of his actions, he was already tiptoeing past the tangle of bodies with the neck of his guitar in his grip.

The relief of stepping outside was physical. His shoulders relaxed immediately and the pressure in his head subsided. A warm breeze played the scent of firs through his hair. Far above, the stars stared down like a thousand shining eyes. He gazed back lovingly.

A few feet ahead of him, the last embers of the fire were quietly fading away. He grimaced slightly at the fact that the other hadn’t put the fire out completely but he couldn’t help appreciating the beauty of the warm glow that burrowed out from the dead ashes.

Logan sat down on one of the logs they had rolled over earlier. The quietness was starting to creep back over him; the charm of the crickets fading to white noise the colour of dirty snow as a thousand questions regained their throne in his mind.

He hung his head and tried to memorize the patchwork of leaves and pine needles beneath his bare feet. There was no pattern- just a mess. It reminded Logan of himself. Logan liked things that were clear and made sense but no matter how hard he tried, he could find nothing familiar or reasonable within himself.

Logan strummed a chord. He didn’t even think about it, no thought going towards the note or the sound he was creating. He just wanted to feel it. Strings pressing into the pads of his fingertips. Neck lying securely in his palm. Body resting against his lap. Vibration moving comfortingly from the guitar to his chest.

His fingers swept down the neck, catching the next note before the echo of the last had a chance to fade away. He found another note and chased it all the way up to the second fret. His fingers danced over the strings, weaving together a melody as his thoughts wandered else where.

Logan had spent years thinking he was straight; it was kind of the “default” of society. But then he learned that guys were an option and, hey, that sounded kind of nice too. When he hit middle school, people started to talk about attraction- er- differently and he thought maybe he was asexual. But that didn’t feel quite right either. It made him wonder exactly how he felt at all.  For a while he wondered if he had ever been attracted to anyone. He thought for sure he would know what love was like. Maybe he just hadn’t experienced it yet. Maybe he was just a late bloomer. Maybe he had felt it and just didn’t know it.

He was brought back to reality when a drop of water hit the top of his hand. He blinked up the sky, trying to find the source of rain in the cloudless sky. He squinted up at the stars, damp eyelashes flickering against his skin. It was only then that he realized he was crying, tears dripping off of his cheekbones and running off of his jaw.

He shook his head and started playing again. He was pressing against the fretboard so hard that his fingers were beginning to feel like he had been playing for an hour. The muscles in his hand were sore and he could feel the strings digging little trenches into his skin. He ignored the sensation and picked the rhythm up.

Things didn’t get easier when gender butted its ugly head into the discussion. It changed everything. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to change everything and maybe it shouldn’t have changed everything but to Logan, it did. How the hell was Logan supposed to put a finger on his sexuality if he didn’t even have a gender to contextualize it in? Logan kept using the same pronouns because it was easier, because maybe he was just imaging it, because maybe he just wanted attention. He just wanted a box to check, just tiny little square he could stand in and say “Hey this feels ok.”

The body of his guitar dug sharply into Logan’s chest as a shuddering sob brought him slumping forward. He didn’t stop playing. He couldn’t stop playing. It was the only thing that he he understood right now.

He let the weight of his body fall completely over the curve of the guitar. The hum of the strings carried directly from the instrument and into his chest where it echoed back until he wasn’t even sure where the sound was coming from. It was just one long harmony, tiny whimpers mixing with melancholy strums that called into the darkness around him. If only an answer would step out of those empty, lonely woods.

Logan started as a hand landed lightly across his shoulders, causing him to jump and spin around.

Roman was standing there, one of Remus’ old volleyball jerseys hanging off of him and making him look like a neon-coloured ghost. His hair stuck up at ridiculous angles but his face couldn’t be more serious, “Logan? Are you ok?”

Logan hurried to wipe his face clear of tears, “Oh yeah. Why are you out here?”

Roman laughed without humor as he took a seat down next to Logan, “I think I could ask you the same thing.”

“I just couldn’t sleep,” Logan shrugged.

“So you decided to play your guitar loud enough to wake me up?”

Logan stared into the maze of trees so didn’t have to look at Roman, “Sorry about that.”

Next to him, Logan heard Roman sigh, “No you don’t have to apologize. I just want to know what’s wrong.”

Logan kept staring a mile ahead. He wasn’t exactly the best at talking about things like this, about himself. Besides he hadn’t ever mentioned this to anyone before. Whenever the others discussed their sexualities or genders he would step back and go quiet, walled off by his own confusion. He didn’t know how to join the conversation when his experience seemed so, so different than theirs. He would probably seem like an alien to them- so unsure of himself while they seemed so comfortable. Maybe they would decide he didn’t belong after all. He didn’t know how to join the conversation and he sure as hell didn’t know how to begin it.

But maybe now was the time to try, “Roman, have you ever felt lost?”

“You do remember how we met, right?” Logan could hear the ruthful smile that tugged on Roman’s mouth.

Logan turned to face him, unsure of where exactly this was going, “Yeah. In our freshman year.”

“Your freshman year. My repeat year.”

“Oh. Right,” Logan didn’t know what to say; he got the feeling he wasn’t really supposed to say anything yet.

Roman nodded like he was having a silent conversation in his head with someone else and they had just made a good point, “The year before and the start of that year, I had never felt more lost in my life. I couldn’t keep up with the year I was supposed to be with. I didn’t fit in with the incoming class and I didn’t know anyone there. I was separated from my twin for the first time ever. And I was still struggling to come to terms with my identity as a guy. I was cut off from my friends, my family, the people around me, even myself.”

“So what changed?”

“I met you,” Roman smiled warmly.

Logan felt his eyebrows weave together, “How did I do anything?”

“You gave me a place to stand, somewhere safe that I always knew would be there while I figured everything else out. You gave me a friend. You were always so there that you gave me the room to find myself.”

“Oh,” But that was exactly the problem. Because he wasn’t there, he had no clue where he was.

“So yes,” Roman bumped his shoulder into Logan’s, “I’ve been lost before. And you helped me find myself and my friends and even my brother again.”

“Oh,” Logan cursed in his head. He must sound stupid, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Roman leaned sideways to nudge Logan with his shoulder again, “You obviously didn’t ask me that just so you could hear some sappy rant; what’s up?”

Logan moved the guitar off of his lap and set it down in an attempt to buy time. He was staring off again, half hoping that if he stared into the dark woods long enough he would just melt into them. The other half wanted to explode and tell Roman every single thought bouncing through his mind. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, “I’m lost.”

“Ok,” Roman spoke slowly, confusion evident in his tone as he began to rub his hand over the plane of Logan’s shoulders, “How are you lost?”

