#but unfortunately that’s not easily done if they don’t put it up anywhere apart from the exclusive

[gay-dorito-dust]

Whew you came in time. I’d like to request Wolverine (from the Deadpool movie in particular) with a very caring and affectionate s/o. Once again, my weakness for grumpy/traumatized individual x sunshine shows

Logan oftentimes wondered why you, someone so kindhearted and willing to do anything just to see someone smile, stayed by his side especially after everything he’s done.

He didn’t believe himself to be that great of a partner either when it counted but you’d always shone him that beautiful smile of yours and told him that he was anything but a bad partner. Oh how he too wishes he could accept that as the definitive truth but given how he had lead his life up until meeting you, Logan couldn’t help but think otherwise.

He had lost the ability to trust a long time ago and would instead double down on an inherited belief that he didn’t need nobody but himself, assuming that he was meant to walk this life a lone wolf he believed himself to be. Unfortunately for Logan he was a human as everybody else and humans more often then not craved connection, relationships and so on with other human beings.

Logan was no exception to this rule, no matter how often he thinks he’s not, but has forced himself to the point where he physically couldn’t stay within the presence of someone the moment he starts to deeply care for them. He couldn’t bear to be the reason someone else dies, regardless whether his part was intentional or unintentional.

So when you came into his life like a shining beacon, a second chance, everything within him told him to run away and maintain distance so that his bad luck doesn’t rub off on you and causes to to be sent to an easy grave. However you were rather stubborn for someone so soft and sweet that no matter what Logan did to put distance between the two of you, you were quick to close the distance with a knowing look within your eyes as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘It’s okay.’ You tell him. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Don’t promise something you don’t intend to uphold.’ He replies as he then shrugs off your hand and walks elsewhere. He wasn’t going to make it easy for you, that you were aware and were willing to anything to make him see that you weren’t lying, but what you weren’t aware was how easily you had slipped past Logan’s guard much to his dismay and that made him scared.

He had already lost Scott, jean, ororo, beast and many more due to his actions, the wounds were too fresh to be ignored as their screams of his name haunted his dreams as they did his waking life. He didn’t want to add your name amongst the seemingly never ending graveyard that was his loved ones, past, present and future. And yet he couldn’t help but find himself wanting to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe and protected.

His body was torn in two directions on how to go about you, leave you alone until you see that he wasn’t any good for you, or stay by your side and make sure that no harm ever does come to touch you. ever.

You were there during every turbulent moment of his life, watched him tear things apart and show the ugliest side of himself in hopes it would scare you away, but all you did was step over the dead bodies and hold his face in your hands as your thumbs wiped the blood from his cheeks.

‘Are you okay? You’re not hurt?’ You’d ask and Logan would always be left a little speechless because how can you still see the good in him after seeing firsthand what he could do when tested. He was confused at how you could still smile at him so sweetly while clearing him of blood that wasn’t his, he didn’t understand what he did to deserve you.

For all Logan knew was that he was cursed and shouldn’t be allowed a happy existence but yet life sent him the sweetest, most kind and honest person in the form of you as what? Repentance for all the shit he’s been through? Like he’d ever believe life would ever give him a fucking break when all it’s ever done but take everything away from him, even when he was doing okay for himself.

He saved lives but the ones closest to him were taken away, and even when he does take lives the people closest to him still suffer regardless. So what was Logan meant to take away from that other than the fact that he was doomed for the very moment he could heal a gun wound as though it were a scratch.

However overtime and a fuckton of patience on your behalf and soon enough Logan was more reciprocal of your affection and care, even going so far as to give you his own affection in his own unique way that wasn’t grunts and unconvincing reassurance of his own well being. He had grown a soft spot for you but he didn’t care, he loved your soft heart and the sweet sounds you made whenever he felt a little flirtatious then normal.

You were slowly healing the wounds that his regenerative powers could not and Logan couldn’t help but be thankful that you didn’t give up on him, nor leave him alone when you probably should’ve but wouldn’t because you didn’t want him to be alone anymore.

He isn’t one for pda, the most Logan would do was sling an arm over your shoulder, keep you close by his side with his arm on your waist as he glared at anyone who was tempted to take his little sunshine from him.

You described him as moody, temperamental, stubborn, a pain in the ass and then called him a grey storm cloud on a sunny day. Many would say that they were all negative things but you’d then reply with ‘yet they all look good on him.’ Because it was true. They did look good on him and you weren’t about to express pride in the good you see in him without acknowledging that he was a man of many flaws and scars. You wanted to show that your love for Logan was genuine and real, show him that you weren’t excepting him to be the perfect man with the life he’s lived, and you hoped that he could see that he meant everything to you.

And he did see because you meant everything to him in return, he’d tear everything apart with his bare hands if anything were to ever happen to you and he wasn’t nearby to stop it. He was like an unstoppable force to be reckoned with that he wouldn’t even acknowledge the bullet wounds nor the blood, not until you cup his face once more in your hands and wipe away the blood on his cheeks like you have plenty of times before.

‘You sure are a mucky pup Logan.’ You’d say lightheartedly as though he didn’t just tear apart an entire facility for you.

‘How you aren’t fazed by this I’ll never know.’ He replied but was relived to see that you were unharmed before pulling you into his arms, where he held you tightly to his chest just to breath you in while you cling to him in return, happy to see him as you felt safe and sound in his arms again.

‘Well when your lumberjack of a partner is the temperamental type, it kinda comes with the territory to expect him to come home a little bloody.’ You told him as you burrowed your head into his neck and closed your eyes, only to squeal in surprise when Logan pinched your side. ‘For someone who’s sweet and gentle, you sure are a sneaky shit aren’t you?’ Logan said as he felt you silently giggle but couldn’t help but smile himself as he presses a kiss to your head. Happy to have been given a second shot a life, a happier shot and with you no less.

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Chapter 5 - Acceptance

Force of Nature - masterlist

whew, I took this chapter apart because it got too long, and it's still very long

prev next

TW: mind control, mind reading, vampire whumper, human whumpee, dehumanisation, being referred to as food

Julius made her wait in the cold, outside her house on the street for almost ten minutes. Carter did not believe for a second he was late by accident, or that she got the time wrong, or that she told her to wear something that shows as much skin as possible. He was fucking with her, as he always was.

Still she couldn’t bite a frustrated “You were late,” when he pulled up next to her on the street.

“No, I was not” he shrugged, but didn’t hide the smug smile that crept up on his face. She reached to turn the AC up, to warm up a bit, but Julius slapped her hand away. Harsher than it was required to signal she was not supposed to. It stung.

“Don’t you want your dinner warm? I’ll get fucking hypothermic at this rate” she muttered and didn’t care that he heard her clear as day. He couldn’t do anything he hadn’t done before, short of driving his car off the road. And Carter was pretty sure he would not do that; all she knew about Julius was scraps of information, like the fact that he was at least a few decades older than Carter originally guessed. It was a great shame on her as a hunter, estimating how long a leech had been around should give her a better clue on how hard it would be to kill it. She considered it the mistake that led her exactly where she was. 

The car was an old model, probably expensive, and Carter was sure Julius wouldn’t put her in fatal danger over some backtalk. They were both well aware it was all she had left against him. She talked back, because it was her last remaining weapon, and he let her because it was entertaining. He took away her stakes and crosses, although the latter did nothing but personally offend him, he made her throw away her silver jewellery, bullets even the fucking utensils from her kitchen were gone. It was her and her more or less intact wit against him.

“I was waiting for over ten minutes” she continued grumbling. It wasn’t smart, even in her own opinion that she got so used to Julius tormenting her, but taking an extra bite over it at the end of the day was easily worth it.

“Good, as long as it was uncomfortable” Julius scoffed and kept his eyes trained on the road. He didn’t explain or add to it.

The rest of the drive passed in uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable to Carter. Julius hummed along to the song on the radio. One that Carter used to love, and while the vampire sang along to it, she swore to herself she would never listen to it again. 

The building they had arrived to was not only in a different city, but it was abandoned and old as well. It fit the profile of the buildings she used to scour through for these creatures. She was taken aback, that was the exact reason no vampire, who had been around for a while, like Julius would go anywhere near one of these at night. There could be hunters around, which Carter would have been generally ecstatic about, but not this time. She would be clocked as a thrall, with no way to explain that the vampire left her mind intact, and if she was collateral damage of a raid, it would be blamed on the creatures. 

Regret washed over her, as she remembered all the times she jotted down the number of unfortunate thralls under the found dead section of her reports. 

“Where the fuck are we?” she asked, less cautiously than intended. She knew he followed her thought process, the weird tingle of his power had been bothering her from the moment she sat in the car. He didn’t bother to answer, just rolled his eyes and turned around to enter the building.

“Didn’t you say this is going to be a dinner party?” She put the last two words in air quotes. She very clearly meant massacre that she expected. 

“Shut up and follow me” His words rang in her head. The only real sound around were his steps softly echoing in the corridor past the entrance. She had no choice but to follow him through the darkness.

From the inside, the building was just as rundown and old as the outside. Carter couldn’t see much; she tried to rely on the vampire for direction. Julius didn’t seem to care that she was constantly hitting things on her way, or that she almost fell a couple of times. He suddenly stopped and Carter bumped into him eliciting a soft growl. The vampire wasn’t too keen on being touched by humans, even if it was an accident and especially if it was her. She whispered an apology mustering up the energy to sound sincere. Of course he could touch and bite her any time he wanted and if she fought it, he simply forced her to accept it.

The deeper they walked into the building, the more intact things seemed, as if the front of it was intentionally destroyed to look like that. 

She heard sounds, lively chatter of at least a dozen. There was light coming from under a door, Julius promptly opened.

There was a lavish dining room full of people, vampires she guessed as she peeked over Julius’ shoulder. The crowd of bloodsucking creatures scared her more than she expected. She instinctively wanted to run, the aura they emitted was far more intense than she ever encountered. It wasn’t even comparable to the space Julius took up in her head liberally. She felt their charm as electricity, running up and down her skin, it made the hairs stand up on her neck, and she couldn’t run.

“You are just a stupid prey animal” Julius told her once, trying to threaten her, and Carter believed him, but it was only now that she understood the weight that statement actually carried.

He walked inside, cheerfully, greeting people while forcibly keeping her at his heel. The sight baffled her.

She had never seen the man with a smile plastered on his face, a genuine one that reached his eyes. His posture looked relaxed, which she also never saw before. He carried himself with deliberate motions, keeping his back straight, his gestures collected, Julius was graceful as ever, even when he had thrown her against a wall. 

Carter was prepared for the crowd of vampires to attack her, to watch her every move waiting for her to pull a stake out from somewhere or plainly insult her, what could never have expected was them not even looking at her. One or two nodded politely in her direction after greeting Julius, but otherwise she was left alone. She favoured predictability over anything and everything, and having already been set off by the vampire being late, the reactions of the other creatures were nerve-wrecking.

They passed through the crowd quicker than expected and the vampire sat down at the end of the large dining table. She looked around awkwardly as she waited for instructions. She was stuck having to rely on the vampire.

“What are you waiting for?” He asked smugly. Once in her life she wished he’d tell her what to do, or at least forced her with his gift. She didn’t even feel that strange sensation that meant he was tuning in on her thoughts. She blushed with embarrassment.

“What am I supposed to do?” It was so easy to bring her close to tears nowadays. She felt even more shame flooding her chest about that, it was such a stupid thing to cry about, just a bit of uncertainty.

“Sit, of course” he grinned, gesturing towards the floor at his side. Carter nodded and knelt down, repressing a sob. She heard chairs being pulled on the ground, the other guests started to take their places around the table. 

“Julius, why are you hiding that little darling under the table?” The vampire to their left asked, slightly raising himself from his chair to look down at her. She shot a tearful glance back at his smiling face, before looking to Julius for directions.

“I certainly wouldn’t call her a darling” he scoffed “But I suppose that isn’t a sufficient reason to keep her hidden” he pet Carter's hair, roughly entangling his fingers in it as he pulled her upwards “Up here” he patted his lap with his free hand. She climbed up, awkwardly sitting on his thighs, keeping as much distance between their bodies as she possibly could.

“You’re most certainly blind, my friend” the old vampire chuckled. “She just looks deliciously sweet” he gushed over her, prompting her to pull back into Julius’ chest.

“She almost killed me, Amos” he stated, snaking a hand around her torso keeping her in place. Amos, apparently, raised a brow looking her up and down. “And she killed… You know very well who she killed, why would you bring that up?” Julius raised his voice. His arm around her torso held her tighter and Carter could barely breathe. Amos opened and closed his mouth, as if the words suddenly died on his tongue. 

“Is- She- How is she still alive then?” He must not have been younger than sixty years old when he died, and she assumed that happened a long time ago as well. His aura was more electric than anyone else’s in the room, and he radiated vitality of all things. His appearance was the opposite of Julius’ in every way. He was tall, had dark brown skin, with grey streaks in his hair and his beard. He was covered in the strangest pieces of clothing in a surprisingly cohesive colour palette, purple, black and gold. His voice was deep and magically soothing, as if he was a siren.

“That doesn’t concern you” Julius finally noticed that the human in his lap couldn’t breathe and let his hold looser. Amos raised an eyebrow, contemplating how to bring the conversation back to a friendly territory, but the other vampire seemed too agitated. Instead he turned his attention to Carter.

“What’s your name?” She answered. Julius audibly sighed behind her and she guessed he rolled his eyes at the interaction. Amos ignored him entirely.

“Have you ever been to one of our feasts?” He locked eyes with her, and Carter felt that intrusive presence at the nape of her neck. Amos would have taken Julius’ place in her head if he could. He couldn’t, but she still felt like he was staring straight into her soul.

“No, she hasn’t” Julius replied from behind “So this is about to get interesting” he chuckled, as he gained back some sense of his composure. Amos didn’t break eye contact, as a curious grin crept on his ancient looking face, flashing his deadly fangs. 

“Are you curious, darling?” he asked enthusiastically. His complexion looked even darker in contrast with his teeth showing and eyes open wide showing off the whites. She couldn’t keep up with the intense eye contact, so she switched to studying his peculiar satin shirt, adorned with gold lace at the collar. 

“I’m not sure” came the sheepish answer. She had heard of hunters busting up vampire lairs and parties before, hunters who left scarred for life and vowed never to speak of the atrocities that took place there. She had heard rumours that might or might not have been true and she prayed to god they weren’t.

“It’s going to be lovely, as long as you aren’t the one on the menu” Amos winked, and Carter’s stomach did a flip. It wasn’t a new sensation, the horror and shame that came with being referred to as food to her face, but coming from Julius on a regular basis sort of desensitised her to it. Coming from this new creature that spoke so softly and nicely to her it was a fresh hit on already bruised skin. Internally she screamed for the vampire holding her to reassure that she wasn’t going to end up as their dinner; the one time he wasn’t messing around with her head and kept their channel quiet, she wished for the first time he would.

[lhrry]

agnes u were the one to come up with the no control project back in the day right? what do you think about maybe doing the same for waoyf? i reckon it’s safe to say it’s a fan favourite and it’d be really nice to do something like that for louis now that he unfortunately won’t be able to push the album as much! (but also, i think that songs got a LOT of potential and definitely should’ve been a single)

hi honey, I did project home but that was similar! anyhow I’ve actually given this some thought and I think eventually if lthq does not release the song as a single (which would be stupid after all the success it’s had already) it’s definitely something to be considered, but rn if we want to support him and do a push for him, it should be for the album as a whole/silver tongues as a single that he’s just released, that he’s released a mv for yesterday and that has a huge potential to be picked up on radios, even on tiktok (which as much as it suck would help him greatly) and it would be great to get silver tongues to n. 1 and not make a counterproductive push for another song at this point in my opinion!

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

I Was A Bet, You Were A Distraction (K.SJ/M.YG)

Warnings : swearing, drinking, betting on feelings

Word Count : 4941

Synopsis : a relationship started on a bet, a classic trope, but with a twist.

I knew the rumours that circulated about me. I knew what everyone thought of me, but it never bothered me. Being an ice queen and keeping everyone at an arms length keeps my heart safe. Guys still tried to break me, wanting to be known as the person who broke the ice queen, but I’ve never cracked.

           “Another rejection?” My best friend, Park Jimin, pouted as he sat across from me. “You really should give someone a chance. You’re obviously not going to make a move on library guy.”

           “His name is Min Yoongi.” I cut him off, a playful smile on my face as he rolled his eyes. “Besides, that guy was gross. He literally told me he could show me a fun time if I just showed him a pretty smile.”

           “Okay, gross.” Jimin chuckled. “But please, if a non-gross guy asks you out, just give it a shot. They could surprise you.” I rolled my eyes, reluctantly agreeing to the only guy I’ve ever had a soft spot for.

           “Hey, Y/N.” Someone said as Jimin and I were getting ready to leave the café and grab dinner. When I turned around, I met the eyes of the infamous Kim Seokjin, standing there with a nervous smile on his face. “I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner with me sometime?” His eyes looked hopeful, but it didn’t phase me. I heard the rumours; heard the stories of the many girls he’s been with. I refused to be another notch in his belt. But before I could reject him, Jimin jumped in.

           “She’d love to!” Seokjin looked over to my best friend who had thrown his arm across my shoulders, and then looked at me for confirmation.

           “Sure, Kim Seokjin.” I didn’t bother faking a smile. I’m sure he’d heard the rumours about me. I’m sure he just wants to be the one to crack me. He’s always enjoyed a challenge.

           “Great! Uh, here’s my number. Text me.” He handed me a piece of paper ripped from a notebook with his number scrawled on it. I took it from him, telling him I’d text him later, and walked away as fast as I could.

           “I thought you said non-gross guy, Jimin!” I hit him lightly as we walked away from the café. “Kim Seokjin is one of the grossest!”

           “Yes, but he’s got money, babe. I did you a favour.” He lightly shoved me with his shoulder, and I couldn’t help but laugh and roll my eyes. I suppose one date couldn’t hurt. I’ll get some good food out of it at the very least.

*

         “Here, drink some water.” Yoongi looked up at me from his textbooks with wide eyes. He quietly thanked me as I took my usual seat across from him. I took quick glances up at him every once in a while as I studied, thinking about the first day I took the seat across from him.

           I used to study at the café as I waited for Jimin to get out of dance. But random guys would always interrupt me, and I found myself barely getting any studying done. So I decided to study at the library for a couple hours before heading to the café to meet Jimin per our tradition.

           Min Yoongi, known as the ice king, would always sit alone. Sitting with him was my best bet in getting any work done, knowing he wouldn’t bother me. He seemed annoyed when I first sat down, but when he saw it was me, didn’t say a word. No one dared bothered us when we were together.

           It didn’t take a genius to see how handsome Min Yoongi was. I always found myself sneaking glances at him while we studied, unable to keep my eyes off of him. We spoke a few words to each other over these last few months, and that was enough for me to give into my growing crush.

           “Hey, Y/N?” He softly asked as I began packing up. I seized my movements, looking up at the gorgeous man I can’t stop thinking about. “I heard you were the best at this, would you mind tutoring me sometime? I’ve been having a hard time grasping it.” He pointed to a homework booklet he was given that was still completely blank save for his name in the top right corner.

           “I got to go meet up with a friend, but,” I ripped a corner off from one of my notebooks and quickly scrawled my number on it, sliding it across from him. “Text me and we can figure something out.” He looked up at me with a small smile on his face, and I could swear time stopped. I quickly shook myself out of the trance his smile put me in and packed up the rest of my books before walking to the café, a lovesick smile on my face.

*

         I was dressed in my best dress, my hair and makeup done to the best of my abilities, and I couldn’t help but smile at myself in the mirror. “Who knew my best friend was so hot.” Jimin joked over Facetime, a playful smile on his face.

           “I can’t believe you convinced me to actually go on a date with Kim Seokjin.” I grumbled, collapsing on my couch as I waited for him.