“It’s going to sound stupid,” A laugh escaped Logan in a breathy wheeze; it sounded sickly to his own ears, but he was far away. There was no humor in his voice but the situation could only be described as ridiculous. He was out here, in the middle of the night, sobbing like a man whose heart had been broken- and over what? Because he couldn’t decide who to crush on? He shook his head; he was obviously making too big of a deal out all of this, “It doesn’t really matter.”

Roman gave a similarly humorless laugh, “I’ve seen you cry- what? Maybe three times? This matters.”

“I’m just questioning a lot of things.”

“What sort of things?” Roman was clearly trying to draw more information out of him.

Logan teetered for a moment, stuck on the top of the fence and too scared to jump down. Except that’s where he always was, wasn’t it? Always questioning, always unsure, always overthinking things, always analyzing the path and never actually taking a step forward. He took a shaky deep breath. Maybe it was time to take the leap, “My gender. My sexuality. It’s like I don’t know where I fit in with all of it.”

“Oh.”

A beat of silence played into the night, filling the space between them with the quiet murmur that trees whisper at the dead of night. Under any other circumstances, Logan would have found it beautiful. Now it just served as an indication that he had said something wrong. He found himself counting out the measures as he held his breath and wished he could fill the painful space with something, anything. He wanted to start playing his guitar again, get completely lost in it, and pretend nothing else existed. He settled for clearing his throat.

“Do you need to?” Roman interrupted the silence.

“I’m sorry, what do you mean?” Logan sat up so Roman could see his confused expression.

“I mean, do you need to know right now?”

Logan couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice, “Yes, I need to know right now. I want to know who I am!”

Roman clamped his hands down on Logan’s shoulders, making eye contact so intense it made Logan squirm, “Logan, listen to me. You are more than your sexuality. You are more than your gender. You are brilliant and funny and the only person who has ever been patient enough to tutor me. You’re one of my very best friends and that has nothing to do with who you like or what pronouns you use.”

Logan glanced away, the pressure from Roman’s eyes and words far too great for him to hold on to. He tried to avoid that gaze, but more importantly he wanted to avoid the heaviness of what Roman had said. It meant too much. He tried to resort back to his annoyance, “How can you say that? You changed your pronouns; they sure as hell mean a lot to you. Why can’t they matter to me?”

He wanted his voice to sound bitter, to bite, to cut down what Roman had said. But his words were a whimper and nothing more than a plea. He dissolved into tears again and sank into Roman’s side, “Why can’t it matter to me? Why can’t I know too?”

Logan felt Roman wrap his arms around his upper body. He usually hated contact like this but right now it was exactly what he needed; it was grounding, Roman’s sturdy arms giving himself to hold onto through it all.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. It was kind of like dreaming- just fragments of broken thoughts floating through darkness. Roman’s shirt smelled like fire smoke and the scent drifted through’s Logan’s head along with everything else. He seemed to be thinking nothing and everything all at the same time. He didn’t know how to make sense of any of it.

Eventually he sat up, wiping his eyes and brushing his hair back into place as if that could save the shreds of his dignity, “Sorry about that.”

Roman had moved his arms when Logan sat up and he seemed tempted to wrap them around Logan again, “What? No, it’s ok.”

Logan shifted from side to side, “I just... I feel like such an outsider. Not knowing, I mean. You’re all so confident and I’m just lost. It feels like I’m missing a piece of myself. How do I find it?”

Roman seemed to take a moment to think, running his hands through his hair and staring off into the distance. When he turned back to Logan, his eyes were warm and full of little thoughts that bumped around the edges, “I think the first step is accepting that you can’t force it. Then you can just wait until you find something that feels right. And that might take a little while, but that’s ok. You’ll figure it out eventually- you always do. The problem you need to work on is being patient; everything will fall into place once it’s ready to.”

“Yeah, well, being patient isn’t exactly my strong suit,” Logan huffed a laugh up into the twinkling sky, “I hate seeing a problem and not being able to solve it or know the answer.”

“Logan, look at me.”

Roman’s voice came out in one low line of sound. It was more of a command than anything else and Logan felt compelled to turn.

“You’re not some math problem or crossword puzzle. There’s no x to solve for and the sooner you accept that, the easier it’s going to be for you to relax and let the answers come when they will.”

Logan glared at him for a moment because, as horrible as it was to admit, Roman was making a lot of sense. He sighed, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Roman gave him one of the sunshine smiles he had grown famous for at their school, “Thanks, Teach.”

They sat there comfortably silent for a few moments. Wind rustled the trees around them and the final embers dissolved into ashes. The moon basked the entire scene in an ethereal, cold light. For once, Logan felt like he could reflect the peacefulness around himself.

“And Logan? Don’t be afraid to talk to us. We’d all be happy to give you answers- or at least, the best answers we can. If I’m being honest, I don’t know if anyone is ever completely sure about this sort of stuff. How was it that you described the brain- ‘a couple pounds of gray tissue that reacts to electrical currents’ ? We’re humans and we’re messy and it can be hard to figure out what all those electrical currents mean. But we’ll help as much as we can. Hell, I’ll go to the library with you and we can spend the entire day there researching sexualities and identities if you want.”

“Thank you, Roman. That-“ Logan paused to take a deep breath. The sincerity and dedication in Roman’s words had a way of weakening his own voice until it was hard to speak in anything but a thin waver, “That means a lot.”

“No problem,” Roman gave him a smile that meant so much more than his casual words. He held it for a moment before trading it for a playful wink, “Now can I ask for a favour?”

Logan laughed and reached for his guitar, knowing what was coming, “Sure.”

“Play that song I like?”

“Already on it.”

The strings were cool, comfortable beneath the warmth of his fingers. His hand slipped quickly into the melody as Roman began humming. Logan would figure things out. It might take a while but for now, Roman was singing and the trees were whispering their song and the moon was turning everything silver and he could stay here a little bit longer.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist, just send an ask or reply to this post :p 

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @cas-is-a-hunter @reggieleigh07 @endless-rain-of-words ~

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter four - Bloody hell!

Sander’s side fanfiction

Wordcount: 1304

Ships: still just prinxiety 

TW: mentions of blood, cursing, injury, post-operations stuff talk kinda, imprisonment, a lot of panicking and distress - which kind off resembles an anxiety-attack but not really. I think I’ve got all. As always, if I missed anything, let me know, please. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. :3

Summary of the whole story: They say, the one that wears the crown rules all - the living, the dead, the walking, the crawling, the rooted, the sane and the mad. They say, once you own the crown, you become the  most powerful being on Earth and beyond. Roman’s stolen bigger things - a measly little crown won’t present a problem, even if he has to steel it straight off of the devils head!