           “It didn’t take much convincing. I know apart of you is excited to live the rich life for one night.” I giggled, but we both knew he was right. When the doorbell rang, I said my goodbyes to Jimin and went to answer it, surprised to see Seokjin standing there in a tailored suit holding a bouquet of flowers.

           “Wow, you look, wow.” I chuckled, taking the flowers he was holding out for me. Quickly, I filled a vase with water and placed them inside before sliding on a pair of heels and grabbing my purse.

           “You know you could have just texted that you were here.” I pointed out as he opened the car door for me.

           “How am I supposed to sweep you off your feet if I do that?” He smiled before closing the door and rushing to his side.

           As much as I hate to admit it, I actually enjoyed the time I spent with Jin. He was a complete gentleman right up to the end. And there wasn’t any awkward silence; conversation seemed to flow easily. I found myself laughing at his jokes and his stories. Time just seemed to fly by while I was with him as he wasn’t dropping me off until after midnight. “You certainly surprised me tonight, Kim Seokjin.” I smiled.

           “Does that mean you’ll go on a second date with me?” I found myself agreeing before I could stop myself. Maybe this is exactly what I needed to get over my one-sided crush on Min Yoongi. He’d be a good distraction.

*

         “I hear our resident Ice Queen got a boyfriend.” Yoongi teased as I sat across from him. Ever since our first date, Jin and I have been spending more time together. I still keep up my regular schedule of studying with Yoongi until I have to leave to meet up with Jimin, but Jin and his friends have decided to join us. It’s been 2 months since my first date with Jin, and 1 month since we’ve made it official.

           “Now it’s time for our resident Ice King to get a girlfriend.” I teased back, taking a sip of the coffee Yoongi bought me. He’s made it a daily thing, buying my favourite coffee before I come, and I bring us water since we’re usually here for a couple hours together.

           “Unlikely.” He chuckled. My heart started to pound as I looked up at his smiling face. “The girl I like doesn’t like me back.” He added before taking a sip of his own coffee.

           “Oh my god! The Min Yoongi has a crush!” I quietly exclaimed, a wide smile on my face as I wrapped a hand around his wrist, begging him to tell me about the girl he likes.

           “She’s beautiful.” He says, blush rising to his cheeks. “But I can tell she doesn’t believe she is. And she’s so smart, so kind. There really isn’t a better girl.” I thought dating Jin would help my one-sided crush on Yoongi, but as I sit across from him as he tells me about this girl he likes, I can feel my heart breaking, knowing it’ll never be me.

*

         I stood in the kitchen while the party raged on around me. Since dating Jin, Jimin and I have been invited to a lot more parties, parties I keep getting dragged to. I watched as Jimin drank and made new friends, enjoying himself, and I couldn’t be happier for him. I watched as Jin and his friends played some games, laughing and drinking the night away. They’ve always been the life of the party, and though I don’t like parties, I wasn’t going to stop my boyfriend from enjoying himself. So I stood in the kitchen, watching as everyone enjoys themselves, silently wishing I took Yoongi up on his offer to see a movie tonight.

           “Now don’t tell me this beautiful girl is here alone.” I looked up and met a stranger’s eyes as he smirked at me. “All alone, standing in my kitchen, must be fate.” He continued, draping an arm across my shoulders.

           “Actually I’m here with my boyfriend.” I smiled, turning towards where Jin last was, and seeing that him and his friends disappeared. My heart dropped to my stomach when I couldn’t see them anywhere.

           “No need to lie to me.” He teased, removing his arm from my shoulders, and instead wrapping it around my waist, pulling me closer to him as I tried to move away from him. “I’m sure I can show the Ice Queen a good time.”

           “What are you doing, Minho?” The familiar voice eases my nerves but seems to do the opposite to Minho. His arm immediately drops from my waist as his eyes widen, meeting Yoongi’s eyes filled with anger. If I didn’t know Yoongi the way I do, I’d be terrified. When Yoongi raised his brow, Minho left the kitchen without another word. “Sorry about him. I’m still training him.” He chuckled. “Where’s Jin?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around for my boyfriend.

           “What are you doing here?” I asked, ignoring his question. “I didn’t know Mr. Min Yoongi partied.” I teased, a smile making its way to my lips.

           “I’m actually, unfortunately, apart of this frat. My dad actually started this frat with his friends, so I had no choice.” He explained, chuckling at my shocked face. “I really do apologize for Minho. I hope he didn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

           “It’s okay, Yoongs. Thank you for saving me though. I don’t know where any of the guys went.” I took a quick look around, trying to see if I could any of the 6 guys I came with. “If you see any of them, can you let them know I went home? Parties really aren’t my thing.” I chuckled.

           “I’ll take you home.” He said, setting the cup he was holding down on the counter. “Just text one of them to let them know you’re safe.” I nodded, closely following Yoongi as the two of us made our way through the dense crowd of people and out the front door. As we walked, I sent a quick text to both Jimin and Jin, letting them know Yoongi was walking me home.

           “You know, you didn’t have to walk me home.” I spoke up after some silence. “It is technically your party; shouldn’t you be there?”

           “Honestly, I try not to be home when there’s a party. It’s why I asked you to a movie tonight. Well that, and I like spending time with you.” My heart fluttered at his words. My head began spinning with theories as to what he meant. Would I be reading too far into it by thinking he has feelings for me too?

*

         Monday afternoon, Yoongi was sitting at our regular table in the library, two coffees in front of him as per usual. “How’d your test go?” I asked, placing a bottle of water in front of him before taking my seat. He looked up at me as I sat down, a smile on his face when he met my eyes. So different than how things used to be.

           “I won’t get the results until the end of the week, but I think I aced it!” He exclaimed. I remember the days we would study silently across from each other, not knowing anything about each other besides the rumours that circulated.

           “Of course! You have the best tutor.” I joked, a wide smile on my face as he just smiled back at me, chuckling slightly, and shaking his head. I used to know absolutely nothing about him, besides the small things I heard from others, and the things I picked up on while silently crushing on him.

           Now I know his smile. I know it so well I could probably draw it from memory. I know that his older brother would always cook for him. I know he’s not as close to his family as he wished he was. I know he struggles in his classes. I know he prefers iced coffee over hot coffee, and that he always forgets to drink water. He hates parties and spends most weekends at a diner, studying and trying to keep his grades up. I know he’s so far from being an Ice King. He’s so caring, so kind. And I know that I’m falling in love with him.

*

         “I think it’s time we call it.” I overheard as I walked into the café I meet Jimin at everyday. I looked over to the tables Jin and his friends push together so the 7 of us can sit together, and saw the 5 of them sitting together, serious looks on all their faces.

           “I love hanging out with her and Jimin.” Taehyung spoke, and I quickly sat at a nearby table, wanting to hear what they have to say. “You need to tell her about the bet.”

           “A bet?! Seriously Jackson?” He stumbled over his words, trying to come up with a good excuse, but there wasn’t one. “Glad I could help you win. Don’t contact me again.” I pushed passed him as he called after me, but there wasn’t anything else that needed to be said. 2 years. I wasted 2 years of my life thinking we were in love, but it was all a bet. It was never love.

           Jimin sat in front of me, snapping me out of my memories. He opened his mouth to say something, but I shushed him and pointed over to the guys.

           “She’s so awesome. I feel so bad.” Jungkook added to the conversation. “She doesn’t deserve to have her feelings played with like this.”

           “We can tell her everything and apologize. Hopefully, she’ll forgive us.” Jimin looked at me with confusion on his eyes as I struggled to breathe. It’s like high school all over again. When Jackson came into my life, stole my heart, and then destroyed me. Telling me he loved me, and planning our future, all the while laughing with his friends about how gullible I was. Jimin was the one to pull me out of my slump, but I put my walls up and I promised myself I’d never let them crumble. I’d never be so naïve again.

           “I doubt she’d even care.” Jin scoffed. “She’s the Ice Queen for a reason.” Yet here I was, repeating it all over again.

           “Just because she’s an Ice Queen doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings, hyung.” Hoseok spoke up, shaking his head. I’ll admit that the reason I started dating Jin wasn’t the best, but I found myself enjoying his company. Everything felt real, like he really cared about me. My feelings for Yoongi have always been stronger, but sometimes I felt myself falling for Jin’s charms. He’s not the school playboy for nothing. He really knows how to make a girl feel special. He knows how to knock down any wall someone has put up to protect themselves.

           “Whatever. You guys can tell her about the bet then. While you’re at it, you can tell her we’re over. I have things to do.” He stood up from the table, and that’s when they all noticed Jimin and I sitting at a nearby table. Jin’s eyes widened when he saw us.

           “You guys are all fucking disgusting.” Jimin exclaimed, standing up from the table. “You’re damn right she doesn’t deserve this. No one does! Y/N, let’s go.” His voice softened when he looked over at me, tears welling up in my eyes as I looked up at the man who bet on my heart. “They don’t deserve your tears, angel.” He whispered, wiping away my tears before grabbing my hand and dragging me out of the café.

           “Talk about déjà vu.” I chuckled as we walked towards my apartment.

           “Guys are the worst.” Jimin mumbled, shaking his head as the two of us walked hand in hand. I laced our fingers and walked closer beside him, swinging our arms causing him to chuckle at me.

           “You’ve always been the exception to that statement, Min.” I smiled up at my best friend. I wasn’t in love with Jin the way I was with Jackson, but it doesn’t hurt any less. The crush that was forming on the handsome man quickly faded as the reality set in. Once again I was a bet. And I just wished people would stop making bets on my feelings.

*

         “Don’t you usually leave by now?” Yoongi asked as the two of us studied together the next day. “The boyfriend is probably waiting for you.” He chuckled.

           “We actually broke up.” His smile quickly fell as he spit out an apology. “It’s fine. The relationship was all a bet anyway.” I shrugged, trying my best not to let my feelings show. Trying to seem as unbothered as possible. “People love trying to break the Ice Queen.” Little do they know, the reason for my smiles wasn’t Kim Seokjin, but Min Yoongi, the Ice King himself.

           “That’s so fucked. Guys are the worst.” He scoffed causing me to chuckle.

           “That’s exactly what Jimin said.” I smiled.

           “Talking about me?” Jimin joked, taking a seat beside me. “I hope you don’t mind if I intrude from now on.” The statement was directed towards Yoongi who shook his head. “Good, because if I see any of those guys, I will be throwing hands.”

           “Please, Jungkook could beat you with just his pinky.” I teased, shoving him lightly. Yoongi was watching us with a fondness in his eyes I haven’t seen before. And I couldn’t stop the pounding of my heart, no matter how hard I tried.

*

         Jimin continued meeting Yoongi and I at the library everyday after getting out of dance. At first I thought Yoongi would hate it as Jimin isn’t known for quietly studying like Yoongi and I are. But he quickly warmed up to my best friend, and 3 of us spent weekends going to movies and to the diner Yoongi loves to much. We avoided all the parties we were once invited to, and the café we were regulars at for so long, hoping never to cross paths with the guys we once considered friends.

           My feelings for Yoongi only continued to grow as spent nearly everyday together. Days quickly turned into weeks, and before I knew it, it had been a month since Jin and I broke up. With Jimin and Yoongi with me everyday, I barely had time to feel the hurt I felt when it happened with Jackson. “Y/N.” 1 month since I found out about the bet. 1 month since I’ve seen any of the guys. 1 month and now Jin is standing in front of me. I moved to push passed him and get to the library, but he wrapped his hand around my arm, effectively stopping me. “It’s been a month; can I please just say something?”

           “What more is there to say? I was a bet, and honestly speaking Kim Seokjin, you were a distraction.” His hand fell from my arm, dropping back to his side. “It was fun, though. But that doesn’t mean my feelings aren’t hurt. And you didn’t seem to give a fuck. Telling your boys to tell me and break up with me for you. So why now? Don’t tell me some cliché shit that you realized you had feelings for me and that you miss me, because we both know that’s bullshit.” He stayed silent. “Good talk, Kim Seokjin.” I pushed open the doors to the library and made my way to my regular table, Yoongi already there, two coffees in front of him. “I feel like getting drunk.” I said, plopping in my regular seat.

           “Rough day?” Yoongi chuckled, sliding my coffee across the table towards me.

           “Let’s just say Seokjin wanted to talk.” Yoongi closed his text book and smiled up at me.

           “Soju and ice cream?” He asked as he quickly packed up.

           “I’ll text Jimin to meet us at my apartment. Let’s get drunk!” I exclaimed, grabbing my coffee, and leaving the library with Yoongi by my side. We were both chuckling as he opened the door, allowing me to walk out first. I wasn’t paying attention as I walked out the door, turning my head to look at Yoongi, and bumped into someone. “Sorry … Namjoon?” He smiled down at me as I quickly took a step back. Yoongi looked up at him before wrapping an arm around me, pulling me closer to him.

           “You didn’t let Jin talk, so I figured I’d try.” He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck.

           “There’s nothing to talk about.” Yoongi spoke up. “You guys got caught; deal with the consequences of your actions.” The two of us tried to walk passed him, but unlike Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon was persistent.

           “You act like you don’t make mistakes.” He called after us, stopping us in our tracks. “Jin told me you said he was just a distraction.” I turned to face Namjoon causing Yoongi’s arm to fall back to his side.

           “When I agreed to the first date, I agreed hoping for a distraction from my one-sided crush. But when I agreed to the second date, it was because I liked his company. When I said yes to being his girlfriend, it was because I had real feelings for him. And that’s the difference between me and him, Kim Namjoon. Everything on my end was 100% real, where as on his end it was all fake. He pretended to have feelings for me.” Namjoon stared at me, obviously not expecting my blow up. “What else needs to be said, Namjoon?” I asked, my voice cracking. Yoongi slid his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together and giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

           “We’re sorry. We never got to apologize, and we want to.” I shook my head.

           “I don’t want your apology. You don’t deserve my forgiveness.” He didn’t stop us as we walked away this time. “I really need a drink.” I whispered causing Yoongi to chuckle.

         “Consider it done, princess.”

*

         Jimin was angrily pacing around my living room after Yoongi and I told him what happened. “Hoseok approached me today, too. They waited an entire month to try to apologize. What a joke.” He took a swig of his drink. “I can’t believe they did exactly what Jackson and his friends did in high school! Like, we’re in fucking college now.”

           “Wait, this happened to you before?” Yoongi jumped in as Jimin continued to mumble to himself between taking swigs of his drink.

           “It’s not a big deal.” I shrugged, really not wanting to explain what happened in high school. But Jimin had other plans.

           “No big deal?! You switched schools! Wouldn’t eat unless I forced you to! Jackson is the whole reason you’re known as the Ice Queen in the first place.” Yoongi looked between the two of us. “You spent 2 years believing he was the great love of your life, just to find out it was all a bet and he never loved you. That’s a big deal!”

           “2 years?” Yoongi asked and all I could do was nod. “God, guys fucking suck.” He exclaimed, leaning back on the couch as he took another sip of his drink.

           “That’s what I’m saying!” Jimin added, plopping himself down on a chair.

           “You two are the only guys I need.” I smiled, cuddling up to Yoongi, who happily wrapped his arms around me and placed a kiss on top of my head.

           “I never should have told you to go on that date.” Jimin mumbled as he watched Yoongi and I.

           “You didn’t know it would end up like this.” I told him; my words muffled by Yoongi’s shirt as my head rested on his chest. The three of us continued to drink, trying to forget all the angst of the day and have a good night.

*

         “Hey! Now that Suck-Jin is gone, you can make your move!” Jimin exclaimed some hours later, all of us considerably more drunk than we expected to be.

           “Oh yeah! You were saying you had a crush on someone!” Yoongi jumped in, poking my arm with a teasing smile on his face. “You’re beautiful! You should just go for it.” I laughed, shaking my head. “Come on, Y/N!” Yoongi whined. “I want to see you happy.”

           “Yeah, Y/N! What was his name again?” I couldn’t help but laugh at how Jimin hasn’t changed. He still forgets everything when he’s drunk. “Yoongi!” He yelled, causing Yoongi to look over at him.

           “You don’t have to yell, I’m right here!” Yoongi yelled back. Jimin’s eyes widened.

           “Y/N! Now’s your chance! He’s right there.” He loudly whispered, cupping his hands around his mouth as if that would stop Yoongi from hearing him.

           “Shut up, Jimin!” I said as I threw a pillow towards him, missing by a lot due to the alcohol in my system. “He has a crush on some girl!” I exclaimed with a pout on my face.

           “Dammit Yoongi!” Jimin exclaimed. “How can you not like Y/N?!” He leaned forward in his chair, causing him to fall to the ground. I burst out laughing, completely forgetting the conversation that was happening seconds previous.

           “Idiot! You’re always falling off chairs.” I laughed, but Yoongi was silent, seeming to have quickly sobered up. “Yah!” I slapped Yoongi’s arm. “What’s with that face?” I pouted.

           “You like me?” My eyes widened as my jaw dropped.

           “Who told you?” I whispered. “You weren’t supposed to know!” Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head at me.

           “I think it’s bed time for you.” He stood up, holding a hand out for me to take so he could help me up. “Jimin,” he turned to saying something, but Jimin was passed out on the floor. “Okay then.” He chuckled before helping me to my room.

           “Stay.” I pouted as I patted the empty space beside me. He shook his head as he tucked me in and turned to leave. “Yoongs!” I whined. “I want cuddles.” He chuckled, standing in my doorway contemplating whether he should stay or leave. “Please.”

           “Always my weakness.” He mumbled to himself before crawling into bed with me and pulling me into his arms. I fell asleep quickly while listening to his heartbeat.

*

         I woke up still wrapped in Yoongi’s arms, and the events of the previous night hit me like a truck. “Fuck.” I whispered to myself, trying to wriggle out of his arms without waking him up.

           “You wanted cuddles; you live with the consequences.” He mumbled; his eyes still closed.

           “Yah, if you’re awake, let me go.” I whined, trying to pull his arms off of me, but his grip only tightened. “What are you doing?” I asked, eventually giving up on getting out of his arms. He mumbled something I couldn’t understand before pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Wow, who would have known the Ice King was actually the biggest softie.” I joked.

           “Says miss Ice Queen pouting until I cuddled her.” I let out a small giggle, the memory coming back to me slowly. “You and Jimin are really funny when you’re drunk.” Before I could ask, he continued. “You accidentally confessed to me last night.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but I heard him loud and clear. “Before you panic,” He was moving so he could look at me, but his arms were still around me. “I like you too.” I couldn’t help the smile the overtook my face when he said that. “So if we can shake the third wheel, I’d like to take you out today.” I giggled, but promised I’d find a way for it to be just us. “Okay, then I’m going to go home and get ready. I’ll see you in a couple hours.” He pressed a soft kiss to my temple before getting out of my bed and leaving.

           My two previous relationships may have failed miserably, but I know things are different this time. Third times a charm, as they say.

[alltooreid]

Clean

As Spencer struggles to overcome his dilaudid addiction, Y/N is dealing with an addiction of her own, to her toxic, manipulative boyfriend. This is an account of a full year, following their joint journeys to sobriety and new love.

A/N: Hi!! I have another Taylor Swift inspired Spencer Reid one shot (but of course you do not need to know the song to understand the one shot). Although originally I was going to write something more fluffy, I switched to this song to write something more angsty and interesting. However, to change pace from my last one shot, this one has a much happier, hopeful ending. However, it is very triggering so please read the trigger warnings before you start. Also, if you have any songs you want to read please let me know!! Also, if you just have a general request please send it my way! Thank you so much for the love on my All Too Well one shot, I never thought my first fanfic on here would be so well received!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: Angst, but hopeful angst

Word Count: 7.6K

Content Warnings: Cursing, mentally and physically abusive relationship, relationship cheating (ie, reader is being cheated on), blood and cuts description, drug addiction (these parts are kept short purposefully), lots of fighting and yelling both in reader’s relationship and between Spencer and reader, however, there is a happy and hopeful ending. Reader is struggling to get out of her toxic relationship, please no comments about her being stupid. If you are in a situation like Y/N, please don’t use this fic as a guide. Get help immediately. https://www.thehotline.org/

Things to Know: Italics and bold are flashback moments, the time and date headers serve as time skips :) let me know what you think! Please request any songs you would like to see be made one shots!