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Chapter four - Bloody hell!

Not only does time not work in Hell, but apparently physics doesn’t either. Because no matter how Virgil looked at it, there was just no way this weird figure could’ve fallen straight onto him from the place he was situated at.

He was climbing the throne from the back. Reaching from the side. So please explain to him, how the hell was he able of falling fall over and landing directly on top of the king?

Either Hell was truly that massed up, or this person was just unconventionally clumsy.

Virgil didn’t have much time to ponder on it, though. He yelped and pushed the stranger off. Which resulted in poor Roman landing on his back on the hard ground. Broken stalagmites and new once that were just growing out pushed into his back, his head hitting a particularly sharp one.

Dull ache spread through his whole body. “Aw…” he groaned weakly, reaching for his head. Carefully trying to lift himself into a sitting position, the voices around him started to come back to him.

Someone on his right was barely breathing, short fast breaths not enough to satisfy their lungs. And someone on his left was laughing their ass off.

Roman frowned at the general direction of the laugh. This was not funny.

And why was everything so hazy? His vision was fogged and blurry and his hearing muffled and muted down. And oh god, his head!

He pulled his hand away. Even this out of focus, he could make out the big red splotch that covered his palm. Well, this is just great!

He had to get out of there before these things could lock him up, but the room was starting to spin and his eyes got kind off heavy… He just wanted to lay down… just for a little bit….

“Startup immediate! Let’s fucking eat him!”

Well at least that’s what Roman made out of what the creature on his right said. And that didn’t sound like the most pleasant thing. He didn’t feel like sleeping anymore. He had to get up! He had to run!

In reality, what Virgil said was: “Shut up, you idiot! They’re fucking bleeding!”

Panic seeping all the way to his bones he rushed over to the distressed stranger. This wasn’t good! He couldn’t leave them to just bleed out!  

Remi paid his master’s stressed-out state no mind. He was too preoccupied leaning over, just barely standing - laughing so hard. “And?”

Virgil couldn’t believe this! “Remington! Go get the fucking healers!”

When Virgil got distressed and needed people to listen, his voice pitched down a few octaves and doubled over. Demons called it his Monster voice.

In this particular instance, the Monster voice was nothing compared to the way he roared at the servant.

He immediately shut up and ran off to find help.

The king was left alone with a very woozy, barely conscious and scared to death Roman. “Oh shit! Don’t die on me...! Please...!”

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Could he touch the creature? Should he touch them? What if they have a broken rib or something? 

They ended up just awkwardly hovering over the wounded figure.  

Meanwhile, Roman didn’t even know what was going on. His mind was too foggy to comprehend anything. He just sat there, willing himself to think the one thought he needed to think.

But what was that thought again?

Some-Something about… running?

Yeah, yeah that…

He… he wanted to run. From what...?

Nobody seemed to be nearby… So why did he want to…

Wait, what did he want again…?

Oh, right. Sleep…

Virgil’s hand-hovering came to an end the moment the med-team stepped into the hall. “Your Majesty.” the demons all bowed.

“Stop bowing and get this Human to the med-bay! Immediately!”

“Yes sir.” the main healer nodded shortly and rushed over to the thief. The rest followed.

The devil let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and fall back against the throne. It was going to be okay now. His healers are the best in the under-world. They’ll take care of them.

He watched as they took the now unconscious figure away. Remi walked up to him, not-bothered as always. “I don’t see why we couldn’t just left it to bleed out.”

Virgil was too tired for this. His mind was going three miles per second and he just needed to calm down… He turned his cold gaze at the demon. “You’re a mind reader. Figure it out.”

That shut Remi up. No matter how much fun it would’ve been to see the Human suffer, hearing what ran through his king’s head wasn’t fun at all. He wasn’t about that. “I’ll be throwing down damned souls into the pit. If you need me, just call my name, babe. Byeeeee!!” And with a finger-wiggle wave, he left the room.

Virgil didn’t feel like getting up. The ground seemed comfortable enough for now. (There wasn’t much of a difference between it and the throne anyway.)

A Human being. A living, breathing, Human flashbang. He hasn’t seen a living specimen in… He doesn’t even know when was the last time one stood before him.

And now there was one in his med-bay. Antichrist, this was bad!

What is he even supposed to do with a creature like that? Besides torture, obviously. Sweet mother of evil!

The devil sat there, contemplating un-life until one of the healers walked into the hall.

“Your highness, the Human has been dealt with. We stopped the bleeding, and stitched up the wound best we could. It is still unconscious, though, so we locked it in one of the cells, temporarily.”

“Thank you, Lucius. Let me know when they wake up.”

“Yes, sir.” with that, the servant left. And Virgil finally climbed back on that uncomfortable throne. He pulled his phone out, and started scrolling through Tumblr once again. Things didn’t seem so boring anymore.

-

Roman came to a few hours later - not that he knew how much time had passed. What he knew though, was that he was in a dark cell guarded by two demons. Even through his hazy brain he could understand the situation he was in - he was a prisoner. ”Oh, holly mother Teresa!” he freaked, standing up and rushing over to the bars. Well, more like he stumbled...

“You have to let me out! Come on! You don’t understand! Let me out!” he gripped the cold stone bars.

One of the guards looked at him, then exchanged looks with the other. The second nodded and left, leaving Roman with a very angry looking demon.

He gulped. “Mr. Ehr, Miss- am… I… ah, please let me go…?”

The guard didn’t even glance at him.

Well, this was going well.

The second guard entered the throne hall and bowed down deep. Virgil rolled his eyes. “I’ve been telling you for thousands of years to stop bowing! It’s betting annoying.”

The demon straightened up immediately, nodding ashamed. “I apologize, your evilness.” Another eyeroll. These titles were getting better by the decade.

“What’s up, Derius?” he leaned on the arm-rests, razing his eyebrow.

“The prisoner woke up.”

Oh. Oh shit. Okay. Okay... “Are they okay?”

“It seems fine. IA bit out of it and scared, but that is to be expected. We did just imprison it in an environment completely different from his natural habitat…”

Virgil nodded, feeling his heartrate spike and slow again. They were all right.

Then an idea popped up in his head. Slowly, a grin pulled at his lips. Remi wanted fun, didn’t he?

Virgil could be fun. (Now that he knew nothing serious was happening with the Human.) Virgil could be very, very fun. He bit his lip and looked up at the guard.

“Bring me that thief.”

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Iiiiiiii can’t even believe it!

Another part, right the next day? I’m kicking this block’s ass, y’all! :D And look where we are! Remember that first anonymous comment that started all this?

But hey, I really hoped you enjoyed it. :3

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. If I have an answer I’ll gladly share it. And if I don’t, you just helped me come up with another addition to the story ;D

I’ll be back with a new chapter as soon as possible :) 

(I wasn’t kidding when I said this was becoming my new hyper-fixation XD)

Bye, for now <3

Tag list:

@alice-only-me 

[samwritesforyou]

On My Guard (pt. 2)

Summary: After inviting your bodyguard to stay over, because you needed some genuine company after a long day, you discover something new about him. Which also leads to some memories that were long almost forgotten.

Warnings: gender-neutral reader

Wordcount: 1.1k

A/N: god, i really hope i won't disappoint anyone by this chapter, but basically i wanted a little twist like this probably from the very beginning already, hehe. for now i have no idea where this series could be going, but its definitely fun to write!

Originally requested by: @ellefosterg​

part one can be found here!

You ordered pizza that evening when you were suddenly not alone in your huge house. You had friends over often, of course, but it was never him yet. The day was crazy, your privacy was invaded and people were trying to grab you as if you were some kind of possession, more than of a human being that you actually are. You shook your head at your disturbing memories, trying to blink them away and focus on the current moment. Your eyes wandered towards your bodyguard, who was now just awkwardly standing in the middle of the hallway and the living room, not sure of what to do next. As soon as you came home you automatically threw the jacket on the hanger and stayed dressed in a simple shirt and some comfortable jeans. It was rather hot outside and inside. And yet... Diego was in his full gear, as always. Black turtleneck and pants of the same colour, with a firm belt. “Aren’t you warm?” you asked and smiled a little curiously, leaning over the kitchen island that was situated just next to the living room, without a wall between them, something like an open-space room designed on the first floor for most of the areas. This caught your guest off guard and he opened his mouth a few times like a fish, no sound coming out. “I.. have only a light undershirt beneath it,” he said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. “And?..” you raised your eyebrows and then giggled, turning on your feet to the fridge, “I think the temperature here is just right for some undershirt!” you concluded, grabbing both of you two cans of beer and slamming the door shut. There was a faint “alright” that you almost didn’t notice, so when you made your way towards the couches, he was already sitting there, indeed, without a turtleneck. His body was very well built because you could get a glimpse of his six-pack even through the fabric of the shirt. You turned your gaze off of his body immediately though - not letting yourself being caught staring - and just gave him one of the bottles. You sat in front of him on the second sofa and finally took a good look at him because Diego was preoccupied admiring your place. As he was holding the glass, you detected a tattoo on his wrist and tilting your head you tried to get a better sight of it. “Whatcha looking at?” he squinted his eyes, putting the hand to his lips and taking a big sip of the liquid. That startled you and made you flinch, colour rushing to the cheeks quite instantly. He didn’t feel like an employee that was working for you right now. And you liked it. “Ahh, it’s just.. you have a tattoo?” you waved your hands in the air in embarrassment and then pointed with a finger towards one of his wrists, biting your lip. You couldn’t even see it properly yet, dammit. Diego briefly spared it a glance himself and then slowly turned his gaze to you once again. “Shit.. there was definitely ‘no tattoos’ rule in the employee qualifications, I’m sorry y/n,” he furrowed his brows and sighed heavily. That... wasn’t at all what has crossed your mind! And also... “I didn’t even know that there’s that point in the contract! I wasn’t talking about that, Diego, I was just genuinely curious. I can’t really see it, uh..” you tried to change your sitting pose billion times now, trying to see it clearly, “here, just let me,” you didn’t even finish your sentence when you quite impatiently just plopped yourself on the space next to him, now examining his wrist. Slowly, as your brain was absorbing the meaning of his ink, your eyes widened and you couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. “This is... the umbrella academy tattoo,” you didn’t even ask, it was a statement. Because you knew it. You were a fan, back in the day. Hell, everyone was! “Yeah,” he almost barked out and jerked his hand away, sipping on his beer. “Wait.. wait wait wait wait wait,” you started remembering something with that fact, tangling your fingers into your hair, “oh my.. god.” “What?” Diego asked, visibly nervous. Maybe he thought you didn’t like that new fact about him?... You were feeling almost nauseous from the feeling of finally connecting the dots because this whole time you knew something just wasn’t adding up! You excitedly put your legs up and say more comfortably, now finally looking at your bodyguard. “A robbery!” you started, “one year ago?... You were badly injured and I offered you patching you up after you chased the bad guys away?” you were moving back and forth on the sofa, looking with the sparks in your eyes as you awaited his reply. His cogs were spinning and head steaming, he was really trying hard to remember, until mentioned memory finally hit him and his eyes went wide too. “There was no electricity, so you used your phone and some candles to have some light to clean me up from that mess,” he continued instead of you now, knitting his eyebrows even deeper. “Yes! Yes, oh my god! It was you!” you were now just out of it as if you just finished a movie with some last-second plot twist that changed the whole storyline. And it kind of did. Because as you clearly remember, after you finally tended to his wounds, even though he had some partial mask on his face, you two started quite mercilessly flirting with each other... and it ended in one passionate kiss. After which your unknown hero had to leave because it was “so late already, I can’t keep you up at night like this, we don’t even know each other, sorry, but maybe we can meet again!” and jumped away from your window into the dead of night. ... Fuck. It seems like the memories of that evening sprung in Diego’s mind just as clearly as yours and now you were just staring at each other in silence. Your lips were slightly parted from the persisting surprise that you were still overwhelmed by. Since you were watching Diego’s face intensely now, you’ve caught that millisecond when his eyes landed on your lips, lingering just for the briefest moment, until he literally blinked his gaze away from you, sighing in disbelief. He was now leaning forward on his elbows, hands clasped together and head sunk between the shoulders, you couldn’t even get a view of his face like this. Okay, what can he possibly be thinking about? Your mind was going thousand miles per hour, trying to figure out the emotions of your only guest tonight. You excused yourself to the bathroom and despite all your efforts to make it look like a calm walk, you basically fled there and slammed the door shut behind yourself for a good measure.

Taglist for Diego works: @radcloudenthusiast @spacenerdpascal​

[anika-ann]

A Matter of Trust

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 5470 (oops)

Summary: You and Steve get to go to a mission together after a while; free drinks, partying, dressing-up nicely, stealing blueprints, the usual. You might even enjoy this as a couple.

Or… not really. Of course something would go awry. What else did you expect when wearing these killer heels anyway?

A/N: Written for or @wkemeup​’s 4k writing challenge; congratulations! Well-deserved, no arguing here; shall the number continue to grow ;) Thank you for letting me participate!