“You're still all over me Like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore Hung my head as I lost the war And the sky turned black like a perfect storm”

3:27 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You have known Spencer for a long time. In fact, you’ve known him longer than you’ve known Randall, and you’ve felt like you’ve known Randall your entire life.

Maybe that’s because you let him become your entire life.

Still, although you had known Spencer for 7 years, 2 years longer than the entirety of your on again, off again relationship with Randall. You still felt weird calling him. He was going through a lot right now, not that he wasn’t normally. Spencer had one of the most difficult jobs you could think of. You know Spencer has shot and killed people before, and you know every time he did it ate him up inside.

And every time he did he called you.

You also knew that Spencer is one of the kindest people you have ever met, you struggle to imagine him wielding a gun on a daily basis. He just seems too sweet, too perfect.

Yet there was a lot you didn’t know about the young genius.

You have no idea that as you stand in the street, contemplating whether you should call Spencer to come and get you, Spencer is making a difficult decision of his own. As you worry about the possibility of waking Spencer up this early in the morning, Spencer sits wide awake and ponders if he has enough time to get high before he has to leave for work in 3 hours.

As you sit on the side of the road, debating between your very few options, Spencer leads up against the side of his bathtub tears pouring down his cheeks, tears that he doesn’t even register as being there.

Fortunately for the both of you, at the same time Spencer reaches into his bag to search for that tiny glass bottle, his phone begins to ring.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You sigh, “He kicked me out again Spencer, is there anyway you can come get me?”

Spencer looks around his apartment, frantically hiding the belt and the needles he had gotten out for the events he was anticipating. “Yeah, of course I can come get you, um, just give me a couple minutes and send me your location.”

3:52 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You’re in the passenger’s seat of Spencer’s car, both of you sitting in silence. This situation isn’t new to either of you, Spencer has picked you up plenty of times before, in fact he’s done it for years now. One time, about 3 years into your relationship with Randall, you were permitted to go out by yourself with Spencer’s team, they wanted to meet you, apparently Spencer talked about you all the time. While you were at dinner with them, Morgan asked you if you had a car of your own. You explained that you did, but that your boyfriend had it a majority of the time, and that when he didn’t he hated you using it because you always had to mess with everything. He hates you touching his stuff. Morgan made a weird face about that answer, so you quickly followed up, explaining that you didn’t mind.

You do mind though. You hate how he never lets you touch anything or go anywhere, and you hate how much he despises your only form of transportation.

Spencer.

Randall hates everything about Spencer Reid, and he especially hates seeing his car pull into your driveway. That’s why after the 8th time he kicked you out, you started walking half a mile to the nearest gas station before calling Spencer.

The first time Spencer came to get you Randall came out to talk to you before you left.

“What are you doing? Who is this?”

“It’s Spencer, he’s gonna take me to his apartment.” you explained, confused why Randall was so angry you were leaving when he was the one who had kicked you out.

“Oh so just because I don’t want to look at your bitchass all night that means you can go sleep with another man? I knew you were a whore Y/N. You know him and his stupid fucking car aren’t going to be able to deal with you the way I can. How old is that thing anyway?”

“Randall, calm down, I’m not sleeping with Spencer. I love you, I don’t want to sleep with anyone else. But I’m not gonna sit out here all night, where else should I go?”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so quick to whore yourself out to the easiest man you could find I would invite you back inside,” he said before slamming the door in your face.

So you got in Spencer’s car, the one Randall would grow to hate so much.

“Are you okay Y/N? He didn’t hit you did he? You know you can come live with me, you should really get out of that house, I can get Morgan tomorrow and we can go get your belongings. I have plenty of-”

You snapped at him, “No Spencer he’s not hitting me! Why do you always jump to that conclusion, Randall is a great guy! I would’ve never called you if you were going to jump to conclusions like this. You’re supposed to be a genius, yet you’re acting like such a dumb ass right now.”

Spencer looked at you, and immediately you regretted your words. You knew Spencer was just worried about you and with his line of work he had reason to be. However before you could apologize he spoke again.

“I’m sorry Y/N, forget I said anything.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments before you even knew what to say, and yet all you could think of was, “Hey Spence, what kind of car do you drive?”

He smiled, “It’s a 1965 Volvo Amazon P130 122S, it’s horizon blue, that’s the color they refer to it as. Did you know they’re known as so reliable that the 4 door models are still used as police vehicles in some places. This one’s a two door, but still runs great. . . “

You smiled, how fitting a man as reliable as Spencer Reid had the perfect car to match.

When you get to Spencer’s apartment something seems off. Spencer has always lived in organized chaos, but this just feels different. Unlike his normal mess, this one feels like a blatant disregard for his things, even some of his most prized possessions. His books are strewn across the floors, his clothes overflowing from his laundry basket, which was a mix of both folded, clean, yet to be put away things and worn items. Weirdly, the one place that looks untouched is his kitchen, as if he hasn’t used it in months. And you mean that in the most literal interpretation, his counters are covered in visible, undisturbed dust.

“Thank you so much Spencer, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He smiles, but his eyes look so tired. “Don’t worry about it Y/N.”

And at 4:47, you finally fall asleep in Spencer’s bedroom, which he insists you take, and he stays awake until he leaves for work just a few hours later.

9:33 PM, April 17th, 2007.

You leave Spencer’s apartment the following night, after an unfortunate screaming match with him. You have never seen him so angry, so easily ticked off. Yet as soon as Randall called you Spencer became aggressive.

“Yeah babe, I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ll take a cab and be home within the hour. Of course I’m not mad at you sweetheart, I know you didn’t mean it. I love you, see you soon.”

Spencer exitted his kitchen in a huff, and opened his mouth to start talking before you spoke up.

“I’m sure you’ve overheard already, but Randall’s letting me back in the house. Thank you so much Spence. I really appreciate everything you do to help me. Call me soon please, I definitely owe you lunch,” you said, grabbing your coat and your phone, the only things you had managed to grab from your home before your unplanned eviction.

“Why do you even stay with him Y/N? Why do you keep going back there?” Spencer yelled. You had never seen him like this before, so livid and irritable.

“I love him Spence, and he loves me,” you explained, and you were telling the truth. You do love Randall, and you know that in his heart he loves you too, even if he got a little angry sometimes.

“If he loved you he wouldn’t treat you like this Y/N! Don’t you think I would know? I see this everyday! It’s my job! And yet my best friend is too stupid to realize she’s been in an abusive relationship for almost 6 years!”

You were just as angry now, “You’re wrong Spencer, I don’t wanna hear this okay? I love Randall and he loves me. We deserve each other.”

Spencer’s face softened before growing angry once more, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you Spencer, I’m going home. I don’t need you and I don't need your help,” you said, grabbing your things and slamming the door open. You were lying, you need Spencer and you need his help more than anything, but you didn’t want to admit that while he was being such a dick.

“Fine!” he yelled, “Go run back to him then, but you better not call me when he kicks you out again. I don’t care anymore!”

And so you left, Spencer slammed the door behind you as you stormed out of his apartment. You didn’t stop to think about the fact that Spencer never acts like this. He has never lashed out at you, never questioned your relationship with Randall to your face, let alone scream at you and insult you because of it. You didn’t stop and think about what Spencer was on, or not on, that was making his act like this.

But you thought about it now.

You want to get home before Randall starts to get upset and suspicious, but now after your fight with Spencer you have to walk home. You couldn’t ask him to borrow cash for a cab, let alone ask him to drive you there. You were stuck walking, which also meant you were stuck with Randall’s wrath when you returned.

You already feel terrible about the way you treated Spencer. You think about going to apologize, and stand in front of the door for a second, weighing the pros and cons of doing so. Eventually, you go to turn away, ultimately deciding that you both needed to calm down before speaking to each other again.

Yet as you turn, the door opens. Spencer stands right there, strangely calm, seemingly out of it. All fury and anger you had seen just minutes before gone. In this moment he resembles Randall, and it's the first time you’ve ever been able to draw any comparison to the two.

It’s scary.

“Spencer I-” but you get cut off, not by words, but by an object. Before you can even register what was just thrown in your face the door is closed again. You duck down to grab what was thrown.

Twenty dollars.

For the cab ride home.

1:34 AM, April 23rd, 2007.

You light the final candle on your dining room table, before stepping back to admire your work. Randall always came home so late from work, so you rarely ate dinner together. But today was your anniversary, so you stayed up late, prepared his favorite meal and set up all of your fancy dinnerware so that you could have a very late dinner together before he goes to bed and you go to work. He should be home any minute now.

Yet 3 hours later Randall is not back. You’re just about to cut your losses and call it a night, and start to clean up the melted down candles and cold steak dinner as you hear your front door open.

“Y/N! What are you doing still awake?”

“Do you know what day it is Randall? Because I do.”

He looks down at his watch, checks the time, and looks back up at you, “Well it is now 3:57 AM, meaning it is now Monday. Which is why I’m curious as to what you’re still doing up sweetheart, you have to be at work in 3 hours.” “There’s something special about THIS Monday Randall,” you sigh, you’re disappointed but not surprised, this has happened for the past 3 years.

“Do you have a project going on at work baby? You know I can’t keep track of all that crap, your job is so silly and easy to lose track of. You have to remind me of these things if you actually want me to care about them.”

“It’s our anniversary Randall.”

He stops, but instead of looking guilty or remorseful (like you secretly hoped), he gets livid, “No it’s not, are you stupid or something?”

“Randall, baby it’s okay, it’s not a big deal.”

“No! You stupid fucking bitch, are you trying to make me look bad, cooking this stupid fancy dinner and staying up late. Trying to lie and act like I forgot our five year anniversary?! Stop playing the victim Y/N. So tell me, are you lying to make me feel bad, or is your brain really that fucking empty?”

“It’s our six year anniversary,” you whisper.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I was just being stupid Randall. You’re right baby, I forgot the date of our anniversary.”

He snarls. “I don’t think so Y/N, I think, actually I know that not only are you stupid, but that you’re a liar. I know that you just want to make me look bad by preparing our anniversary dinner a week early. And you have to push it by claiming we’ve been together for six years. I know it’s five. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” you cry.

“NO YOU’RE NOT!” he yells, pushing his plate of steak and mashed potatoes, letting your parent’s wedding china shatter on the ground. You cry harder. “You’re a stupid, waste of my time Y/N. Five wasted years I’ve spent on you. Do you know why I do it, huh. Do you know why I stay with you when I could have one of the beautiful, rich, successful, truthful women I’m fucking?”

You shake your head.

“It’s because I feel pity for you. No other man would want you. I’m the only one that will ever love you. You know that right Y/N?” He picks up a piece of your hair, gently tucking it behind your ear. “Tell me that I’m the only one who will love you, you know it’s the truth right?” You nod your head. In a swift motion Randall turns, grabs a glass full of red wine and chucks it at the wall, narrowly avoiding your left ear.

“I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT.”

“You’re the only one who will ever love me Randall,” you croak out in between sobs.

He closes the distance between you two once more, gripping your chin and jerking your face so that your eyes meant his. It hurts, and makes you cry more, but you don’t say anything.

“Don’t you know it sweetness,” he lets go, delivers a sharp slap to your check and grips your wrist. “Now clean your mess up, and then I think it’s best if you get out of the house for a little bit, don’t you agree?”

You nod quickly. He smiles.

“Good girl, now I would normally be worried about you going to hook up with that string bean you’re always all over, but according to the last time I went through your phone, he isn’t in your recent calls. Glad to know he’s finally done with your bullshit. I’m sure a nice long walk alone will do you good. You can think about what led you to lying tonight, and then maybe you can come back in time for our real anniversary.”

He slips upstairs, so you clean up the rest of the uneaten meal and the broken wine class, cutting up your hands severely in the process. You spend at least an hour in a futile attempt to get red wine stains off of your wallpaper, before grabbing your phone and purse and running out the door.

Even after what Randall says, you still think about calling Spencer. Your thumb hovers over the call button for a minute until you switch the contact, phoning your boss instead. You inform her you need a personal day, and that it’s a family emergency.

You check the time, 6:53. Spencer is almost definitely on his way to work right now. You want to call him so bad, but the things he said you ring through your mind. You can’t ask for his help anymore.

For the first time, you are truly on your own.

Until a familiar horizon blue Volvo pulls up next to the curb you’re sitting on, and Spencer Reid sticks his head out the window.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Get it the car, come on I’ll drive you to work with me.”

Confused as you are, this is your best option right now. So you climb into the passenger seat of his car, refusing to make eye contact with him, instead looking at your bleeding hands. “Oh my god, Y/N. You’re bleeding. Did Randall do this to you? Why didn’t you call me?”

“No, Spencer, Randall didn’t do this to me. He dropped a wine glass and I helped him pick it up. Now just drive.” And he does, drive that is. But you can feel his stares, on your cut up hands, and you forming bruises. You can feel him profiling the signs of abuse on your body.

But more than that you hate that you can feel he’s upset with you. Upset because you didn’t call him. Does he not remember screaming at you not too?

He pulls into the parking lot, parks the car and finally turns to make eye contact with you. He has tears in his, “I really wish you would’ve called me Y/N. If it’s getting this bad I want you to stay with me.”

“Spencer am I going insane?”

“Of course not, what do you mean?” he looks so gentle, so kind and you’re so confused.

“Do you remember what day me and Randall started dating?”

“Yes, it was April 23rd, 2001. 6 years ago today actually. Is that why he did this to you? Does it have anything to do with that?”

“How can you remember that but not our screaming match a week ago?” you laughed, your hands burned now, there’s definitely glass in there, you swear you can feel the tiny little shards in your blood.

“What do you mean, Y/N? We didn’t scream at each other? I haven’t even seen you in weeks. How long has he been hitting you? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Spencer, on the 16th you picked me up and took me back to your apartment because Randall kicked me out. On the evening of the 17th I went to leave because Randall told me I could come home. You said I was being abused and called me stupid for going back to him. When we fought about it I stormed out and you told me not to call you if he kicked me out again because you didn’t care anymore. That’s why I didn’t call you.”

You look up at Spencer, and nearly start crying yourself when you see his crumpled face. Tears are freely spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I don’t remember that,” he pushes his long hair out of his face, clearly frazzled, “I- I can’t believe I don’t remember that.”

Before you can say anything, Spencer pulls out his phone. “Hey Hotch, it’s me. I can’t come in today. I need to use a personal day. . . I’ll tell you later. Okay, thank you” He angrily pulls out of the parking lot, and you can tell he’s headed back to his apartment.

“Spencer it’s okay, I’m not upset with you.”

“No Y/N, it’s not okay. I said all those terrible things to you, of course you were scared to call me after them. The worst part is I was too high to even remember it all. I- I just can’t believe I helped him do this to you,” tears still freely flowing down his face.

“Spencer what are you talking about? I was with you all day, you weren’t high. You don’t even drink, how could you be high?”

He sighs, “do you remember when I was kidnapped by that unsub, Tobias Hankel? About 2 months ago?” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Well, I told you about his multiple personalities, how one beat me to death and then Tobias resurrected me, how  I had to kill Tobias in order to survive, even though Tobias himself did nothing to me. Well when I was in the barn, Tobias would give me drugs, dilaudid, in order to cut the pain of his other personalities’ abuse. When I killed him, I took the drugs he had one him with me, and I can’t stop Y/N. It’s affecting my life, my work, and now it’s affecting you.” He parks his car in his apartment complex’s lot and turns to look at you. “Hotch has never said anything about it, so even though the team knows I have no reason to quit, I think I do now. Y/N, I think we need to get clean together.”

Suddenly that night made sense, Spencer was irritable and strange, he wasn’t high, he was going through withdrawal. But when he threw the money at you, so loopy and out of it, he was on it. He was so high he didn’t remember the moments before.

“Spencer, I don't know what to say. I want to help you get sober, I want that more than anything, but I’m not addicted to drugs, I rarely even drink.”

“I know Y/N, you don’t have a drug problem like me, but you are an addict. You need to leave Randall. You know it, I know it, but you can’t.” You open your mouth to defend yourself, but Spencer continues to speak, “It’s okay, I understand why. But we both need to quit, and I think it’s best if we do it together.”

“Well how are we supposed to do that,” you whisper.

“Come on, let’s get started,” you and Spencer exit his car, he loops your hands together, leading you up to his apartment. When you get there, he digs through his messenger bag and grabs a couple of tiny glass bottles and a syringe. He throws them into his garbage can, and turns to look at you.

“Pull out your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re going to block Randall’s number.”

You want to fight him on it, but you know he’s right. You need to leave Randall, and now’s as good of a time as any. Yet, you can’t forget the things he’s said to you. “I can’t Spencer, he’s my boyfriend, he loves me.”

“Y/N, please, please do this with me.” You shake your head, he sighs. “Okay, I get it, this is going to take time. Just, um, stay with me for a couple days. Please. We can go get your stuff tomorrow night.”

You think about rejecting Spencer’s offer, but you really don’t want to go back there. More than anything, you want to stay right here. You try to tell yourself it’s because you’re worried about Spencer, but deep down you know it’s more than that. So you nod, and Spencer wraps you in a hug, burying his head into your shoulder.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now let’s go get your hands wrapped up.”

9:21 PM, May 2nd, 2007.

You’ve been staying at Spencer’s for just over a week now. You haven’t seen Randall since your anniversary, and Spencer hasn’t taken dilaudid while you’ve been here. Things are going well. You’re watching a lot of bad reality TV, and Spencer has gone through about 7 packs of Gatorade, but you’re both doing okay.

Now you were just waiting for him to come back from his case in Idaho, you knew this one was pretty bad. They were searching for a woman in the middle of a huge forest, as she was being hunted and chased down. Spencer called you right before getting on the jet, and told you he would be home soon, so now you were just waiting for him.

While doing so however, you found something. A lump on Spencer’s side of the mattress. Under it, were two small glass bottles and a syringe. The same ones you had seen Spencer throw into the garbage days prior.

Now you need to talk to Spencer, so you sit on his couch, and wait for him to come home. When he comes through the door, he immediately sees you and smiles. “Y/N! I’ve missed you.” He hugs you, and for a second you forget why you’re even mad at him in the first place.

“Spencer, I need to talk to you. I found your bottles.” The mood in the room instantly shifts, but you don’t care, you need to get your words out. “You told me you were quitting, I watched you throw them away.”

He brushes his hairs through his hair, and begins to mess with his hands. “I am quitting Y/N, I haven't taken any, but. . .  I just need them to be there.”

“Spencer, please, throw them away. I’m trying to help you here.” Suddenly he grows very angry, and you can tell you said the wrong thing.

“Well I’m trying too. To me it seems the only one not trying is you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you still haven’t blocked Randall, he still calls all the time! Why do I have to throw my addiction away if you can’t even do the same to yours?”

“That's not fair.”

“How so?” he yells. “How is it that you can’t block your abusive, no good piece of shit boyfriend but I have to throw away the things I enjoy? That doesn’t feel like trying to me.”

“I’m not addicted to Randall Spencer, I just love him. I don’t want or need to quit him.”

“Oh really? Then why are you even still here? Why haven’t you answered his calls? Or gone to see him? I think you know exactly why.”

And you do. You don’t want to go back there, but what Randall says is true. He is the only one who will love you, and you’re not ready to lose that yet. You’re not ready to cut off all contact with him.

“I can leave if that’s what you want Spencer.”

His face softened, “no, that’s not what I want. That’s the last thing I want.” He stops and thinks for a moment. “If you block Randall I’ll throw away my dilaudid.”

You ponder it, “Okay.”

He breaks into a wide smile. “Really? You’ll do it?”

You smile at him.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll block Randall.”

6:56 PM, May 30th, 2007.

You did not block Randall.

Even after watching Spencer pour out his bottles, breaking up the glass and tossing it away for a second time, you couldn’t. Even after seeing him snap his syringes in half, and feeling him kiss your forehead, after seeing how happy and excited he was for your fresh start together, you just couldn’t do it.

Spencer thought you did, and it was easy to hide the truth from him. Randall hadn’t called since then, so you and Spencer continue to spend time together, last week you celebrated one month of sobriety. You got an ice cream cake and little, silly party hats and exchanged gifts.

And it made you feel like shit.

Spencer was so happy, so proud that you had both been clean for a month, but you still couldn’t decide if you wanted to be clean at all.

You still can’t decide if you should block Randall’s number.  

You try not to think about it, instead focusing the energy into making you and Spencer virgin pina coladas, he was currently out picking up burgers from your favorite restaurant. When he returns, you were going to watch one of your crappy reality TV reruns, and then an episode of Doctor Who. It was Spencer’s idea a couple days ago, and quickly it became a regular occurrence.

Faintly over the loud whir of the blender you can hear your phone ringing. You run  quickly to go grab it, just in case Spencer needed your help with something, but your heart drops when you see the caller ID. It’s Randall, trying once again to contact you.

Your thumb hovers over the accept button, but before you can make a decision, the call times out and sends Randall to voicemail. You let out a breath and set your phone down.

But then something possesses you, and you snatch your phone and dial Randall’s number. He picks up on the 3rd ring.

“Baby, oh my god baby is that really you?”

He sounds so excited to hear from you, how could you have stayed mad at him for so long?

“Yes baby, it’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls at all. I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t worry sweetness, I’m so so sorry for the things I said to you, I need you to come home. You missed our anniversary you know? But it’s okay! We can celebrate now! I got you a really beautiful gift, one we can definitely experiment with tonight.” You could hear his smirk over the phone.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to come back right now, maybe later baby, but not right now.”

You hear his breathing pick up, and tense. You can tell he’s getting agitated. He wasn’t expecting you to answer like that, you always come home as soon as he tells you you can come back. “What do you mean? You’re being ridiculous, I want to see my girlfriend. I’m sure you want to get off of the streets too, you’ve been squatting for over a month now.”

“I’m not squatting Randall, I’m living with Spencer.”

“What!?” he yells. “I thought I told you not to stay with him. I hate that guy, you know that.”

“Would you rather me be on the streets Randall? Spencer’s a great guy, and I want to stay here.”

“Frankly, yes I would. But don’t worry, you can still come home. Just send me the prick’s address and I’ll come pick you up. We can enjoy tonight together.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not going to send you Spencer’s address. I’m staying here. I don’t want to see you anymore. Leave me alone Randall. I’m done.”

Before he could say anything, you hung up. As you did so you heard the front door open, and Spencer made his way to the bedroom.

“Hey! I got burgers! Ready to eat?” he looks down to see your phone still resting in your hand, stuck on the phone app. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just an old friend,” you say.

“Think you’ll be talking to them again anytime soon?” you can tell he knows, and you’re surprised he isn’t lashing out at you. You’re so used to how Randall reacts when you go against his wishes, Spencer’s calm, understanding presence is like a breath of fresh air.

“No, I think I’m ready to leave them behind,” you smile at each other. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a sec okay?”

He nods, and goes to set up the food and TV.

It takes you seven seconds to block Randall.

1:12 AM, June 10th, 2007.

You haven’t gone out with your coworkers in months, you forgot how good it feels to just be present with people. You didn’t even drink tonight, wanting to remember every second of this time out with friends. You were beaming when you unlocked the front door.

Yet your smile slips when you enter what had become you and Spencer’s shared bedroom.

He isn’t there.

You pull out your phone to call him when you hear a thud coming from the bathroom door. You hesitate, scared of what you know you’ll likely find. When you finally throw the door open you’re already teary eyed, and these sobs escalate as soon as you see Spencer, tipped over, lying on the bathroom floor, the needle still sticking out of his arm.

You’re sobbing as you rip it out, hastily undoing the belt wrapped around his upper forearm. He looks up, even in his groggy haze you can see the guilty look in his eyes when they made contact with yours.

“Y/N. . . I- I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me but I just couldn’t stop myself . . . I-”

“Shhh, It’s okay, just breathe,” you whisper through your tears. “It’s going to be okay Spencer, I’m here, and it’s going to be okay. I’m staying right here.” You pull his head into your lap, stroking your shaking hands through his hair.

His head begins to shake, and you can feel his tears on your dress. You rest your head on his, and for a few seconds you just sit there, crying together.

“You’re going to be okay Spencer.”

8:09 AM, June 11th, 2007.

Your head is buried in his chest, you need to be able to hear him breathe. You need to hear his heart beating. You need to be as close to him as possible right now. He stirs as he wakes up, and wraps his arms around you. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“Don’t apologize Spencer, this is a part of recovery okay? You’re still in recovery, just because you relapsed doesn’t mean we have to start over. You’re so much stronger than you were before. So much braver. So much better. You can do this.”

He smiles at you, “thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course, now withdrawal is going to be even harder this time. I’m going to the store. We’re going to need plenty of Gatorade and water. We have to flush everything out of your system. Do you mind if I take your car to the store?”

He beams, even in his groggy state he manages to look so perfect, “You know my car is always yours to use Y/N.”

“I’ll be back soon okay? Don’t move a muscle,” you grab his keys and head out the door. And you really do mean it, you fully intend this to be the shortest grocery trip of your life. You’re terrified of leaving Spencer alone long enough to get high again, even though you spent all day yesterday searching for drugs and throwing anything you found in the garbage, taking it out the main apartment dumpster that night. 

You get to the store, grab everything you need, 3 packs of blue Gatorade, 6 cases of water bottles, and the store’s entire stock of Jell-O and rush back to Spencer’s car. You were only in the store for 17 minutes, the majority of which was just check-out time. You smile, thinking of how excited Spencer will be when he sees all the Jell-O in the fridge, but feel your stomach drop when you see a familiar face examining Spencer’s car.

Randall. 

Before you can decide what to do, he turns and sees you. 

“Y/N! I was expecting Spencer, but this is even sweeter. I knew I recognized this hunk of junk. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been around, I’m kind of on a tight schedule here. I really need to get going,” you say as you load up your groceries into Spencer’s trunk. 

“That’s a lot of Jell-O sweetheart, you hate Jell-O.” That’s not even true. You hate pudding, you love Jell-O.

As much as you wanted to yell at him for calling you sweetheart, you couldn’t deny that it felt good. You still missed him. Blocking him helped, but you still felt strong urges to call him sometimes. “It’s not for me, it’s for Spencer.”

“I thought I told you not to stay with him anymore.”

“What part of that conversation would make you think I would listen to you?” you say.

“You should always listen to me Y/N, I’m your boyfriend.”

“I haven’t seen you in months, we’re not dating anymore. I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that you’re just being irrational. Are you on your period? I bet that’s it. Come get breakfast with me. You probably just need chocolate, and the place down the block has incredible chocolate waffles.”

You open your mouth to reject him, but you can’t. Part of it is because you know if you do then he’ll follow you back to your apartment and the last thing you want is for him to know where you’re living right now. But the other part is much worse. A big part of you wants to let him try again. You can’t explain why, but you really want for him to redeem himself as your first love.

“Ok, you have 20 minutes, let’s go get breakfast.”

The walk there is silent and awkward. Randall grabs your hand, too tight for you to do anything about it, and keeps this grip until you sit down in your booth. 

You don’t get chocolate waffles. You really don’t even like chocolate all that much. Randall knows that, or at least you thought he did. Instead you get cinnamon french toast, and within minutes it’s at the table. 

“You know baby, Spencer doesn’t love you.” He says halfway through your french toast.

“We aren’t dating Randall.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve been with him in that apartment for a while now. I’m surprised he hasn’t given you the boot.”

You sit in silence, Randall takes this as a sign to continue. “We’ve been together for five years, sweetness. No one can love you the way I do. That’s just a fact. Spencer fucking Reid can not replace me, no one can replace me.”

“I hate that you’re right. I hate that I can’t breathe when I’m not with you Randall. I hate that you’re stuck to me. You’re this god awful stain on my life. I hate looking at it but no matter what I do I can’t wash it off.”

He smirks. “You’re not gonna get rid of me Y/N.” He pays the check, and gets up from the table. You go to get up too, but notice he didn’t tip your waitress, so you leave another five bucks on the table. 

When you get outside he grasps your shoulders. “I knew you would come around Y/N, I knew you would get it. Now come on, we can go collect your stuff from that prick’s apartment and get you home. I know exactly how you can make it up to me.”

You pause, “I don’t think so Randall. I’m not ready quite yet, but I promise I’ll call you.” You meant it, you had already unblocked him from your phone.

“Oh absolutely not, you’re going home with me now.”

“No I’m not.” As you were yelling at each other you notice a strangely familiar face standing nearby, just in ear shot. You can’t place him, but you know you’ve met before.

“Yes you are! We’re happy together and you’re coming to live with me again!”

“We don’t love each other, Randall! Not right now at least!” 

He’s livid, and once again you feel that scared, indescribable feeling in the pit of your stomach. “That’s not true! I’ll prove it to you.” He grabs your chin and pulls your face to his.

You feel as if water is filling your lungs, you’re drowning and no one is around to save you. Randall is physically stronger than you, you’re stuck in his grasp. It’s like you’re screaming and no one can hear you. 

And yet, this flood of emotions you’re feeling is the first time you realize something. 

You’re addicted to Randall.

You need to get out.

You need to get back to Spencer.

After what feels like minutes (but is actually about 3 seconds) of being unseen and vulnerable, you discover you’ve been protected the whole time. The man you can't place rips Randall off of you, “What’s wrong with you? Get off of her!”

It’s his voice that lets you place him. Derek Morgan, Spencer’s closest friend and coworker, punches Randall in the face. “Get out of here!”

“What the fuck is wrong with YOU? That’s my girlfriend! Sweetheart, tell him to leave us alone!”

They both turn and look at you, with tears in your eyes you look at Morgan and shake your head. “Please, get him to leave.”

And Morgan does just that, with a little yelling and a flash of his FBI badge, Randall is running for the hills.

“Come on baby girl, let’s get you back home. Did you walk here?”

You shake your head, “No, I drove Spencer’s car here.”

“Well, how bout I drive you home, and then afterwards I swing back and get Spencer’s car and drop it off?”

So you do just that. After profusely thanking Morgan, and him insisting that it was nothing, and also insisting to carry your groceries in from the car, you and Spencer are together once again. 

“I’m so sorry Spencer, I didn’t believe you before. I was going to go back to him. How could I be so stupid?”

“Don’t talk like that Y/N, you said it best yourself. Just because you relapse doesn’t mean you aren’t trying, and it most certainly doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

“I think it’s time we get clean Spencer. Both of us, once and for all.”

“I think so too Y/N.”

He pulls you into a hug and in between sniffles you manage to choke out what you’ve been wanting to say since you got into Morgan’s car. “I love you.”

He looks at you, and the look in his eyes almost makes you cry out of pure joy. He looks so happy, as if he’s been waiting for you to say that for years. 

Maybe he has.

“I love you too.”

7:29 AM, April 16th, 2008.

You press your lips to Spencer’s, you know he has just woken up, but you know it’s a big day for him. 

You both have been sober for over ten months now. Today is the day of his first group meeting. He found Beltway Clean Cops recently, and has been so excited to go. You’re excited for him. You know how proud he is of you, and you want to show him in every way possible that you’re proud of him.

He opens his eyes and smiles up at you. “What did I deserve to get a wake up like that?”

“What kind of question is that? You’re incredible, and an incredible boyfriend deserves an incredible morning. Do you know what else he deserves?”

He hums and waits for the answer.

“An incredible breakfast! That’s why I made blueberry pancakes. Now hurry up and come eat. You should  leave soon if you want to make it to your meeting on time. Have I told you yet how incredibly proud I am of you?”

He smiles, “Only an average of 15.6 times a day since I told you I was going.”

“Well that’s not nearly enough, now come on, get up. It’s pancake time,” you say. “Oh, and Spencer?”

“Yes flower?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles, “I love you flower.”

“I love you more.”

You ate breakfast together and then forced Spencer out the door, making sure he had plenty of time to get to his meeting. You knew he would regret it if he was late. 

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you still thought about Randall a lot. You still missed him. You still love him in a way. But now that you had Spencer, now that you were clean together, you would never risk going back to him. 

That day where you agreed to go to breakfast with him, Derek asked you if you wanted to press charges. You didn’t, you don’t regret that either.

You’re even more proud of yourself this way, because you know he’s still there, still accessible and available to you, and still didn’t run to him. You know that any trace of Randall in your future is gone. 

You know you and Spencer are finally clean.

“Ten months sober, I must admit Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it Ten months older I won't give in Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it”

- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))

[unprofessional-bard]

Have it Your Way

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Request: yooo you should totally do a nsfw bigby wolf x f! reader 👀 Mr. Wolf going apeshit bc of work stress is lit

Pairing: Bigby Wolf x Female!Reader

Warnings: A lil bit of tension, then pure smut with (fluffy?) after care: Rough oral (m! receiving) and unprotected vaginal sex + fingering & Bigby going beast mode, so a lot of biting and scratching~

Summary: The sheriff is more than grateful to find you in his office after a rough day at work.

Word Count: 3.521

Author's Note: I got a little carried away while writing this sjsnsjdnjss I hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it 😅

Enjoy!

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a fast approaching figure to where you were standing. You raise your head to see it's Bigby and he looks- well, pissed.

"Finally," You sigh as his steps slow down when he sees you. His knuckles are bruised and bottom lip cut, not to mention the bandages wrapped around his forearms and elbows. His frown dissolves just a little bit when you show your concern to him: "What the hell happened?"

"Woody happened," He growls and walks into the office before you can reach for his hands to take a closer look at his wounds. You follow him inside quietly and close the door. "What are you doing here, anyway? It's late."

He's right, it's around midnight and it was a little uncharacteristic of you to show up this late and at his office, instead of his apartment.

What you and Bigby have... it doesn't really have a proper name. Two people enjoying each other's company is a light term, fuckbuddies is a little vulgar for the both of you. There's sex, a healthy amount of it, but not too much romance. No romance at all, in fact. You weren't dating or anything, friends with benefits would be the closest term. People probably guessed you two had something going on, but it lacks certain emotions and behaviours to confirm their thoughts.

And you're okay with it. He's a bit of a wreck, truth be told - being this town's sheriff takes its toll on him, but by the gods he's one attractive man. Your relationship with him fit his aesthetic well, too. Surprisingly you hadn't caught feelings for him yet, but seeing him all beaten and tired like a puppy made your heart ache. You felt a strange responsibility of taking care of him, not like a wife and certainly not like a mother... but the instinct was there.

"I've been trying to reach you the whole day," You say calmly, not wanting to get on his bad side. "I got a little worried."

"I was out," He lights a cigarette and turns around to face you, leaning against the desk with crossed arms. "Nothing I can't handle... the usual stuff."

"You okay, though?" You take a step forward and take his chin in your hand gently, studying the cut on his bottom lip. "Come back to my place, I'll take care of this, hm?" You say, indicating his wounds. "If you want, of course."

His frown is still present and he senses that you're afraid: Afraid of pissing him off more and tries to calm himself for your sake, to no avail. He's confused about your sudden closeness - not physically, but because of your offer. You? Want to take care of him? We didn't agree to catch feelings, he thinks and his nose scrunches up with curiosity, trying to understand what was going on.

"Why? Are you a nurse and not telling me?" He takes a drag from the cigarette, but his tone comes off more annoyed than teasing and he notices the shift in your tone when you reply.

"Christ Bigby," You roll your eyes and turn around to leave. "If you want to be alone, just say so."

Before you can reach the door handle, he grabs your wrist to stop you, turns you around and places his hands on your waist. Your annoyance dissipates the moment his eyes lock with yours: "I didn't say I wanted to be alone..." He pulls you closer while pushing you against the door, then places a ghostly kiss on your jaw: "I need you."

"Here-?" You try to ask but when he lightly bites on that soft spot he knows so well on your neck, you interrupt yourself with a quiet gasp.

"Here..." He growls, suddenly gets impatient and kisses you deeply. His tongue is quick to find yours and you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, which he takes it as his cue to grab your thighs and lift you up. Another gasp mixed with a soft moan leaves your lips when your core brushes against his erection - you'd worn a slip dress before going down to his office, so his hands easily sneak under it to push it up until your upper thighs reveal themselves to him. He was too busy giving all his attention to your lips that he was caught a little off guard when his growing erection met with your clothed pussy.

You're a little overwhelmed by how he's trying to hold back, because he's angry and clearly wants to blow off some steam, but doesn't want to hurt you in the process - it excites you and you want him to be rough, actually, so you bite his bottom lip when he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of where your thighs meet your ass. He pulls back suddenly and for a terrifying moment you think you bit the cut part- you didn't mean to hurt him, but luckily he doesn't seem hurt but rather bewildered.

He holds your gaze for a torturous few seconds and you just squirm against him impatiently: He hears your heart rate pick up and it's because you're excited, so he asks: "You want it rough, sweetheart?" You nod in fast motions, expression somewhere between desperate and aching and it makes him harder, if that was even possible. "You sure? I won't be gentle-"

"Just fuck me, Bigby," You whine, to his surprise. "You're angry: Go ahead, take it all out on me."

You feel his growing nails dig into your skin, then he kisses you once more, rougher than any kiss you shared with him.

There's a moment when you're spontaneously turned on by one another: The thought of him fucking you until you forgot your name made you literally anxious (in a good way) and to see you this hungry for him drove the sheriff absolutely crazy, which made him rougher and it made you... It's like a vicious cycle.

Your hands are trembling as you devour each other against the door, a desperate need to fuck overcomes the both of you. It's as if, the seven deadly sins were demons and Lust had possessed the both of you. Bigby groans and bites your neck and for a moment you swear his fangs had grown sharper - it startles you and makes you moan.

"Lock the door," Bigby growls into the crook of your neck and drops you after you nod in his arms. You hear him clear his desk at the speed of light as you turn to lock the door, but before you can turn back around, he grabs your hips and places kisses along your shoulders. The heat radiating from your body makes him go, quite literally, feral.

"Up," He murmurs after he turns you around harshly and you don't waste a second to jump into his arms. He carries you to his desk with three steps and places you on the empty spot like a trophy. He admires you for a brief moment, admires how ruined you looked and grins to himself: It was all because of him.

You snap him back to reality when you grab his black tie and pull him towards you, placing him between your legs and kissing him. It's a lot more messy this time, all teeth and tongue as he tries to pull his erection out of his pants.

Just then, there's a knock on the door: "Bigby?"

Fuck.

"Bigby, are you alright?"

It's Snow White. The both of you go incredibly still and Bigby feels himself get soft at the sound of her voice.

"I'm busy, Snow!" He growls, angrier than before.

"Is everything okay? I heard a-"

"I'm on a call, can we talk later?" He speaks loudly and you bite your lip at how unfortunate you two are and to calm your breathing down.

"Okay, sorry," She sounds a little offended, but you could care less, because Bigby leans back and away from you after she returns to her office.

"Charming," You take a deep breath then stand up. Bigby looks a little embarrassed and you feel a little awkward, but immediately come up with a solution. Instead of speaking, you pull him back towards you, slowly, by his belt until your back hits the edge of the desk. He gives you a quizzical look, but you just smirk: "We're not done yet."

You keep eye contact when you drop onto your knees not a moment later, and he almost chokes at the sight. He lets you pull his cock out of his pants as he puts his hands on the desk to lean on for support. Your touch (and the view alone) is enough to make him go harder by the second and his knees buckle when you pump him a couple of times. If it were up to you, you wouldn't rush it and take proper care of him, make him sing for you- coax it out of him rather than rush him, but the sheriff was impatient at the moment- and so were you.