Prompt: “Get in the closet, now!” (bold in the text)

Warnings: suggestive language, mentions of a kink, objectification, gun violence (brief), swearing (always), attempt at humour, fluff…?

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ 

In your whole history as an operative of S.H.I.E.L.D. slash Avenger, time had never dragged so slowly as it did at this party.

Not even Steve’s presence cheered you up, mostly because he was busying himself with being everyone’s company but yours despite you two coming here together. For a mission. To work, you reminded yourself.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been there for the plan-making which had resulted in mutual agreement of Steve falling into the role of an honourable man whose infamous good nature prevented him from saying no to anyone who asked for a moment with him even if it meant leaving you alone. Which you supposedly mind, because you were here with him only to sneak in here and possibly get your five minutes of glory if he stood by your side long enough

And that was only an act for people who would have noticed you had arrived together.

For the others, you simply attended the party – a known cover-up for a place of business in arms-deal among the powerful men of the underground world – to have fun and seduce some rich businessman.

Sipping from the very same glass of champagne you had helped yourself with about an hour ago, you scanned the room in the search for the big boss. No, not Steve, but the man of the hour, the one whose blueprints you were meant to steal. The blueprints of a potentially large bomb that could kill tens of thousands if it went kaboom and released the nanoparticles of a dangerous virus to the air.

Lovely. Someone clearly had too much time on their hands coming up with crap like that only to make your life miserable.

“What’s a gorgeous lady like yourself doing at this party alone?” a velvety voice interrupted your dark musing and you vainly tried to cover the shudder running down your spine, cursing at the heat curling in your stomach.

Was this how he was talking to all the women who were throwing themselves at him tonight? Probably.

Had you been through that before? Yes.

Had you expected it to happen tonight? Sadly, yeah.

Was it bothering you? Hell the fuck yeah, even if you knew it shouldn’t and that it didn’t mean anything but Steve doing his job right.

You cursed mentally at your weakness and sighed out loud, spinning around to face the man.

“Waiting for a bulky blond supersoldier to come save her, naturally,” you hissed back, hating yourself for letting your jealously get the better of you.

Steve had never ever made you as much as doubt that you were the one for him, but that green bitch of an emotion still intruded on you tonight. You blamed the upcoming visit from aunt flow and the rush of hormones arriving with it and the fact you were itching to leave and go home just for getting rid of those ridiculously high heels alone.

You usually enjoyed wearing high heels, they gave you confidence as gazes of many men and women followed you, but the stilettos you had got chosen tonight could be used as murder weapon.

Ha, maybe you could try and sell them here, you’d make a fortune!

A frown appeared on Steve’s face, one of curiosity, regret and surprise when he registered your irritated tone.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded quietly, whispering to your ear intimately, only making the situation worse.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me, Captain Rogers. You’ll blow it.”

His eyebrow jumped ridiculously high and you realized what you said; you groaned both at his cheekiness and your stupidity.

“Blow our cover. Get your mind out of the gutter…” you muttered, putting some distance between the two of you for the sake of the cover.

“Maybe I’m feeling a bit reckless tonight,” he hummed back, his large palm resting on your lower back and you had to take a moment to swallow the blissful groan at his gesture. You loved his hands and the heels were not only killing your feet, but also you back, and the warmth radiating from his skin felt like heaven. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“You could have asked through the comm.”

“I wanted to check up on you personally.  So?” he insisted and you couldn’t but sigh again, finishing your glass of champagne when you spotted Wagner, aka your target. You stepped away from Steve.

“Just tired. Want this to be over with. Go mingle, Steven.”

Pausing when you took a note of the harshness in your tone, you found his concerned gaze over your shoulder, whispering as softly as you could: “Thank you for your concern… Captain.”

You caught a glimpse of his discreet lopsided smile before turning away fully.

As you walked into the crowd, your long crimson dress curled around your feet with every step due to the provocative – read practical – slit ending mid-thigh. You hoped that the memory of watching you go would occupy his brain for some time while he talked to the flocks of both male and female admirers.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ 

Two hours. It took you another two hours to ensure you’d be safe sneaking into the Wagner’s office slash bedroom.

Of course his bureau would be his bedroom; men like him knew nothing about good old sleep hygiene, because the thought of their money distracted them from the evil they were doing to the world and had them sleeping like babies.

Using the key-card you had snatched about three minutes ago, you easily entered the over-decorated room.

Looks like someone’s compensating for something, you noted mentally, not losing any time and activating the no-prints mode on your gloves; one of the perks of working with Tony Stark. You were wearing the nanotech the whole evening and no one had a clue, because the particles were imitating your skin. You’d leave a print on the glass of champagne if you wanted; if you planned on rummaging someone else’s office, leaving a trace was a different case and you wouldn’t take any risks.

Systematically starting on the right from the door and working your way through everything that looked even remotely like a possible hideout, you didn’t forget to gingerly place your palm over the wall-length closet so Friday could run scans.

God, you loved that Tony Stark was on the side of the angels despite not quite being one himself; according to him at least.

“No signs of anything else than overpriced shirts, tuxedos and sets for dom-sub play,” the AI announced, barely audible, and you cringed. Not what you needed to know. “Cuffs are men’s size. Dominatrix set for a wom-“

“Enough, enough! Gee, Friday…” you muttered under your breath, not liking the visual of Wagner in the middle of enjoying-

Gross.

“No need for that much detail…”

Shaking your head, you moved onto the desk; an obvious, perhaps too obvious choice, which was why you wouldn’t place your bet on it. But hey, you could never be sure enough until you checked.

The sudden noise on your right had you drawing your gun at instant, your pulse skyrocketing.

The first thing you saw was a large frame of the newcomer and neatly combed blond hair. Your shoulders slumped.

Steve raised his hands as he moved from the doorway to stand inside, his face visibly relaxing at the sight of you searching another man’s desk.

The door clicked shut behind him and you forced yourself to breathe in, shoving your gun back to the holster placed on your covered thigh.

“Jesus, Steve!” you whisper-yelled exasperatedly and resumed your inspection, paying him no mind anymore. You had more important things to do at the moment; not that you wouldn’t do him; Steve in a tux was sight to behold, like hold onto THAT, literally get your hands on it, but you were here for a job.

“You weren’t responding!” Steve replied in the same manner, causing you to freeze.

He had been trying to contact you? And you couldn’t hear him? But-

“Oh,” you let out intelligently, doing the math easily. “He must have some sort of a jammer in here, makes sense.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I’m fine,” you stated, shutting one drawer, opening another. “How did you even ge– never mind. You should go-“

“Don’t wanna cloooose my eyeees!”