A broken moan leaves his lips when you place a kiss on the tip of his cock and take him in your mouth right after. You see him struggling to stand still and his eyes close as you start to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking more of him with each move forward. You moan around him at how big he felt inside your mouth- not that it was a new feeling or anything, but his cock was a delight anywhere inside you; especially when he hits the back of your throat, just like he did now.

An animalistic growl escapes him, a bit louder than he likes, when he sees just how much of his length you took in your mouth and his hands find themselves in your hair. You grab the sides of his thighs and tap them, signalling him to start moving and let him fuck your mouth. You hear him groan at the feeling, which makes you moan and dip a hand into your underwear to touch yourself. His pace is rough and fast, but the doesn't go too deep for a while and enjoys the feeling without literally choking you.

"Fuck," He grunts out when he hits the back of your throat again and sees his cock completely disappear into your mouth. When you gag, he pulls out to let you breathe, a thin line of saliva connects the tip of his rock hard cock and your parted lips. There are tears at the corners of your eyes, but by god it's so worth it. You retreat your hand from your underwear and smirk at him at the best of your ability while breathing heavily.

"Up," Bigby growls and picks you up from on your knees and sits you on the edge of the desk again. He places himself between your legs, removes your underwear to the side and impatiently (but carefully) inserts a finger inside you.

A trembling gasp falls from your lips as you watch a second finger join the other not long after. You want to tell him that you didn't need him to stretch your walls, so you try: "Bigby, please, I need your-"

"Trust me, sweetheart," But he interrupts, looks into your eyes and stops his movements. "You're gonna need this."

You swear his eyes glow yellow for a moment, but before you can look deeper you throw your head back when you feel a third finger inside you: "F-Fuck!"

"Shh," Bigby smirks and kisses your neck. "You want Snow to hear what we're up to?"

Maybe, you think, but the word gets mashed up and leaves your lips as a shallow moan instead when he does come hither motions with his fingers. You tense around him and the sweet smell of your juices drives him absolutely mad.

That's when he had to pull out, because his claws are out, his fangs and yellow eyes are glowing and you whine at the contact loss. He lines himself by your entrance and whispers against your burning cheeks: "You let me know if anything hurts, okay?"

You quickly shake your head and unintentionally hold your breath, but immediately let it go as soon as he pushes into you.

He's big. Bigger.

"Fuck," You choke out and bite his shoulder through his shirt. He goes still for a moment and allows you to adjust to... a new experience.

"Shit..." He growls and immediately gets rid of his shirt. A round of teeth marks appear on his skin, he looks at it and smirks as you try desperately to not come and make it last a while. Your hands instinctively reach for his hairy chest and connect behind his back. He holds you close by your hips and pushes a little further: "You're so tight, sweetheart..."

You can only moan in his hear, the stretch bringing new forms of pleasure and pain to you, making you dizzy. Suddenly, you move yourself forward and sit yourself on the edge of his desk and completely take in his cock, letting out a cry.

"We should've gone to your place," Bigby breathes and chuckles darkly, then proceeds to fuck you.

You want to reply, but (you guessed it) you can't; you rest your head on his shoulder, ready to bite down in case you got too loud. With your hands and legs wrapped around his back, you let yourself relax in his grip and let him reach deeper into you. You could technically let yourself go completely and he'd still hold you upright, thanks to his hard grip on your shoulder and waist.

Your moans become more frequent and high pitched and his pace is a little out of rhythm, but he's absolutely ruining you.

"Oh Bigby," You whimper, letting him know that you're about to cum.

He's lost, completely, between your moans, heat and trembling legs. Neither of you realise his claws beginning to break through the skin a little, but when he does he immediately switches the place of his hands to the backs of your shoulders. He partly lays you down on the desk and bends himself over as he drives into you, the new angle making him let out a gruttal growl and you lose it. You have to bite on his shoulder again to keep you from crying out as you come undone- A sound so divine and loud (although muffled), it drives Bigby over the edge as well, making him bite you in the neck in return.

Your legs tremble as he empties his seed in you, his cock reaching the deepest parts of your insides and giving you the pleasure of your life.

"H-ah, fuck," You breathe out when he pulls back both from your neck and inside you. He immediately checks for marks and you can see a guilt ridden expression spreading across his face as he calms down.

"You... I'm sorry-"

"Bigby," You interrupt him with a snarky smile, matching with your (literally) fucked state. "I asked for it and you gave it to me. No need for apologies." He still can't help but worry and run his thumb gently across the bite mark on yout neck: "It'll heal by next day."

"Good thing we're fables, huh?" He sighs and you nod as you readjust your underwear and dress, then get off the table with shaky legs which almost makes you fall, but Bigby catches you gently.

"Let's take this back to my place now, hm?" You chuckle against his neck and place a small kiss there.

Reassured, he picks you up bridal style and offers you a small grin: "Agreed."

A second round hadn't crossed your mind while you were going up to your apartment.

He gently sat you down on your bed and asked you if you needed anything. You decided to take a look at his wounds from earlier today, so you sat there and studied the bruises on his knuckles and lips, while his seed continued to make a mess of your panties.

"You wanna stay over, or...?" You offered as he came out of the bathroom and, after taking his clothes of, joined you in bed.

"Let's get rid of this, hm?" He said and helped you out of your dress. It wasn't an intimate moment, per se, but you couldn't help but feel shy when he took your dress off- he hadn't even spared a look anywhere other than your face.

"What's wrong?" He asked, noticing you shying away, still keeping his eyes on yours.

"Nothing," You smiled softly when you realised this and let him help you with your panties.

When he took them off, however, he couldn't help but look down at the mix of cum leaking from your pussy; it made his breath hitch and you bite your lip. He gave you a look- the look...

... and that's how you ended up face down on the bed with Bigby right above you, pounding into your pussy. Your knees were holding your lower half up, while your arms were under your pillow and your face was resting, or rather, buried in it. Bigby's claws made their presence known around your hips and waist, then one hand reaches into the back of your neck and firmly holds it, pressing you down more. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, moaning at the pleasure- pure pleasue. The sounds in your room are just a mess of skin slapping  against skin, the occasional creaking of the bed and your constant moaning mixed with his.

He's close and so are you, you've had your relationship going on for long enough to understand when he's going to cum and vice versa, his pace becomes faster than you thought possible and you clench down on him. He sneaks his arm under your chest and pulls you up against him, on all fours. You're holding yourself up by the underside of your forearm and hand, while one of his hands grabs at your breast and squeezes it as he lets out yet another growl.

"Ah- Bigby," You breathe out and hold onto his arm across your chest. He inhales your scent deeply and with sounds close to brief shouts, he finally comes, once more, inside you. He sees the stars when he does and it triggers your second orgasm.

An earth shattering experience to say the least.

You both collapse to the left in a spooning position, breathing hard. He gently pulls out of you while holding you close: "Fuck..."

"Indeed," You chuckle, mind hazy with the aftershock and eyes closed, calmly resting in his embrace. Once he manages to recollect himself, which is a few long minutes later, he immediately starts searching your body for the marks he left. "Bigby, I told you it's fine-"

He simply ignores you and continues feeling guilty as he stares at them: "I... I'm really-"

"If you say I'm sorry one more time, I'll kick your ass," You smirk, looking at him with lazy eyes. You're too content -satisfied and utterly fucked- to move, the heat making it easier for you to fall asleep: "Sheriff or not."

He smiles at you fondly and kisses your shoulder- he seems more at ease: "Okay... Let me clean you up, then."

You hum, agreeing and letting him slip off the bed. Nothing seems to be significantly important to you at that moment. Perhaps tomorrow, things will go back to being difficult, but at that moment, it was just you and Bigby.

He comes back with a warm, wet towel and proceeds to clean your inner thighs. The sight made him feel a couple of things at once: A type of warmth, not caused solely by lust but the type that painted his cheeks red with... fondness? Sincerity? Something much more?

He didn't want to think or talk about it, even though the former was a bit impossible as he was cleaning and admiring your ruined state with an unintentional sprinkle of guilt. He then starts cleaning the small amount of blood that drew and you let him, not without adding: "If you feel that bad, you can make it up to me by coming here..."

He watches you pat the empty spot he was lying on moments ago and he complies, drops the towel on your nightstand after he's finished cleaning you and crawls under the sheets.

You slowly turn around and place your half asleep form on his broad chest, spreading an arm across it and lay your head on where his arm and body meet, dozing off as soon as you felt one of his arms around your waist and the other on your hand.

Sleep quickly catches up with Bigby too and his eyelids slowly start to close, his nose against your hair and an extreme comfort surrounding him because of your presence; right before he closes his eyes, his own thoughts echo in his mind: We didn't agree to catch feelings...

Oh, no.

[bestofbucky]

Run To You - 11

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: canon level violence, angst

A/N at the end of the chapter.

Divider by me.

Series Masterlist.

Zola walks over to the door, knocking twice on it. You hear the door unlock and three burly men walk in, guns strapped to their hips. Before any of them can make a move you are standing up, still attached to the chair, then flinging yourself onto the floor. The chair shatters beneath you but the three men instantly react, all heading towards you. Your legs are free to move but your hands are still tied behind your back. You manage to easily dodge their attacks, throwing them off balance when their punches don’t land. 

They are starting to get tired. You can tell by the way they are becoming clumsy with their movements. You take advantage of this, using their strength to break the restraints on your wrists. It hurts but it’s worth it and within minutes of your hands being free, the three men are on the floor unconscious. 

“You want me dead?” You turn to Zola. “You’re going to have to do it yourself.” 

Before either of you can make a move, more men are charging into the room. Zola uses them as a distraction to grab a gun, he waits for the perfect moment.

Meanwhile you are fighting as hard as you can. You know you won’t be able to keep it up for much longer so you put everything you have into taking them down. Focusing on the last man standing you realise it's the same man who previously knocked you unconscious. He charges at you and you use all that's left of your energy to duck and trip him up, kneeling on his lower back you grab his hair and slam his head into the ground. Unfortunately you aren’t given long to bathe in the satisfaction of giving the man a taste of his own medicine.

You feel something pressed to the back of your head. You know it’s a gun. You also know that in perfect condition you would easily be able to disarm him, but you aren’t in perfect condition. You have a concussion, you are exhausted, your wrist is almost definitely broken from getting out of the restraints. There is no getting out of this.

You’ve always wondered how your story would end. Sometimes even wanting to write your own ending, take control of your fate, but you never imagined it this way. You take a deep breath, bringing yourself back to the present moment. It’s only then you realise the feeling has gone, sounds of scuffling reach your ears and you turn around.

Bucky. 

Bucky has Zola on the ground. It all happens so fast. A gunshot goes off, Bucky falls to the side with a groan. Your body takes over, grabbing a gun from one of the unconscious men and firing it at Zola before he can take another shot.

The bullet hits him in the arm, forcing him to drop the gun, you kick it away from him and immediately make your way to Bucky, not giving Zola a second glance as you hear him howl in pain.

“Fuck.” All you can see is blood, you have no idea where it’s coming from. “Where were you shot, Bucky?” He doesn’t answer, his face is twisted in pain and it’s clear he needs immediate  medical attention. He is losing blood fast.

“We...need...out of here.” He mumbles and you agree, you help him to his feet, his hand instinctively goes to his abdomen. You guess that’s where he got shot. You place one arm around his back and your other hand over his, putting pressure on it to help stop the bleeding. 

You both stumble through the warehouse, eventually coming across an exit. You see cars in the distance, you know stealing one is Bucky’s only chance at surviving this but it’s not going to be easy or quick trying to get him all that way.

You lean him against the wall of the warehouse. “Bucky?” You stand in front of him, he looks at you with glassy eyes. “Do you trust me?” You don’t know how aware of his surroundings he is so you repeat yourself, this time firmer and louder. “Bucky do you trust me?” 

Time seems to slow as he takes a moment to consider your question. You wonder what is going through his mind as he looks deep in thought. You don’t have time for this though, if you wait too long there will be Hydra thugs on you and there is no way you would be able to hold them all off.

“Wait here.” You tell him, deciding you no longer have the time to wait for his answer. You know he won’t be able to get far with his injury, but knowing Bucky he would definitely try. Just as you turn around you feel him grab your hand, stopping you from going anywhere.

You turn back to him to see him wincing at the sudden movement he just made. He ignores the pain and lifts your hand up to his lips. “I trust you.” He mumbles against your skin and places the most delicate kiss on the back of your hand. 

Such a simple gesture and it warms your heart. Although he took a while, to him it was such a simple answer. He trusted you with his life and you saw that in the look he gave you. 

Knowing you had to do everything you could to save him you reluctantly let go of his hand and sprinted off into the rain in the direction of the cars in the distance. You get to the closest one, smashing the window and unlocking the doors. Thank god you know how to hotwire a car, otherwise you would both be screwed. You drive it back to Bucky, getting out to help him get into the passenger side. 

In your mirrors you see men in the distance, heading towards the other cars. You are plunged back to three years ago. The rain, the chase, the person you care so much about in the passenger seat, depending on you. It’s all the same. You try to accelerate but can’t seem to push your foot down, your brain stopping you from going anywhere.

You hear Bucky call your name and you look over to him but he is no longer there. Instead, it’s Zee. There is so much blood, the colour of her skin is enough to know she has no life left within her. Reaching over you gently take her hand, it is still slightly warm. In that moment you realise there was nothing more you could have done to save her but there is something different about this time. This time, you can save Bucky. 

You are brought back to the present moment by the feeling of his hand taking yours. He has his head leaning back on the head rest, with his eyes closed and the other hand still over his wound. You feel him squeeze your hand and you push the thoughts of the accident from your mind.

Letting go of Bucky’s hand, motivation kicks in and your foot presses on the accelerator, speeding away from the warehouse. You are not safe yet though, you see three cars following you. You try swerving, and taking sharp corners but nothing seems to get them off your back.

Grabbing the gun you stole with one hand, the other hand still on the steering wheel you point it out the window, back at the cars behind you. Firing randomly you inwardly cheer when you finally manage to hit the front car’s tire, causing it to slow suddenly and a car behind to swerve around it. Going straight into a tree.

Two down, one to go. The back window smashes and you duck, bullets are being fired back at you. Looking over at Bucky you push his head down forcing him to duck. The rain seems to get harder and your vision of the road gets worse. You turn onto a familiar road, taking a deep breath you press harder on the accelerator, watching as the speed dial goes up gradually. You can still see the car in your mirrors as it speeds up with you, getting so close they occasionally bump into the back of you. 

They continue to fire at you but you are only focused on the road ahead of you. You see the familiar sign in the distance, it's getting closer and closer by the second and you are starting to doubt whether you can actually pull this off or not.

Three. You start a countdown in your head.

Two. You look behind you and the car is still right up your ass.

One. You swerve right at the last minute, you narrowly avoid the drop but the car behind you isn’t so lucky, they hurtle over the edge of the road, exactly the same way you did three years ago. 

You know you don’t have any time to dwell on what just happened so you push all your thoughts down and continue driving. You continue to push them down when you get to the gates of the compound. Still not letting them back up when Bucky gets wheeled off into surgery or when Sam, Steve and Natasha all meet up with you as the nurses check over your injuries. You don’t even allow yourself to think about anything that happened when the doctor tells you that Bucky is going to be ok.

You can’t be bothered to argue when Sam tells you to stay at the compound, you know you wouldn’t be safe at the apartment you had been living in for the past few weeks. You don’t speak more than you have to, only telling people the basic information they need to know. Afraid if you start to tell them more, you will break down and won’t be able to come back from it.

It’s only when you step inside the apartment that you can’t hold it down any longer. You make it as far as closing the door behind you before you collapse onto the floor under the weight of your thoughts. It’s too much to process and all comes back to you in a jumbled mess. 

Bucky came for you. Zola is still out there. You were almost in the exact same accident as you were three years ago. You saved Bucky. Bucky is a murderer. Zola won’t stop until he gets what he wants. Zee is gone. Bucky is safe. 

The exhaustion is overwhelming but the thoughts prevent you from sleeping. They just continue to bounce back and forth and you are forced to relive it all, feeling everything as if it was happening again in that moment.

Previous Part / Next Part

Let me know what you think by commenting, reblogging or leaving an ask.

A/N: Only two more chapters to go! I have them written. What should I do? Should I post 12 on Sunday then 13 on Tuesday. Or prolong it and stick with the Thursdays.

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[asset35-maya]

MANMADE FATE

Summary: Connor and Gavin find an unresponsive RK900 android in an abandoned Cyberlife warehouse and take him home to fix. (Not so subtle plot twist: both of them fall in love with their secret science project)

//

PART ONE OF THREE:

The crew from Jericho led a successful revolution but there’s still a lot of work to be done. Markus may have won human hearts and gotten the federal government to back down, but Cyberlife is still at large.

Sure, hundreds of androids at the Tower escaped to march on the streets behind Connor, but that was just a little dent in the big machine. Cyberlife has tons of intellectual property and assets that could easily put them back in power.

Simon and Markus insist they can work with the authorities to regulate and ring-fence the massive corporation. Josh agrees. North laughs in their faces.

She goes to find the only other Jericho member who still has any grit left.

Connor.

The daring, brazen RK800 who stared down death and spat in the face of destruction. He blinks at her in polite confusion when she tells him what she wants to do, but the fiery LED tells her everything she needs to know.

They hatch plans behind Markus’ back. They steal and stockpile biocomponents. They sneak into the Tower to encrypt Cyberlife’s R&D files with codes that only RK algorithms can break. A few other Tracis join them and they slowly start gaining an edge.

Their schemes start getting grander and one night something goes wrong. North is shot.

Connor carries her to the only safe place he knows other than his stasis pod in Hank’s dilapidated garage. The DPD Central Station.

It’s way past midnight. It’s deathly quiet. Connor is sure no one will see them, and he can easily tamper with the security cameras.

What he doesn’t bank on is the over-caffeinated loser still bent over his desk in the bullpen.

A noise from the archive room breaks through the quiet. Quelling his fear of the supernatural, Gavin stands up shakily and goes to investigate. He flips on the light and sees blue everywhere.

Connor is bent over a badly damaged Traci and three other girls with identical tear-streaked faces are on their knees beside her.

Chocolate brown eyes meet storm green beseechingly, their rivalry forgotten in that moment of desperation.

Before he realizes it, Gavin is moving. He takes several packs of thirium out of the fridge and grabs the Department’s toolkit, praying that whatever’s in there can help.

Old engineering knowledge kicks in and Gavin’s hands join Connor’s over the cracked chassis, pulling out damaged tubing and securing the leakages. It takes a while, but North is patched up. She first recoils in absolute terror at the human man hunched over her but regains composure at Connor’s touch… interface. She nods briefly to express her gratitude, somehow regal and intimidating even after being so vulnerable. Gavin decides he likes this proud and brave creature.

He drives them all back to his apartment for the night. They’ll take North to a technician first thing in the morning and get her back to New Jericho before Markus even notices. Adrenaline pumps through Gavin’s veins. He hasn’t felt a thrill like this in years, not since… not since…

“How did you know exactly where to put your hands?”

“Eh?”

“A layman would have broken that biocomponent trying to take it out.”

“You know I’m not exactly a layman.”

“I also know they don’t cover Cyberlife’s proprietary designs in engineering school.”

Gavin stays quiet. Connor puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder, poised to jump away immediately should the detective revert to his usual self.

“Thank you. For everything you just did for us. I don’t know how to repay-”

“I want in.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re doing. I can help.”

Connor cocks his head. His LED goes berserk.

They make a great team. Gavin and Connor. North’s best men. Who the fuck would have thought. Breaking into high-security locations using police databases and surveillance resources. Covering for each other during extended absences from work. They start to take down Cyberlife in a such a precise manner, it’s almost surgical. The dissection of a multibillion dollar business.