The distant howl-like shout from the hall turned your blood into ice, your eyes widening.

You had studied Wagner the whole evening; you’d recognize his voice anywhere, even when he was singing ‘I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing’ out of tune.

“-before THAT happens! Shit!”

As you pulled out your phone, the live-feed from the camera in the hall offered you a marvellous view.

Two gorilla-men were dragging Wagner towards his room as his feet barely kept him standing. Gorilla number three was walking behind them just in case that their boss’ face decided to meet the floor despite the support offered to him.

Shit, shit, SHIT-

Closing the drawer you were currently scouring, lips pressed into a tight line, you eyed Steve; he was already bracing himself for the fight, caught in the middle of the process of discarding the jacket to have wider range of movements.

You whined internally – firstly, what a sight, it would always make you weak in knees no matter what. Secondly, if this was to end in a fight, the chances were that you’d make it out without the plans and you had spent the night in those killer heels for nothing.

Oh no, you don’t-

“Cause I’d miss ya’ BABY—I don’t wanna miss a THIIIIING!”

Scanning the room once more, your mind running hundred miles a minute, your gaze fell on the huge-ass closet of which contents you had learned more than you’d like to.

Your lips parted in surprise at the plan forming in your own head.

This is a terrible idea.

It’s yours!

Exactly.

Yeah, okay, fair enough-

NO TIME TO COME UP WITH A BETTER ONE-

Steve was kind enough to follow when you grabbed his arm and pulled him from his spot in the middle of the room, though he did shoot you an utterly confused look.

You met his eyes and gulped when the singing approached the room way too quickly to your liking.

“STILL MISS YA’ BABY–“

“I need you to trust me now,” you pleaded in hushed tone, seeing Steve’s pupils go wide, covering the somewhat always warm blue of his irises.

“With what?”

Well, he asked for it.

“Get in the closet, now!”

A second of shocked silence followed your request before his brain made the connection and a scowl twisted his handsome face.

“What? No! I’m not leaving you alone to face them!” he raised his voice minutely and you covered his mouth to remind him that there were ears present, inching closer with each second passing.

“DON’T WANNA FAAAAALL ASLEEEEEEP-!”

“That’s exactly what you’ll do! That’s easier to play off.”

Steve very much not agreed if his eyes flashing with anger were anything to go by. His hand pushed yours away as he towered over you.

“I’m not leaving-“

“Look at the gorillas, Steve!” you shoved the phone to his face, unlocking the closet and throwing its door open. “One word from them to the rest of security and we’re screwed. Get in!”  

Something between a whine, a groan and a growl – neither of those sounds sexy given the circumstances – escaped his lips and you assumed he had to admit to himself that you were right.

Taking a mental note of his resistance diminishing, you easily pushed him towards the limited dark space.

“CAUSE EEEEEVEN WHEN I DREAM OF YOOOOOOOU- THE SWEETEST DREAM WILL NEEEVER DOOOOOO-“

“We can still play it off toge-“ he tried to protest one more time but you pushed against his chest adamantly.

“And say what? This isn’t what it looks like? We just happened to choose your office to get freaky? I’ll handle it. Trust me.”

Steve gave you his unfairly disarming pleading look, his puppy eyesTM, but backed into the closet without another word, clutching his previously stripped jacket to his chest, because he did trust you.

Fingers on the handle, you hesitated when you realized what could ruin the charade you came up with and planned on pulling off.

Swallowing hard at the terrible idea, you gave Steve a tiny encouraging smile as you drew your gun and three knives from your leg holster/sheath and pressed it to his hands.

“Hold these for me.”

Swiftly closing the door, the last thing you saw was the horror on his face.

As the door swung open and you spun on your heels, he had no chance to react.

The loud song which had been reaching your ears for seemingly endless time died on Wagner’s lips and the third extra gorilla of a man behind him instantly pulled out his gun.

And aimed it right at your face. While you had nothing to defend yourself but your bare hands.

Yay.

“Who are you?!” he thundered and like a charm, Wagner stood straight so the other two guards could have you at gunpoint as well.

Yet, what sent an unpleasant shiver through you was Wagner’s sleazy eyes travelling from your killer heels to your ankles, up to your partly exposed thigh, your waist and finally settling on your cleavage, not bothering to make it higher to look into your eyes.

So. He’s a pig. Shocker.

For once, you were grateful. Not that he was supposed to know that.

A sweet innocent smile spread on your lips as you eyed the weapons with what seemed to be almost a satisfaction, you hoped.

“A government agent, of course,” you said, voice pitched just a bit higher than usual. You felt a bit sorry for Steve at the moment; you were well-aware of nearly giving him a heart attack by saying that. “I work with Captain America.” Scratch the ‘nearly’. Poor Steve’s heart. “I was given the task to scour this place… very… thoroughly.”

Your tone husky now, your teeth bit down on your lower lip, your eyes watching Wagner with faked interest. He hypnotized your red lips before shaking his head as if snapping from a haze.

“They told me you’ve been a bad, bad man. I kept my eye on you all evening,” you admitted, not even having to lie.

The following smile you sent his direction was perhaps too predatory, but that could work. For him anyway.

“Who do you work for?!”

The guards were not as easily fooled as their drunk boss apparently; then again, you hadn’t expected them to.  

“Oh. A.R.M.O.R. America-Related Manpower Operatives and Reinforcements.” God bless their hearts if they were going to buy that, seeing you were obviously trying to imitate the SHIEILD acronym. Very poorly. Playing it up, you let a giggle escape you before your expression turned serious, guilty even. “Oh. Probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s only my first time, you see. I finished my training few days ago.”

“Mm… look at ‘dat…” Wagner drawled and nope, it had nothing on the way Steve spoke when his accent peeked through while he was drunk on Asgardian liquor or lust alone.

Not relevant.

Wagner waved off his guard dogs, gesturing to one of them to approach you. “Why don’t we search you first?”

“Make it quick. I have…” you let your eyes trail over Wagner’s body, licking your lips when visibly lingering on his crotch, “more important tasks at hand. I came here for a mission. I’d like it to… finish.”

Two men instantly went to inspect you, patting you from the back, from the front, up and down, way longer and more thoroughly than necessary.

And they found what they were looking for.

One large palm harshly slipped between your thighs and you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to throw up at the pawing.

Gorilla One’s head snapping up to you, he pulled out the only weapon left on you, handing it to his boss and Gorilla Two grabbed your wrists and locked it behind your back, causing you to nearly hiss in pain.

“Oops,” you shrugged instead, burning gaze locked onto the man who was holding both your weapon and your life in his hands.

Your heart was beating frantically in anticipation, your confidence wavering as Wagner inspected the knife.