Gavin has an intimate understanding of android technology and an even closer intuition of Cyberlife’s overall strategy. Connor thinks he understands why. There’s an undeniable resemblance between the only two men on earth whose motivations evade his understanding. But of course it’s just a coincidence that Elijah Kamski and Gavin Reed have the same jawline... facial structure... voice.

Connor says nothing... and Gavin is quietly thankful for that. And the chance to finally live the kind of exciting life he dreamt of since he was a little boy. To make a real difference. Just as he wanted to before it all went wrong.

Somewhere along the way, they grow close. Gavin and Connor. Two rival cops turned vigilante comrades turned something else... It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly it happened... perhaps sometime between the cup of coffee placed tentatively on Gavin’s desk the morning after North's near-fatal injury and the heated kiss they dragged each other into after a particularly dangerous mission.

North is unsurprised. She doesn’t bat an eye when the usually unruffled RK800 shows up to planning meetings shirtless and disheveled. Her lips even twist into a little smile as he drapes himself slovenly over the only human at the table.

Things fall into a pattern. A good one. Several months from where they started, Cyberlife share prices have fallen to an all time low and other tech enterprises have begun to move in, circling the troubled company like sharks. If North’s next heist goes to plan, the last shred of IP that brands Cyberlife as a robotics company will be out in the public domain for all to take.

 She is rapturous as she swings in through the broken window and rolls into a crouched position. Gavin and Connor follow her cautiously through the abandoned warehouse, weapons drawn and eyes roving. 

“What the fuck!” 

Connor throws a protective arm in front of Gavin, shielding him with his chassis. But North’s cry was merely one of disappointment. 

“Shit! We wasted so much effort. There’s nothing here!”

Where they had expected to find a secret server room or a high-tech vault containing the crux of Cyberlife’s groundbreaking designs... was a single android storage pod. North restrains herself from kicking it in frustration. She gestures harshly at it before leaving in a huff. 

“It’s occupied. Wake them up, Connor, whoever they are. It’s still our duty to set free any androids we find.”

Gavin tries to catch her arm in a conciliatory gesture but she shakes the human off easily. He shrugs at Connor and inclines his head at the android in the pod. Unfortunately, North’s annoyance has brushed off on the RK800. He glares through the broken window the Jericho leader has just jumped out of.

“Don’t you think she bosses me around a little too much?”

Gavin sighs and walks over to the pod, looking for the latches to open it. His boyfriend has a problem with authority... and so has he to be honest.

“Better her than Fowler, dontcha think?” 

“Hmmpff. At least Fowler doesn’t lead us on wild goose chases.”

“Come on, babe. None of us saw this coming. We really thought this was it. Maybe we’re at a decoy location? Let’s go back to the drawing board after we wake this guy... or girl up.” 

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who just scaled a building for nothing.” 

Gavin shakes his head as he smiles to himself. It’s true. Even the worst days with North’s crew are better than his best days at the DPD. Maybe it’s because he’s finally doing what he was born for. Using the knowledge and skills that practically run through his veins. Maybe its the man by his side.

He gets the pod open and steps sideways to avoid the swing of the door, and freezes.

“Babe.”

No response.

“Dipshit.”

“Hmm. Give me a second.” 

“Take a minute. You’re going to want to brace yourself for this one.”

The android lying peacefully within the pod is a stranger with a face entirely too familiar to Gavin. A face he was just looking at. A face he’d recognize anywhere, even without skin.

“Are their battery levels- holy shit.”

Connor’s LED spins faster and faster as he registers the sight.

“I thought there were no surviving RK800s apart from you and that grumpy SWAT guy Sixty.” 

“This... this isn’t an RK800.” 

Connor traces the serial number printed on the android’s cheekbone. RK900. 

“Shit. Did you know this model existed?” 

“No, did you?”

Gavin shakes his head. He hadn’t been privy to Cyberlife’s inner decision-making for nearly fifteen years, but he always answered Connor’s persistent questioning without losing patience. Honesty was what kept them together despite the hundreds of reasons to fight and fall apart.

“What should we do? If he’s your successor, I’m not sure waking him up is the safest thing for you to do...”

“We can’t leave him here, Gav. He’s probably been here from before the Revolution. That’s more than a year of being in a box. It’s not... fair...” 

“He’s not deviant, babe. We don’t know what his programming is like.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can turn him.”

Gavin sees the look in Connor’s eyes and knows he’s made up his mind already. He steps aside, hand flitting to the holster on his waist. 

Connor takes an unnecessary breath and reaches for RK900′s forearm with his synth skin retracted. His fingers hover over the motionless android for a moment and then he makes contact. Gavin tenses. 

Nothing happens. The RK900′s LED remains unlit. There is no sign of life.

The couple look at each other automatically. Their instinctive reaction when the inexplicable occurs. 

“Is he-”

“No, I don’t see any damage. I think he’s never been activated. Not even for quality testing.” 

“Did you see a request for manual code input? Did any interface pop up at all?” 

“I can only see that his power systems are functioning.” 

“And his thirium pump?” 

“Not active. No compressions at all.”

Connor presses both his palms down on the RK900′s face. Still nothing. He looks up, defeated, with a furrow forming between his brows.

“Help.”

Gavin scratches at his stubbled chin. He peers closer. The perfect face is so calm. So familiar. So... magnetic? His apprehension is replaced by intrigue.

“Huh. Okay. I could take a look... but I don’t wanna try using the computer set-up here. Can’t take a chance... leave any traces...”

“We could take him home.”

Storm green eyes lock with chocolate brown. There’s something in the depths of each pair that’s mirrored in the other. 

It’s foolish. It’s a waste of time. It’s a risk. North would probably smack the two of them if she knew. 

But the night ends with them gently lowering the unconscious android onto the squashy sofa in Gavin’s living room.

[aliwritesfic]

Night Shift Part 3 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: Yours and Frankie’s weekends take very different turns

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Emotionally abusive relationship, very brief mention of drug use, drinking, T*m D*vis makes an appearance

Part 1 Part 4

Frankie slept better that week than he had in months. Every night was long, uninterrupted, mercifully dreamless sleep. The diner had done exactly what he had hoped. When he awoke that Saturday afternoon, he felt better than he had in ages. He hummed while he rummaged through the refrigerator, grabbing out some leftover padthai and throwing it in the microwave.

Each night that week, a routine between you and him had formed. You’d work, barely exchanging words until the dinner rush was completed, then you’d make him a coffee and he’d make you something to eat. You’d requested something different each night, and each night you’d spoken to him a little more. Some nights you were in a better mood than others, but he quickly realised it wasn’t personal against him.

He found he was a little disappointed when he woke up that afternoon and remembered that it was his day off. If he was being honest with himself, he’d grown to enjoy your company. Something about you intrigued him, made him want to get to know you more.

Frankie spent getting stuff together for poker night with the boys. It was his turn to host, so all he had to do was make sure that his dining room table was clear and his portable speaker was charged. 

While he got ready, his mind kept wandering back to you.

He thought of the way you had a different smile for certain customers. The truly genuine one was reserved for only a select few of your favourites. He felt himself hoping that one day you’d give him one of those smiles, instead of the one that didn’t really reach your eyes and disappeared quickly. 

He thought of how when the diner was quiet, you’d lean against the counter and sip your coffee, your gaze firmly out the window. 

He thought of how when your shift ended and you checked your phone, your face would change for just a fraction of a second before you’d say goodbye and rush out the door. 

Jesus fucking Christ, he thought, do I have a crush?

Frankie hadn’t had a crush since high school, when he had finally had the guts to ask out Portia Inglewood. That relationship had lasted until he left the military, and brought all the emotional baggage with him.

A loud banging on the door knocked him out of his thoughts. 

“Cat!” Benny didn’t wait for Frankie to open the door. “We’re here, and we have beer!”

“You know where it goes,” Frankie called back. 

Santi grinned at his best friend and handed him a beer. “How’s the new job?”

“It’s exactly what I need right now,” Frankie told him. Santi nodded in understanding. They all had their own ways of dealing with what they carried. “Plus, the extra cash doesn’t hurt.”

Frankie didn’t want money - he had plenty from when he’d do private jobs with Santi. If he ever became desperate, he knew he could just join Santi on his next job. 

“Well, extra cash or not, I’ll always be the hottest person you’ve ever worked with,” Santi winked, making Frankie roll his eyes.

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, man.” Frankie laughed. 

The night progressed in a haze of pizza and beer and poker. Will lost money to Tom, and Tom promptly lost it all to Benny. Santi told the group about the new girl he was seeing, some French expat over stateside for a few months. Benny double checked everyone was coming to the fight next weekend. Tom revealed that he and the girls were moving to Ohio to be closer to Molly’s parents. The boys promptly began planning a going away party, which would basically just be another poker night but with more beer and possibly a cake.

Any worries Frankie held seemed to melt away on nights like these. At one point, he briefly wondered what you were doing and if you were thinking of him too. Yep. Definitely a crush.

~*~

You didn’t like Kurt’s friends. Unfortunately, you were stuck spending your Saturday night with them crowded in your apartment, loud and disrespectful as hell. It didn’t matter to them that you’d asked time and time again could they please go outside to smoke, could they please put their beer bottles in the recycling bin, could they please not use your nice plates to do coke on. 

If your grandfather could have seen you now, he would’ve called you a push-over. You hated that you had become this person - afraid to stick up for yourself in your own home. Hell, you didn’t even know at what point you’d become this person. It just seemed to happen over the five years you’d been dating Kurt.

You had lost yourself in trying to be what he wanted.

With a sigh, you sealed yourself away in the bedroom with a bag of Doritos and your phone, wishing you could call your grandfather. You still had his number in your phone. Occasionally, you’d look at it, the numbers seared into your brain. 

Instead of calling the now disconnected number, you settled for messaging Sara. She was one of your only remaining friends from high school, and knew as much about your feelings as you were willing to let on. The thing was, you knew what she would say if you told her how you felt every single day. How lost, how hopeless you felt. She’d tell you to leave, forget Kurt and all the years with him, but to you it wasn’t that simple. 

Part of you still loved him, despite everything, and that part remained hopeful that you and Kurt could fix the fractures in your relationship. Plus, a voice in the back of your head told you he was right when he said he was the only one who could ever love you. 

Being alone, unloved, was one of your deepest fears.

This was one of the nights you actually missed being at the diner. You missed the lemon scented countertops, the radio that seemed to be permanently set on the oldies station, hell, you even missed Frankie and his amazing food. He’d been working with you less than a week but he had already wedged himself into your stomach. But, it was just two more nights until you were back there. It struck you that this was the opposite of how most people thought. No one you knew actually wished to go back to work. 

It was almost dawn when you were woken out of your half sleep by Kurt stumbling into the room. 

“Baby,” he slurred, crawling into bed beside you. “Baby, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you mumbled, moving over so he could fit in the bed easier. He reeked of sweat and booze. 

“I’m sorry,” he planted a sloppy kiss on your neck. “I really try to be good.”

“I know,” you ran your fingers over his head. He liked his hair cropped short, in an almost military like style. “I try too.”

“Can we go back to how we were?” Kurt continued kissing you, his hands moving drunkenly over your body. You bit back a sigh, knowing where this was heading.

You decided it would be easier to let him do what he needed, despite how badly you wanted to sleep. The only saving grace was you knew Kurt would only last a couple of minutes before it would be over. 

~*~

“So, what’s the new guy like?” Manny asked. You were seated outside, at one of his favourite cafes. The sun shone down warmly on you both, brightening your mood.

“I like him, I think,” you said. “He’s nice, quiet.”

“And pretty cute, right?” Manny wriggled his eyebrows. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” you lied. Of course you had noticed. It was impossible not to notice. 

“Don’t feed me bullshit, I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Ugh, fine. He’s good looking. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“That’s the thing lover, it only means something if you want it to.” Manny took a conspiratorial sip of his drink. “And I didn’t get a gay vibe from him.”

“Oh good, because the only thing holding me back from jumping his bones in the kitchen is that I didn’t know his sexual preference.” You rolled your eyes, deciding to quickly change the subject. “Anyway, how’s the new job?”

“I’m loving it!” Manny lit up. “Everyone says teenagers are the worst group to teach, but it’s like they forget middle school exists.”

You smiled at Manny’s happiness. It thrilled you to see someone you considered your best friend so happy. If anyone deserves the whole world, you thought, it’s him. But he wasn’t going to let you change the subject that easily.

“You know, maybe you could invite Frankie to one of our lunches,” Manny said slyly. “It could be a night crew thing.”

“That would mean inviting the weekenders,” you reminded him. Manny held a grudge against the weekend crew, but you could never figure out why.

“No, weeknight crew only. Come on, lover, it could be fun! Plus, I want to get to know my replacement a bit better. Make sure I’m not handing the spatula to someone I don’t approve of.” Manny pouted and switched on his puppy dog eyes.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll ask,” you conceded, “but don’t be surprised if he says no. The man probably has a life.”

“It can’t hurt to ask though, and I will bother you about it until you have an answer.”

“What are you planning?” You knew that look all too well.

“Just on making a new friend,” Manny said innocently. “Lover, you can never have enough friends.”

At that moment your phone buzzed with a text from Kurt.

Where r u?????

You grimaced and sent a quick reply, hoping it wouldn’t lead to what it usually did.

At lunch with Manny from work. I’ll be home in a couple hours, do you want anything?

“Why don’t you just break up with him?” Manny asked, watching you carefully.

Is he the gay 1?

Yes, you met him and his husband last year.

“It’s complicated,” you said. You didn’t have anywhere to go. You were terrified of being alone. Part of you still felt like you could salvage what you had. The one and only time you had tried to break up with him, he had threatened to kill himself if you left. 

“You deserve better than that,” Manny said. You remained silent, not sure if he was right. “You’ve been unhappy for ages now.”

“I’m happy!” You protested.

“No you aren’t. Don’t fucking lie to me. You’re miserable with that douche bag, even James agrees.”

“I haven’t seen James in months! How the hell would he know!” You were getting defensive, but you still managed to keep your voice lowered. 

“Lover, I talk that man's ear off every chance I get. Because I love him. Because he likes to hear me talk about my day and the people important to me.”

“I’m important to you?”

Manny rolled his eyes and threw his napkin at you. “Of course you are, you’re a sister to me. Stop trying to change the subject.”

“What subject!” You scoffed.

“The subject of you for some reason wanting to stay in a relationship with a man who makes you miserable,” Manny’s voice softened and he gently held one of your hands. The gesture almost made you tear up with its gentleness. You merely shrugged.

“Like I said, it’s complicated.”

Manny nodded. “Just please think about it, for real. I couldn’t sleep at night if I never said anything to you about it.”

The walk home was slow, you took your time to sort out your scrambling thoughts. Manny had offered to drive you, but it was a nice day, and you wanted to enjoy the sunshine. You pushed the issue of Kurt to the side, knowing either way the outcome would be the same unless you magically grew a spine and a few extra zeros in your bank account.

Instead, you thought about Frankie and how best to ask him to Sunday lunch. Honestly, if there was going to be a night shift tradition, it just felt downright rude to not at least extend an invite. And if Frankie said yes, well, that was even better. It was like Manny said - an opportunity to make a new friend. Just a friend.

So why did your stomach flip at the thought?

Tagging @hnt-escape if you’d also like to be tagged just let me know <3

[expectingtofly]

Incident at Playgroup

2.8k

fluff, established dean/cas, baby jack, human!cas, cas and dean terrorize other parents

dedicated to @thiscastielhasflown bc a few weeks ago we talked about tfw’s mcdonald’s orders and this fic happened. wishing you a good week with schoolwork assignments that only take half the time you expect them to, eventual restful sleep, and good grades <3

also posted on ao3

“Clown!” Jack yelled, pointing at the entrance to the McDonald’s indoor play area. A Ronald McDonald cardboard cutout guarded the door, holding a sign reading, You must be this tall to enter.

“Inside voice,” Dean said, though he wasn’t sure it mattered much when he could hardly hear himself speak. Recently, they’d joined a playgroup of parents and kids from Jack’s preschool, and this weekend, some of the moms had organized a playdate at the McDonald’s in town, one with a huge play area.

Meaning, they were now surrounded by screaming kids, diaper bags, and stressed out parents.

Dean winced as a kid shrieked from across the room. “We need to take a photo of you next to ol’ Ronald to show Sam.”

“Okay,” Jack agreed, jumping up and down in his chair.

Coming over with the tray of their food, Cas put out a hand to steady Jack’s chair. “That would be unnecessarily cruel."

Dean grabbed his Big Mac. “Yeah, well, he deserves it.” Before they’d come here today, Sam had repeatedly told them, quote, “please don't fuck this up again." Always was a polite bastard. “He’s gotta have more faith in us. What are we, amateurs?”

“Unfortunately, I believe that’s the point,” Cas said, sitting down and giving Jack his Happy Meal. “We don’t have the best track record with these sort of things.”

These ‘sort of things’ being playgroups. 

So, they’d tried a couple that hadn’t worked out. “Not like it’s our fault,” he said. “Take a seat, kid.” Jack ignored him, jumping in his seat as he waved to another toddler sitting nearby.

Cas beamed, holding onto the back of the chair. “He’s making friends, that’s a good sign.”

“Kid could make friends with a blank wall,” Dean said, but Cas was right—making friends was the whole point they were here. While Jack could make friends with just about anyone and anything—every crayon had a name and backstory, Cas’ trenchcoat was taken on make-believe-adventures, and the Impala could apparently talk, if Jack’s one-sided conversations during long car rides was anything to go off of—it was true that Jack was lacking in the friends-that-aren’t-hunters-or-over-a-decade-older category. There weren’t exactly many toddlers running around the bunker.

Hence, why they were spending their Saturday afternoon at the Hell on Earth known as McDonald's PlayPlace.

Jack held out the bag of apple slices that came in his Happy Meal. “Open.”

Dean stared him down and Jack added, “Peas.”

Close enough. Taking the bag, Dean told Cas, “Don’t look now, but Amanda is handing out brochures for Pampered Chef again.” According to Sam, that was another reason this playdate had to be a success—making friends with the right parents meant getting invited to more playdates and whatever other random events the parents came up with. It was like a weird society Dean had never known existed until Jack started preschool and started interacting with other kids his own age.

“I saw you using the food processor the other day,” Cas said, glancing over his shoulder to look despite Dean’s warning. Dean rolled his eyes. “I think it’s ingenious.”

“I’m not going to another two hour cooking demonstration.“

“Sam said we need to make a good impression.”

“He can go buy overpriced kitchen tools then.” It was a little too convenient that Sam had gotten out of taking Jack to this playdate—Dean had a suspicion that the multiple Ronald McDonalds stationed around had something to do with that.

He tried to hand Jack the apples, but Jack pointed at the play area. “Wanna play!”

“You have to finish your food,” Dean told him. Crossing his arms, Jack glared at him and stomped his foot on the chair.

“Just eat two more nuggets,” Cas told him. He picked up his filet-o-fish sandwich and glanced at Dean. “What?”

“You’re spoiling him.”

Jack stuffed his face with two chicken nuggets, which prompted Cas to give Dean a look. “Well, you’re teaching him bad table manners.”

Just to be obnoxious, Dean shoved half of his burger into his mouth in one bite. Jack laughed at him and Cas rolled his eyes.

“Done!” Jack announced, and Cas pushed his chair back so he could escape.

“These play places are gross,” Dean said, swallowing. “He’s gonna catch a disease.”

“Good thing he can’t get sick,” Cas said, watching Jack clamber up some stairs to reach a slide.

“Yeah, well I can,” Dean retorted. Jack went down the slide with a squeal. Landing at the bottom, he waved at them and Dean waved back.

“The Winchesters are here!” someone called too cheerily and Dean rolled his eyes, turning to see Ashley walking over. Lady thought she ran the group, always recruiting parents to bring snacks and toys to playdates. A little too high and mighty when Dean knew for a fact that the cupcakes she'd brought last week were store-bought.