A slow smile spread on his face, his left eyebrow rising and then he finally, finally burst out laughing.

A confused ‘what’ sounded from behind you as the man’s utterly smashed boss howled in hysterical laughter.

“This—this is GOL-DEN!” he choked out, tossing the item to the very man who had handed it to him.

“It’s a stage-prop,” Gorilla One sighed.

And that it was. Thank you, Natasha Romanoff.

“Oh. So it’s fake.”

“Told you I have more important things at hand… so if—my hands could find some release please…” you asked sweetly over your shoulder. The very next second, you remembered just what was in the closet; and you weren’t thinking Steve. So you switched tactics. “That’s an order, actually. Let. Me. Go.”

“What the agent said, Greg,” Wagner beckoned, still chuckling, a new twinkle appearing in his eye, his face free of mistrust. Gorilla Two, Greg apparently, released your hands with reluctance. You didn’t bother thanking him. “And let her work. Off you go.”

When the gorillas wavered for few moments, you felt your impatience grow along with the pain shooting up your calves. Damn heels.

“Have you not heard your superior? Do I need to teach you some discipline?”

Wagner licked his lips, taking two wobbly steps towards you. It seemed to seal the deal for the guards, because they left the room.

“Someone went out of their way to get you… Must be my birthday then,” he grinned sleazily, his fingers twitching as if he craved to touch you, his hands stopping few inches from your hip. “I’m all  yours, agent. Why don’t you go on with the… thorough inspection?”

Straightening your posture, chin stuck up, you nodded curtly.

“Of course. Sir, I’ll have to ask you to raise your hands to your head. Don’t move otherwise. I’m gonna feel for weapons now.”

“Yes, madam,” he responded breathlessly, but the second you started the process, his hand landed on your hip.

You stopped in your search, locking serious gaze with him. His pupils were blown, eyes dark with lust. His fingers squeezed, his gaze flickering to your mouth as you stood nearly chest to chest.

“Sir, this is highly inappropriate. I’m gonna have to ask you-“

His palm slid to your bottom, fingers digging into the flesh.

You narrowed your eyes, not even having to pretend you didn’t like that. You slapped his hand away, earning a sly grin. He didn’t try again immediately, which you were endlessly grateful for. Instead, he obediently raised his arms so he looked ready to be either searched or crucified.

Oh, you’d gladly.

“Sorry, Agent, I couldn’t help myself. What is such… pretty face like yourself doing in business like this?” he questioned in a husky voice and at that moment, you knew that your time spent around Tony Stark had taken its toll on you, because you simply couldn’t resist that pass.

“Stealing intel from pricks like you,” you mumbled under your breath, giving him just enough time to realize something was wrong.

A fraction of second later, the edge of your hand hit his throat, bruising his larynx and causing him to release a shocked huff of air. Kicking his knee next, your elbow met his face. A choked groan escaped his lips and you prayed to god he didn’t truly find his voice to call the guards.

You elbowed him in his right temple for a good measure, incapacitating his other knee so he nearly sunk to the floor. You slipped around him in one swift movement; your arm sneaked around his throat and cut out his airways.

Too stunned, he barely fought you and you felt all tension leave his muscles in no time.

Wagner’s body hit the ground as he slipped through your hands despite your best efforts. You winced at the thud shaking the floor; you quickly giggled loudly, playing it off as a drunken fun-time shenanigans. Just in case the guards were still at the door.

Satisfied and relieved when no one burst in with guns blazing, you walked to the closet, losing those damned stilettos on the way.

As soon as you unlocked the closet, Steve nearly hit you with the door when abruptly leaving the limited space. His eyes scanned you head to toe to find any sign of an injury, the flames in his glare fading only a bit when he found none.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” he whisper-yelled and despite the circumstances, you couldn’t but giggle, this time from honest amusement as he proved your earlier thoughts right.

There we go…

“Worked, didn’t it? Now help me since you’re here, he’s fucking heavy…”

Steve gave you an incredulous look, one promising a storm coming once you had the time for it, but he went to pick Wagner’s body up without protest.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ 

Steve was kind enough to have you use the bathroom first, so by the time he emerged – around half past three a.m. – you were already tucked in bed, waiting for him. His feet shuffled against the floor and he seemed utterly spent, as if he had been fighting an army from space.

You had both left the party unharmed; then again, you could imagine that socializing the way he had had to could be as tiring as an alien invasion itself. Also, he had been the one leave Wagner office-bedroom through the window, while you simply walked out of the room, winking at the guards who had indeed stayed by the door.

Steve slipped under the covers and turned off the bedside lamp, the warm light replaced by inviting darkness. Your eyelids felt heavy after the long night and you couldn’t wait to enter the blissful land of sleep.

Having Steve’s arms around you, a pleasant habit of his, you knew you’d be out in no time, but you made the effort to shift further into his embrace, sighing in content and murmuring ‘goodnight’.  

Already halfway out as soon as you closed your eyes, you still registered his arm winding tighter around your waist, his nose pressed to your nape. A deep inhale, then another, warm breath and his lips inching closer with each second.

Pulled out of your slumber, limbs already heavy and yet floaty, half-hearted question left your lips.

“You ‘kay?”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, his foot wedging between yours to pull you impossibly closer, his exhale long and wavering.

The tremble in it alarmed you, urging you to check up on his expression, on him. Willing your body to move, your heart skipped a startled beat when he wouldn’t let you turn around.

“That didn’t sound-“

His fingers wormed its way under your side laid on the mattress, flexing on the flesh of your waist.

“I’m fine….” Bullshit. “It’s just… you have no idea how hard it was to stay put while listening to all that, do you?”

Eyelashes fluttering in surprise, you took in his words, the subtle taste of fear in them, concern for how your abrupt plan could have easily go awry.

You allowed yourself a few moments before responding, forcing your memories, the images of you helplessly lying pinned to the ground after you saw a building explode – a building with Steve still in it – out of your mind.

“I… I think I can imagine. I’m sorry. I came up with an idea and thought it was for the best,” you whispered.

Honestly, you were still convinced that it had been the best thing to do given the circumstances, but that was momentarily beside the point.

“You literally told him you worked with me. I swear to God- I–“

Hearing the shift in his voice, a different emotion interfering – the pure horror, laced with exasperation – you softened your next words even further, running your fingertips over the back of his hand coaxingly.

Without any real hope, you attempted to turn in his firm embrace; this time, he reluctantly let you, your palms instantly trapping his miserable face.

“Hey. Hey, Steve, it’s fine. We handled it. We’re good. I just remembered Friday told me that he was a kinky bastard-“ Steve nudged you at the word and you fought hard the eye-roll he had coming at that “-and decided to use it.”

“You gave me your weapons and went against him empty-handed– never ever do that again,” he demanded, voice equally pleading and firm. You couldn’t help but nudge him back, because in your line of work, promising that technically equalled lying. “If there is any other option.”

You sighed, understanding all too well how he was feeling, willing to promise the latter to ease his mind. And to erase the worried wrinkles on his forehead. You kissed him there, the tension resolving under your loving gesture.

“Noted. I didn’t do that to get off, to have a high.“ Unlike some people, who seemed to do that sometimes. "I promise.”

“I know you didn’t,” Steve said, having the decency to add an edge of guilt to his voice, your verbal call for hypocrisy not going unnoticed. He kissed your left collarbone, tender and greedy, his lips sliding an inch lower to faintly feel your heartbeat and lingering.

“You know me well,“ you stated, running your fingers through his still damp locks, musing. "It’s… nice. Not as scary as I expected once.”

“Thanks…?” he murmured against your skin unsurely and you chuckled, a tired but oh so content sound.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, heavy-lidded eyes boring into yours, finding your lips with his to deliver a lazy but heartfelt kiss, one you felt reaching your very soul.

Shifting so your head was tucked under his chin, you nestled into the most comfortable position possible and Steve hummed into your hair, once more pulling your body against his, not an inch of space left between you. You melted into his warmth and finally, you felt his muscles fully relax as well.

As you once more walked the fine line of dozing off, a sudden thought caused you to snap your eyes open, your heart skipping a curious beat.

“Steve?” An absent hum was his only response, but encouraged by any reaction at all, you continued, knowing that you wouldn’t fall asleep without having the answer. “When you said it was hard… you weren’t referring to a… certain situation of yours, right? … or were you?”

Even with his body turning rigid, a rock-solid prove he was fully awake, he put effort into sounding sleepy.

“Just go to sleep, woman.”

“…were you?! Do you want me to… do some thorough inspection of y-“ you teased, fascinated, never finishing your thought as Steve’s large palm covered your mouth.

You resisted the urge to release the surprised laugh bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t that you thought Steve’s desire was ridiculous; you were just that amazed that it never came up; a true wonder given your line of work.

Momentarily incapacitated, you didn’t speak, but grazed your teeth over his palm so he would release you.

“Hush!”

“ ’khay-“ You muttered and he removed his palm, sleepy blue watching you in warning. You strained your neck to kiss the previously teased skin of his hand. “We’ll explore that another time. I’m beat. Still love you. Goodnight.”

With that, you curled back into his body, feeling the wide expand of his chest followed by an exasperated puff.

“Goodnight, you maniac. I love you too.”

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ 

Pins and needles in your toes ripped you harshly from the dreamland and you groaned quietly, rescuing your foot from the vice created by Steve’s own.

Shared sleep was blissful, releasing endorphins, the feelings of comfort and safety it provided irreplaceable and all that, but having your limb pinned to the mattress by a supersoldier was no joke.

You checked the clock on the nightstand; 8:27 AM. Sparing a glance at the man sleeping beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist, palm sprawled over our abdomen, you smiled despite the early hour.

Any other morning, you would have shaken off the cramp and scooted over to get even closer to Steve; however, determined to do something nice for him and make sure he was alright with what he had clearly considered an irresponsible stunt of yours yesterday, you thanked heavens for the unexpected get-up call and planned on wiggling out of Steve’s grasp.

“Where ya’ goin’?” he mumbled sleepily, the inches you had managed to put between your bodies erased as his arm pulled you back, his nose nuzzling your hair with a sigh.

“Bathroom,” you lied easily, lightly patting his forearm. “We’ve barely slept for five hours. You still have thirty minutes till your usual start of the post-mission day, you crazy-ass lark. I’ll be right back.”

“Mm-hmm… I’ll be waitin’.”

Chuckling silently, you freed yourself fully, this time without his protests.

“I’m sure you will, Steve,” you whispered, your smile widening when only ten seconds later, your words were followed by his quiet snort.

Grabbing one of Steve’s hoodies thrown over the backrest of a chair and sliding into it, you made your way to the communal kitchen instead. Your mission was to make Steve breakfast, secretly hoping you could talk him into skipping the usual run today and actually spending a day in bed. You thwarted big bad’s plans yesterday, for god’s sake, you both deserved a break…

As a reminder of the past events, a bruise the size of a boot on your thigh – which you didn’t remember getting – stared accusingly at you when you passed a mirror. You inconspicuously pulled the hem of Steve’s hoodie an inch lower in attempt to cover it. Vainly.

Rolling your eyes, you wondered just how nice you needed to be today; Steve had seemed more freaked out than anything else; nevertheless, the anger could come today and you rather if it didn’t.

Deciding pancakes, eggs and bacon were a safe bet, you hummed and opened the fridge.

It was the exact moment something caught you eye, a change in decorum; right above your head on the top of the fridge.

A big fat zero stared at you from the sign you had got Steve a while ago, a memorandum of your first first-hand experience of his utter recklessness on missions. Ever since then, you and the rest of the team made sure to have the board up-to-date, sometimes proudly and sometimes regretfully rewriting the number of ‘days without Steve doing stupid life-threatening shit’.

Now there was a zero. Your jaw went slack, your heartbeat skyrocketing.

It was not the only change on the sign.

Someone, and you had a very good idea who that might be (hint: he was sleeping in your bed), plastered your name over Steve’s.

Your smile froze on your lips and at that moment, you could have been knocked out with a feather.

Unbelievable.

Un-fucking-believable.

Shutting the fridge with a loud thud, bottles in its door clinking, you strode back to your shared room, sputtering curses.

The audacity of him!

When had he even- how had he done– all night— you had woken up before him-!

Forget pancakes, eggs and bacon; snark was on the menu today.

“STEVEEEEEN!”

You heard his laughter before you even reached the bedroom.

Looking at the bright sight of things, Steve being a little shit was a positive shift from his late-night anxiety. A brief smile crossed over your face before you stormed into the room, finding the blond culprit muffling his chuckles in a pillow.

Your pillow.

Jumping to the bed, you grabbed his own and opted to show him just how stupid you could get.

Because trying to take down a supersoldier in a pillow fight? The zero might have to stay on the board for one extra day.

As Steve’s carefree laughter echoed within the walls of your bedroom, filling you with pure joy, you decided you could live with that.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━  ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

If you’d like to know the origin of the board, I kindly point you towards my S.R. masterlist, specifically to Challenge Accepted…? Fair warning: it has more drama than this one.

Thank you for reading! ❤️