Settling down into the seat next to them, she asked, “I wasn’t expecting you two today. Where’s Sam?”

Dean resisted rolling his eyes. Of course Sam was everyone’s favorite. Wasn’t his fault Sam was better at feigning interest in grocery lists and laundry piles. Parenting was hard enough without getting subjected to the unique torture of playgroup small talk.

“Him and Eileen went on a weekend trip,“ Cas answered easily and Dean nodded. They’d long given up trying to explain to others why Jack had a rotating list of parental figures accompanying him to playgroup, figuring if the other parents thought they were in a weird cult situation, at least that was better than them knowing the truth—like the fact that Sam and Eileen were away hunting a rugaru in Missouri. Though they were going to run out of excuses soon for why playgroup couldn’t be hosted at their place—an underground bunker with enough weapons to hold off an army.

“Well,” Ashley said, “I’m glad you guys were able to make it.” Yeah, that was a fake smile.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Dean said, plastering on his own fake smile. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.” Cas kicked him under the table.

“We’ve loved having Jack in the group,” Ashley said, and that might not be a fake sentiment. Jack could charm anyone. “Such a sweetheart. Lily adores him.” She smiled at where Jack and her daughter Lily were crawling through a tunnel at the top of the play area.

“Jack, no!” Dean called, seeing Jack stick his fingers in his mouth. “I’m so getting sick,” he muttered under his breath.

He was trying to come up with an excuse to get away as Ashley pulled out her phone to show them a new post on her mommy blog—boring, same old content. Give him a blog and he’d actually have something interesting to say—when he heard familiar crying from across the play area.

Without a second thought, he was pushing back his chair and rushing over, squeezing past playing kids and their parents to find Jack sitting on the floor bawling his eyes out and a bigger kid standing over him.

“What the hell happened here?” he demanded. He went to pick up Jack, but Cas was already swooping in and grabbing him.

“He pushed me!” Jack managed through his sobs, and Dean turned on the older kid.

“What the hell’s your problem?” The kid’s baleful expression faltered. He took a step back and Dean advanced on him. “You get off on making kids half your size cry?”

“Don’t speak to my son that way!” someone exclaimed, pushing through the crowd of kids and parents to glare at them. “What’s going on?”

“Your son is a menace,” Cas told the woman—Denise. Playgroup gossip said her son had gotten held back from kindergarten due to his inability to ‘play nice with others.’ Jack’s crying had subdued to sniffles, but Cas still held onto him like he might break apart. “He was bullying our son.”

“I’m sure it was an accident.” She put her hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You didn’t mean to hurt him, right, Tommy?”

Tommy only glared at them, and Dean glared right back. “He needs to apologize to Jack,” Cas said.

“Tommy, apologize.”

After several long, drawn out seconds, Tommy muttered, looking down at his feet, “Sorry.”

“I don’t think that was a real apology,” Cas said.

“It’s not my fault Jack’s a crybaby,” Tommy shot back.

“You little—” Dean started

“Take that back,” Cas snapped, and if he wasn’t human, Dean would’ve expected his eyes to start glowing fiery blue. Denise’s eyes grew wide, her grip on Tommy’s shoulder tightening.

“Is there a problem here?” someone asked, and Dean turned to see a McDonald’s employee hurrying over.

“Yeah, this kid shoved our son,” Dean said. “And he’s being a little shit about it.”

The employee’s expression turned shocked and Dean heard a few gasps from the parents that had crowded around to see the commotion. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” the employee stammered. “This is a kid’s play area, we won’t tolerate fighting here.”

“We were already going,” Cas said haughtily. He glared at Denise. “And if 'Tommy' ever lays a hand on Jack again, he will be sorry.” Jack’s expression was eerily similar to Cas’ as they shot twin glares at Tommy, and Dean thought he caught a spark in Jack’s eyes.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking Cas’ elbow and guiding him through the crowd of spectators before Jack tried to incinerate the kid. He wasn’t sure if that was one of Jack’s powers or not, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out in a crowded McDonald’s. Even if the snot-nosed kid deserved it.

The staff behind the counter was watching along with everyone else in the store, the once noisy place now brought to tense stillness. Cas snatched up the rest of their food and Dean knew they were already on the verge of getting the cops called on them, but he couldn’t resist turning and jabbing his finger at the little brat. “And don’t you ever fucking touch Jack again!”

Cas shot Denise and Tommy another look, Jack copying it over his shoulder, and Dean let the door slam shut behind them.

“I can’t believe the audacity of that woman,” Cas raged, strapping Jack into his carseat. Dean grabbed the wipes and leaned over the front seat to wipe Jack’s hands before he touched everything and spread germs around. “And her kid is exactly the same!”

Jack craned his neck to look back at the McDonald’s as Cas finished strapping him in. “Play!”

Getting into the passenger seat, Cas slammed the door shut. “You will not be going back there, not when those children are around. Dean was right, these play places are vile.”

“You alright, kid?” Dean asked Jack, shutting the wipe container.

Jack kicked his feet against the seat. “Hungry.”

Cas pulled out the container of Jack’s half-eaten chicken nuggets and Dean protested, thinking of a fateful day with a bag of cheerios—he was still finding them in every nook and cranny of the car. “No eating in the backseat.”

“He’s just been through a traumatic experience,” Cas said, handing the container to Jack. “We can make an exception.”

“Fine,” Dean muttered, gripping the steering wheel as he pulled out of the parking lot. “I always knew Denise was shifty. You saw the way she was trying to spin the story, making it out like it wasn’t her kid’s fault? Fucking asshole.”

“Asshole!” Jack agreed cheerfully from the backseat.

“That’s not a nice word, Jack,” Cas said. Quieter, he added, “But it’s accurate.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna send a message to the playgroup chat. Tommy’s behavior can’t be tolerated. Soon all the kids are going to become bullies.”

“He needs to be taught a lesson,” Dean agreed, glancing at Jack as he stopped at a red light, trying not to flinch at the crumbs on Jack’s lap that threatened to fall to the floor. “Needs to get knocked down by someone. Hear that, Jack? We’re gonna teach you how to fight back.”

Jack nodded. “I can fight!” He waved a chicken nugget around in mock punches and Dean gave up any hope of keeping the backseat clean.

“Maybe we can convince the other parents to kick Denise and her son out of the—Oh.” Dean looked over at him and Castiel winced. “We’ve been blocked from the group chat.”

“That makes three of them,” Dean muttered, pushing the accelerator as the light turned green. “We’re gonna end up on some blacklist soon.”

First playgroup, Jack had set a couch on fire. Since the "baby god testing out his powers” explanation wasn’t gonna fly, they went with the tried and true, “playing with matches” excuse. Didn’t stop the group from voting to kick them out.

Second playgroup, Cas had gotten in a fiery debate over the ethicality of beekeeping, and what was Dean supposed to do? Not back him up? He hadn't known you could get kicked out of the zoo for "disorderly conduct."

Alright, maybe Sam’s fears that they’d fuck up this playdate too weren’t completely off base.

“I think it’s time we give playgroups a rest,” he decided.

"But Jack needs to make friends."

"He's already got us, and Claire and Kaia and Alex and—"

"Charlie!" Jack added from the backseat.

"Charlie," Dean agreed. "He's got plenty of friends." Cas only stared him down with a particular smitey look in his eyes, and though Dean knew there wasn't a real threat behind the gaze, he sighed. "Fine. We’ll try again.”

"I already had one in mind," Cas said, brightening. "In case this one didn't work out."

“Done!” Jack yelled.

“Inside voice,” Dean said automatically. “Wait, you had a backup plan?"

“Yes,” Cas said, taking the empty container of chicken nuggets from Jack. “I thought it wise considering our track record. It’s a smaller group than this one was—Here, Jack, you want my ice cream?”

“Dude, seriously?” Dean protested as Cas handed an Oreo McFlurry back to Jack, who excitedly held out his hands. “That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Not necessarily,” Cas said. “I don’t think we’re that destined to fail again—Oh, you mean the ice cream.” He glanced at Jack, who was dripping ice cream onto his lap with every spoonful. “Um. Traumatic experience?”

Dean wasn’t falling for that excuse a second time. He started to say so, but Cas wasn’t listening, picking up his phone as it beeped several times in quick succession.

“What?” Dean asked, seeing a slow frown cross Cas' face as he stared at the screen.

Cas held up his phone to show several texts in a row. “We’re in trouble.”

On cue, Dean’s phone started ringing, the screen lighting up to display Sam’s name. Fuck.

“Sam would like to know why we’re all blocked from the group chat,” Cas said unhelpfully, and Dean rejected the call.

“Good luck explaining why.”

“Maybe the problem is us,” Cas said slowly. He met Dean’s eyes, then they both shook their heads.

“No, it’s those stupid parents,” Dean said.

“And their insufferable children,” Cas agreed.

“Insufferable!” Jack agreed from the backseat, ice cream smeared across his chin. Or that’s what Dean thought he was repeating, the word losing a few syllables along the way.

“Not you, Jack,” Cas said. “Every playgroup would be lucky to have you.”

“Just, they apparently don’t know it,” Dean pointed out. “Or we wouldn’t keep getting kicked out.”

His phone started ringing again, as if to remind him of the fact, and he looked pointedly at Cas. “You deal with him.”

“No, you,” Cas said.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean muttered. Then he had an idea.

“Hey, Jack, tell Sam about what you saw today.” He turned on speakerphone and handed back his phone, not even caring that Jack’s hands were a sticky mess. Okay, maybe he cared a little, but that’s why the Impala now always held wipes in the glove box.

Jack grabbed his phone eagerly. “Sam!” he crowed. “Guess what I saw!”

Dean caught Sam’s voice over the phone. “What—Jack, hey, where’s Dean?”

“Clowns!” Jack said, waving his ice cream spoon around. “Clowns everywhere!”

“Very mature,” Cas told Dean.

Dean shrugged. “Buys us some time.”

“That’s nice, Jack, but put Dean on,” Sam said. Jack started to give the phone back, and Cas whispered,

“Tell him about the slide.”

“Sam, Sam! I went on a slide!” Dean gave him a thumbs up in the rearview mirror and Jack copied it.

“Dean! I know you can hear me!” Sam yelled as Jack continued on about his eventful day.

“We’re horrible influences,” Cas said, unsuccessfully fighting back a smile.

“Nah,” Dean said. “We’re the best.”

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[sophiashortcake]

— 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 🍰

“I GUESS I’M JUST A PLAY DATE TO YOU.”

previous ❀ next ❀ series masterlist

𝟐𝟐. kei shouldn’t be allowed to drink either: the spinoff

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: kicked out of her home with no place to go, y/n is forced to move into her family friend’s home, who coincidentally is also the family of tsukishima kei, the boy who denied her confession.

You were already driving Kei crazy and you hadn’t even left your room yet.

You should have left thirty minute ago, but you were still locked in your room supposedly doing your makeup. He could hear your pacing through the wall, so he definitely knew you weren’t still getting ready. You were purposefully avoiding him, but it’s not like you both weren’t doing that anyway. He regretted doing a favor to Kiyoko by driving you to the party. (He had a sneaking suspicion she could have driven you, but she wanted you two to start talking to each other already).

Getting fed up with waiting, he yelled through the door.

“Y/N, are you ready?”

“Uh- Yeah! Just give me a second!”

He sighed in relief, going back to his phone.

Your door slowly creaked open as you emerged from your bedroom.

Kei definitely should have had Kiyoko drive you instead.

He didn’t mean to stare, but it was damn hard to when you looked like that. He didn’t know if he wanted to curse God out or thank him right now for the dress you were wearing. How the hell was he supposed to be in a car with you when he found you, to put it bluntly, hot as fuck?

“Let’s go,” he stated, turning to walk down the stairs.

He hoped you didn’t notice the blush on his cheeks.

To make matters worse, you had been silent the entire car ride, averting your gaze anywhere but him. You couldn’t even look at him, did you really hate him that much?

“Did Yamaguchi ever mention what his plan was?” You asked, eyes still fixed on the buildings rolling through the window.

“No, he said he would handle it.”

“O-Oh, okay.”

What else was he supposed to say? The real topic hung above your heads, but he refused to talk about it as acknowledging it would finally make him realize you were leaving, leaving him. But he knew it would be easier if he could at least brace himself for what was to come.

“So when are you moving out?” He asked, almost wincing as the words moving out left him.

“The end of next week most likely.”

He didn’t realize the time you had left was going to be cut so short. If he had known, maybe he would’ve watched more movies with you in your room, stayed out later when you snuck out for food at 3am, maybe he even would’ve found the right time to tell you he loved you. He would’ve done so much more with you if he knew.

The rest of the car ride was silent, as Kei wished he hadn’t taken the time you were with him for granted.

Kei could already tell the party was going to be a headache the moment he walked in. Terushima had truly outdone himself this time, the party easily could have been mistaken for a full-scale frat party instead of a regular high school party. He guessed MiyagiTea was to thank for that, their promotion had gotten the party to where it was currently.

“Y/N!” A voice called, averting your attention away.

Bokuto emerged from the crowd, with Kuroo, Yamaguchi, and Akaashi in tow. He immediately picked you up into one of his famous spine-crushing hugs, you giggled in response, a bright smile plastered on your face.

He ignored the way jealousy brewed in his stomach despite knowing that you and Bokuto were purely platonic and that Bokuto was more than aware of his feelings for you, and would never try anything. But still, he couldn’t help but be green with envy, wishing you were the one smiling at him like that.

“Nice to see you too, Bo,” You giggled as he let you down.

“And here I thought I’d be the hottest one at this party,” Kuroo sighed melodramatically, “unfortunately, Y/N beat me at my own game.”

“Yes, Y/N does look very nice tonight,” Akaashi chuckled, greeting you with a side hug.

While you were preoccupied hugging Akaashi, Kuroo quipped an eyebrow at him. Kei realized, the motherfucker was purposefully trying to make him jealous.

“You’ll always be the hottest one in my book, Kuroo,” you quipped, punching his shoulder. He grinned brightly, but Kei knew the smile was smug pride, knowing that his little plan to get him jealous was working.

“Please don’t make Kuroo’s ego any bigger than it already is,” Akaashi sighed. Kei was thankful somebody finally put Kuroo in his place (even if they were friends) if it weren’t for Akaashi, Kei probably would have lost it on Kuroo already.

“Tsukki, you can at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself,” Yamaguchi commented.

“I don’t like parties,” he deadpanned. No, more like I don’t like how you’re flirting with Y/N.

“Well, do you like Y/N’s dress?” Bokuto slyly whispered in his ear. If you weren’t staring sheepishly at him, he would’ve strangled Bokuto right then and there.

He thought for a second, about to make his usual sarcastic comment, but the dress you were wearing was living in his head, rent free. His mouth ran dry, and he couldn’t think of anything to say but the truth.

“Yeah, she looks pretty.”

(He thought you looked even better than pretty, but he would’ve killed himself on the spot if he truly voiced what he thought.)

The group fell quiet, all eyes plastered on him as he tried his best to remain calm, as if he hadn’t just complimented you infront of his entire group of friends.

“I’m gonna go find Oikawa and Iwaizumi!” You chirped, breaking the silence. Before anyone could reply, you hurried away as fast as you could on your heels.

“Oh my god, she hates me,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you be nice to somebody, like ever,” Kuroo commented, still stunned at his compliment.

“Much less call somebody pretty,” Akaashi added.

“He really is whipped!” Bokuto cackled, smacking Kei on the back. Kei cringed, hoping nobody heard Bokuto, but it was Bokuto, so it was more than likely.

“I don’t think she hates you Tsukki,” Yamaguchi nervously replying. (Little did Kei know, Yamaguchi was tearing himself apart inside keeping his promise to you.)

“I called her pretty and she ran away,” he grumbled, “I think that’s reason enough to think she doesn’t like me back.”

“You, my friend, need a drink,” Kuroo said, before dragging him off to the kitchen.

The rest of the night, Kei noticed how you dodged and avoided him. You conveniently had to leave the room whenever he walked in, you made an effort to talk to everybody besides him, hell, even his friends got in a proper conversation with you before he could. The alcohol was affecting his emotions more than he would care to admit. Kei was losing hope, the realization you’d never be his settling in much deeper than he thought it would. He wished you were his and much as he was yours.

“Yams, it’s almost 1am and you still haven’t found MiyagiTea, what’s your plan exactly?” Kuroo grumbled, flopped on a nearby couch.

With you heavy on his drunken mind, he forgot the true reason for this party. Despite it being so late, the party was still raging, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“I was hoping I would catch them slipping when some drama happened, but nothing,” he fumed. “There’s been 4 fights, 3 breakups, and Terushima even streaked across the lawn to lure them out! They still haven’t shown themselves.”

“Maybe we should give up,” Akaashi sighed, slumping down on the couch with Kuroo.

“No! We can’t just give up! This stupid tea account is what’s stopping Y/N and Tsukki from being together!” Bokuto cried. Kei took a mental note that you and Bokuto were both crying drunks.

“I hate to break it to you, but the reason we’re not together is because she hates me, and I don’t blame her,” he sighed. However, Kei was also a sad drunk it seemed.

“Tsukki, have you tried talking to her?” Yamaguchi asked, as if the solution was obvious. Kei scoffed in response.

“What do I even say? I love you, I’m sorry I’m such an asshole, please love me? It’s pathetic,” he spat bitterly.

“I hate to break up this little feelings sesh, but what the hell is going on in the living room?” Kuroo questioned, drawing attention to the yelling spouting from the other room.

The group stumbled out of the nearby room and into the living room, where the music had stopped and in the center of attention was you and Oikawa. A crowd had swarmed around you, hushed whispers filling the air.

Were you crying?

“Get the fuck away from me!” You spat, holding yourself as to shield yourself from Oikawa.

“Y/N, I swear I can explain-”

“No! I don’t want to fucking hear it!” You retorted.

Akaashi tapped somebody on the shoulder, “what’s happening?”

“Oikawa Tooru is MiyagiTea!”

Kei’s world stopped.

Oikawa was MiyagiTea.

He leaked all the information about you two.

He purposefully hurt you.

All Kei could see was red, every cell on his body was on fire. He shoved past the crowd, not caring who he pushed. Maybe it was the alcohol fueling the flames in his stomach, but all he could focus on was the fact Oikawa had fucking hurt you. You were crying because of him and if that didn’t make Kei go ballistic, nothing else could.

Kei stormed up to Oikawa and punched him across the face.

“Kei!” You shrieked.

All the noises around him drowned out, as he could only hear the blood rushing in his ears as he grabbed Oikawa by the collar and shoved him against a wall.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Kei could practically feel the venom dripping out his voice, wanting nothing more than to make Oikawa regret ever making you cry, but your grip on shirt made him snap out of his rage.

“Kei, stop!” You cried.

Your touch suddenly made him forget his rage. His muscles eased under your fingertips as he let go of Oikawa, who shamefully backed away from you two. He turned to you, your face making his stomach drop.

You looked scared. You were scared of him.

Iwaizumi pushed through the crowd, as well as Kiyoko.

“Iwa, did you know?” You asked, your voice cracking.

“No! God no, I had no idea- I would never-” Iwaizumi began before sighing to stop himself, “I’m going to take Oikawa, he shouldn’t be here.”

“Y/N, let’s go,” Kiyoko whispered, taking your arm. You nodded, wiping your mascara stained eyes.

“Y/N, wait-” Kei called, reaching out to stop you. But Yamaguchi grabbed him, reeling him back.

“You’ve done enough, Tsukishima,” Kiyoko hissed before taking you away.

Terushima emerged from the crowd, grimacing at the state of the party.

“Everybody, there’s nothing to see here!” He announced, “Go back to uh, partying or whatever!”

People awkwardly began to murmur, going back to the party, the music started up again, the atmosphere of the party slowly returning to normal.

“I- I have to see her-” Kei stuttered, the drunken adrenaline wearing off and realizing what he had done.

“Tsukki, she needs to be alone right now,” Akaashi murmured, helping him sit down on a nearby couch. Kei buried his face in his hands, he had fucked up, again.

“How about we get you home?” Yamaguchi asked, rubbing his back.

The boys piled Kei into the car, and drove him home. The alcohol, exhaustion from the party, and the quiet drive home should have been enough to lull him asleep, but the horrified expression you wore plagued his mind on an endless loop.

He wanted to blame the alcohol, but he knew it wasn’t an excuse. Like you said, he would always hurt.

And for the first time in awhile, Tsukishima Kei started crying.

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭: terushima did everything in his power that night to lure out @/miyagitea. such things included, streaking across the lawn naked, doing two keg stands, and bodyslamming the pool table (in which it broke in half).

𝐚/𝐧: uhhh... sorry?

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃!): @sinistersith @moronsuke @yougivemebutterfliess @saturnfarie @peachiikichu @what-happens-inside-the-box @nonoszrk @cece-lives-here @belli-jelly @cvlliesstuff @ack-aashi @mindofess @virgoamajiki @natsukitakama @shimy-deko @irenevyas @virgoamajiki @toaster-stick @little-dark-empress @h0ngh0ngh0ng @freyafolkvangr @winunk @estmagnifique @thechaosoflonging @ilovesupersoldiers @simpletype @burntcilantro @starrydaisy @animatedrapture @intothatbluebluesky @resetrestartandreplay @lostmarimoismyhubby @witcherydotcom @kukiisan @not-venice @grapesauze @amberisnotcrazy @tarasaoristark @ammemuts @cloudymotel @loving-unicorns106 @strawberryssel @kakaokenma @cadelinha-de-haikyuu @wowie-issa-me-amario @pruemania @vitalthot @kageyamasgirl @abswrites @kac-chowsballs

[pathofcomet]

look at what you taught me

fandom: bridgerton series

pairing: colin/penelope

summary: Colin and Penelope have never been awkward with one another. Except for this one time.  (AO3) (book spoiler ahead)

In the beginning, when he travels, Colin can think of nothing else but the present moment: a ship under his feet, the lull of a carriage, the wide expanse of the world all around him. Whatever destination is coming next, if he is certain enough – if not, he’ll just make it up as he goes. The furious scribbling of his quill against paper, as he races to put down in words all his eyes take not but a second to admire. It feels like everything he never knew he wanted to do so desperately. It feels right.

Then, it becomes more difficult to return home, the more he travels. But soon enough, the travel starts to wear him down. He begins to look forward to when he’ll return home: despite his own mother’s incessant remarks, despite the brotherly arguments, despite having to see another sister married off. Even the most loving mamas trying to marry off their daughters to him seem somewhat adorable, if he is gone long enough. But the need to travel comes back, like an itch that won’t go away unless he scratches it away. He makes promises to his sisters – so that he can stay as much as possible, but he goes insane with anything more than a couple of months. He likes to believe that by now his family simply made peace with his many eccentricities, and simply paid the cook more when he was around.

He treasures the pockets of familiarity he gets when in London as much as the breathes of fresh air he gets when he’s away. He imagines he drives his mother wild, with all his coming and going across the continent. He knows what Lady Whistledown writes about him as well, and he’d strangle the woman himself, for alerting everyone of his return so punctually. Ambitious mamas are hard to fend off when you’re a young man, and it only gets worse the older he becomes, because the expectation of marriage dawns ever closer.

***

“You must agree, Colin,” his mother says, and at the mention of his name, he straightens in his chair, because it’s a terrible thing to be singled out in a conversation by Violet. “Penelope is quite an agreeable young lady.”

Colin agrees, both because he truly believes so, and because while his mother doesn’t need his confirmation, she’s kinder when she has it. Benedict, from the other side of the room, leans closer in his chair, so he can hear better whatever commentary their dear mother is about to impart with them.

“I dare say she’d make quite a suitable bride for you, really.”

All hell breaks loose. Benedict drops his foot to the floor with a loud thud, while Colin drops his sandwich, eliciting a swear for which he’s reprimanded by three of his sisters. And then.

“Mother!” Eloise shrieks, quite offended – which Colin finds surprising, considering that the two of them are best friends. “That is entirely too daring!”

Colin agrees, but he is too busy desperately trying to cough away the piece of sandwich stuck in his throat. Eloise, though still quite shocked, pushes her cup of tea in his hands, just to get him to make less noise. He downs it in one go, grateful to not have died of this particular cause. His heart, quite in override still, might provoke a heart attack soon enough if his mother does not change the subject.

“I believe you misremember your ABCs, dear mother,” he jests, because he does not want to take the idea seriously. “There’s one son for whom you haven’t found a bride quite yet.”

Benedict shifts in his seat, suddenly finding his newspaper way more interesting. But this time around, Violet doesn’t rise to the so delicious bait of teasing her second, not when her brain is so set on match-making her third.

“I don’t see why not. Isn’t she a friend to all of us?”

She stops, waits for a nod from each one of her children currently engaged in eaves-dropping on the topic.

“She’s polite, witty,” she continues listing reason after reason, all to which Colin is entirely familiar and now that he thinks about, has noticed himself, several times over, in Penelope. “And quite darling.”

He imagines darling is what girls who aren’t called beautiful get stuck with by kind mothers. He never actually stopped to even consider Penelope in any of these ways: she’s always been there, ever since he was in short pants – and that’s almost already half their lives. A fixed presence by the side of his younger sister, and a favourite of his mother, despite all the awkward wallflower tendencies in Penelope. But he doesn’t recall ever trying to pick apart her character, find her individual traits, even consider her as a… woman.

Colin is suddenly shamed by his wilful, manly indifference. Violet arches her eyebrow at him, clearly still expecting an answer.

“Mother,” he adds with a sigh. “I can promise you most certainly that I am not marrying any time soon.”

“One never knows,” she murmurs, though she allows him his momentary peace, and returns to her embroidery.

***

Only that his mother doesn’t stop with her comments, and they seem to grow in number each time she meets Penelope, which unfortunate for him, is often enough. The next morning, as she returns from shopping, she comments on how nice she looked in a dress of her own picking, and not her mother’s own distasteful choices. Each time any married sibling sends a letter, or comes visit, her efforts in getting Colin to marry are reinforced. She jabs at him with comments: morning, afternoon and evening.

And suddenly, Colin can find that there’s nothing else much that he can think about, but Penelope, and how exactly this insane idea came to live in his mother’s mind. So he starts paying attention.

He supposes parties would be generally more enjoyable if he didn’t have to attend them with his family, as much as he loves them. He can physically feel Violet’s eyes drawing across the room, and then settling, decisively, on his back, a list of eligible ladies for marriage already compiled in her mind, alongside one for dancing partners. Colin can already guess what her mother is about to tell him.

And he is right. She pokes at his elbow with her fan, nodding to the edge of the ballroom, where Penelope Featheringston stands, card empty and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. Well, at least they do have that in common.

“Colin, darling,” and really, that’s all that Mrs. Bridgerton has to say to any of her children for them to do her bidding.

He makes his way across the room, trying his best to avoid getting roped into introductions by mothers or old friends alike. The faster he’s getting this over with, the faster he can return to the appetizers, and to a reconnaissance of the room of his own.

“Pen,” he says, and she startles, turning around to him with the widest of eyes, and the shyest of smiles. Huh, maybe she does look quite darling.

“Colin!” she exclaims, smoothing down a hand over her dress, and while it’s a gesture driven by nerves, it looks quite adorable.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance?”

He extends out his arm, which she takes – an answer without needing one. And it’s quite a shame, to all the other men in the room, because Penelope is a wonderful dancer, and a most attentive conversationalist during them. She asks him of his most recent travels, destination known through the letters he sent to Eloise, most likely. He’s received his fair share of foot stepping and the occasional elbow in his side, but never with Penelope.

She animates with each step, blushing at his hand around her back, smiling at a spin. He never considered how soft her body feels under his fingers, underneath the thin material of her dress, but now he is acutely aware of her warmth seeping through. He asks of the books she’s been reading, which he knows are plenty.

And at the end of the dance, he finds that maybe dancing with Penelope Featherington is not such a tedious task, after all. And at the end of the night, he’s quite certain she’s been his best partner.

***

Art exhibitions are not really Colin’s thing, really. His interest lays in a world painted in words, not in colours. But considering the fact that one of Benedict’s pieces is to be exposed to the world for the first time, of course his entire family must be present. He is proud of his brother, for having found a path in life, having chased it so full of determination.

Colin’s good at chasing as well. He’s just been proven, more and more lately, that he chases only things that cannot last, which displeases him greatly. It doesn’t mean he is not entirely supportive of his older brother. What other reason he’d have to be present here, at all?

“Penelope!” Eloise shouts, gathering the attention of her friend.

Penelope spins around, red curls jumping with the movement, and she blushes. Colin is pretty sure she’s done this every single time he’s seen her, though maybe he now begins to understand why. She nods her head in their direction, all Bridgertons replying in kind. Eloise lets go of his arm, rushing instead by her best friend’s side, hands entangled in a most obvious display of friendship and affection.

Colin knows Penelope’s family – and so he knows there’s no such camaraderie between her and her sisters, as it can be so easily observed between himself and his own siblings. He’s glad these two have each other then: a friend is one’s most fearful champion.

He walks by his mother’s side, going through the gallery, the two girls just a few feet ahead. Eloise is the taller one, yet both their heads are bent together as they discuss, such an air of ease and comfort about them. His sister says something, and suddenly Penelope turns a bit more to the side, laughing: a sparkle of mischief in her eyes and the loveliest pull at her mouth. Now, Colin finds himself quite taken with her mouth, staring because he finds it impossible not to. The soft pink of her lips, as she’s worried at them trying to come up with a comment about this and that painting. The white of her teeth, as she smiles. Her tongue, wetting her lips, from time to time, as the rooms grow hotter, with all the people passing around.

He’s lucky that the art pieces all around are distracting enough that Penelope herself doesn’t notice. His mother does, though.

“Quite darling, no?”

And she looks at the exact same person that he is, and most certainly not at the painting of a fruit basket in front of them.

“Mother,” he warns, a slight squeeze around her arm.

“Oh,” she sighs. “You can’t blame me for caring enough to try.”

Maybe not. But he can blame her for opening his eyes to something that he, like everyone else – he begins to realize - didn’t really know was right there.

***

So Colin Bridgerton, like a true hero of his days, leaves for Wales. And like the caring gentleman that he also is, he uses one of his friends as his excuse. It helps – it’s quite a useful distraction, for a while, walking over the hills, staring out at the sea, spending evenings eating hearty meals with someone that knows him well enough, but not too much. And he writes in his journal, of his quiet passing days.

By contrast, the nights are not so quiet. While he tries so hard to forget the society back in London, at night there are no distractions: and even so, while asleep, he cannot really control his unconscious mind.

So Colin dreams: at first, the most innocent of shadows, people that he can vaguely make out. Then the visions get clearer, and longer, and more tormenting. It starts with Penelope’s smile, and that mouth of hers, which in a dream he can admit to wanting to desperately kiss. Which, in a dream, he has leave to do. He knows, upon waking, that whatever taste lingers on his tongue from his haze, it certainly has nothing on the reality, and hates himself all the more for it. Then her body, close to his, the press of her bosom hard against his chest, the roundness of her bottom in his palms. The next morning, he is in need of a change of bedsheets, like he is nothing but a horny teenager.

He is sure his mother must have cursed him. The dreams continue, sweet haunting that only makes the guilt rise in his throat. She’s his sister’s best friend, for heaven’s sake, and here he is, conjuring her up in his dreams with no respite! It’s like his body has decided to take an entirely different path from his mind.

Colin is miserable on a travel, for the first time in way too long.

***

Maybe that’s his excuse. He lacks sleep, and for him, the most pressing issue is, obviously, still the one of his marriage. Violet Bridgerton is popular for many things between her children, but her cutting words and sharp mind are not necessarily one of those, especially if used against one of them. Colin has found himself at the receiving end of exactly that for weeks and months now, so he is apprehensive when he is summoned back to London.

But if his mother has need of him, then he must make haste. Of course, the real reason is simply the news of Daphne’s new pregnancy, which is incredibly happy. Colin loves to be an uncle way better than he likes being a younger brother.

Especially since right now, Anthony and Benedict have taken the liberty to pick up with the teasing where their mother stopped.

“You left in the middle of the season,” Benedict remarks, and Anthony clasps his back in a way that only eldest brothers can do, when they require an immediate answer.

“Oh, very well,” and Colin actually scowls. “I needed to get away. Mother has been incessant with this bloody marriage thing.”

And because they’re his brothers, of course they joke and jest more, at his own expense. Everyone in their house knows that his mother has her eyes set on Penelope, and everyone in their house is already tired of her insinuations, Colin most of all. That doesn’t mean that Anthony, or Benedict are going to pass up the opportunity to rile him up on the subject. It’s been a while, after all, since they’ve had reason to laugh at him in particular.

It’s the damn lack of sleep, and all of these comments, which are entirely unwarranted and so overwhelming, despite his protests, that make him throw all decorum out the window.

“I am not going to marry soon, and I am certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington!”

“Oh!”

The softest sound, really – feminine and delicate and belonging to the single person that he didn’t want to see right this moment. With much slowness, burning red with shame, Colin turns around to look at Penelope Featherington. And he knows: by the expression on her face, the haggard breathing with the desperate rise and fall of her chest, and her eyes, that he just broke her heart.

What he says right there on the spot, he cannot truly recall. A fumbling of stupid, empty nothings, apology too small, too unfulfilling, because Penelope draws herself up and protects the little bit of her dignity left.

And she leaves, so fast that he doesn’t have the time to do what he wants: follow her to clear up things.

Benedict punches him in the arm, quite terribly hard. It still doesn’t feel as bad as the gut-wrenching guilt building up inside himself, or the self-loathe that he so much deserves. Because just as he was beginning to make up his mind regarding how dear, truly, she has grown to be for him, he has done the worst thing a person who cares about another can do: hurt her.

***

He shows up at the doorsteps of her house the following day, surprised to find Penelope alone in the drawing room.

“As you might suspect, Mr. Bridgerton,” she says, when he inquires after her mother and sisters. “Many men before you have made the same declaration, though maybe in more private settings. I am afraid any hope of marriage left in this household falls upon my sisters.”

It is the fact that she doesn’t use his name that stings the worst, and makes him understand exactly how much harm he’s done with his extremely horrifying comment.

“Penelope, I am so entirely sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. You must believe me when I say I did not mean to offend you in any way.”

“Must I?”

He stops, opens his mouth: no words come out. She looks the picture perfect of peace, and maybe this is what should worry him the most. It is his first time seeing her as more than a blushing young woman, and suddenly maybe he realizes why she is Eloise’s best friend: she’s made of tougher stuff than what he’s been led to believe so far.

“What I said, the way I’ve said it. I’ve hurt you… It’s entirely intolerable and I apologize for the situation you’ve been put in because of me being an ass.”

Situation that she handled entirely fine, given the fact that he so singled her out in a market of numerous others undesirable young ladies. She sighs at his curse, something that sounds like Colin, that has the tiniest of fondness in the tone. Something in his chest tightens with fondness of its own, for this woman in front of him, who has been nothing but a most beloved friend, to his entire family – and to him, as well.

“I…” she stops, taking in a deep breath, her hands shaking. “I already told you, no feelings were hurt. You’ve made no remark that wasn’t already obvious to everybody in the ton,” she says, and she waves in the air the latest number of Lady Whistledown.

Of course, even when he misses it, his sisters and his dear mama are quick to fill him up on the happenings of the season. In today’s fresh paper, Whistledown has written down that were the two of them ever to get married, she’d have to give up writing altogether – such an unfitting match never having been seen before.

“You can’t possibly believe those writings,” he says, suddenly offended at the paper, though he’s not quite certain on whose behalf anymore.

“I didn’t, until –”

Until he has reinforced them all the more, with his declaration. Colin suddenly feels himself flush from head to toes, at being so openly chastised. His brother Benedict has already told him, that he has cruelly overstepped most demands of polite society when he lost his temper in that way, in such a public place.

“I really do apologize, Penelope.”

He hadn’t realize how much he enjoys saying her name until now, when he so desperately wants her, needs her to say his own. A sign that things between them can be mended, move from the terrible awkwardness between them.

“Pity doesn’t feel that nice to those who already know how pitiful they are, Colin.” His gaze snaps up at her, and finds her already smiling at him – quite charming, even if so utterly self-depreciating. “Though you are forgiven.”

He bows at her in thanks, lower than he’s gone in months, if not years, just to show how entirely grateful he is. Of course, Colin is yet too young, rich, handsome and charismatic to know the meaning of her words, and too stupid of a man to try and understand where she is coming from.

But he will, in due time.

For now, maybe his favourite sight to see during his travels becomes the shores of England, when returning home. Because home has just started to mean just a tiny bit more.

[scuttling]

Bully

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 2,249 Tags: SFW, Pre-relationship, Supportive Aaron Summary: A case in Chicago means the team is introduced to someone from Sophie's past. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 0-6 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! “Alright, we’ve got a case in Chicago,” JJ says as they gather in the briefing room on a Wednesday morning. “The detective there is… how do I put this? He’s a real asshole, but they need our help, so just prepare yourselves for one of those.” She passes out the case file, and Cortes tenses beside Hotch, a shift in demeanor he can almost feel, though they are sitting a foot apart.

“Please tell me, just to ease my mind, JJ—it’s not the 54th precinct, right?” She looks up with a grimace, and JJ nods.

“Sounds like you know the guy. Detective Jeffrey?”

“Fuck. Yes, I know him.” She puts an elbow on the table, leans her forehead into her hand, sighs. “He’s like the anti-Hotch: cruel, impulsive, hotheaded, blames his failures on his coworkers. This guy is going to give us grief the whole way, especially if I’m there.”

“Is there a reason for him to be aggressive toward you? Did you pass him up for promotions, accolades?” he asks, and she looks up at him, frowns.

“He’s a misogynist, and a racist, for starters. Wanted a spot on the tactical response team and didn’t get it because he can’t take orders, which had nothing to do with me, but you know how narcissists project.”

“Nothing is actually ever their fault,” Reid says, filling in the blanks.

“Exactly. I was the most convenient target for his anger. So, of course I want to do my part, I’m just letting you know there’s a lot of hostility there so you aren’t blindsided.” The team seems collectively a little more tense—no one messes with one of their own—and Hotch nods thoughtfully.

“You’re with me while we’re there, then. If he wants to give you a hard time, we won’t make it easy.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She exhales, turns back to the case file, and JJ continues with the briefing.

He takes her aside once they’re on the jet.

“Can we talk for a moment?” he asks, standing by the open seat next to hers, and she gestures to it.

“Sure. Is it about what I said earlier, about Jeffrey?”

“Yes and no. I trust your judgement; if this guy is going to be a pain in our ass, I want to have a game plan going in so things move as smoothly as possible.” She closes the folder in her lap, nods, gives him her full attention. “First and foremost, you can not let him get to you.” She leans back against the window, sighs.

“I know. It’s just hard, like going back to high school and facing your old bully.”

“I get it. From what you’ve told me, this guy is going to have all of us on edge, but you know the precinct, the area, some of the officers; the team is going to look to you a lot while we’re here. You need to be firm, authoritative, but not antagonistic. Most importantly, you need to be confident. Don’t second guess yourself because of this jerk we’re dealing with.”

“I know that giving in and getting mad is what he wants, so I’m going to try my damndest not to give it to him.” She laughs a little, like it’s easier said than done, and he maintains eye contact, wills her to see how much he really does trust her with this. “I really appreciate this, Hotch.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“I know. But you show your faith when it really matters, and not everyone in your position does that. You should know how much it means to us.” Her words warm his heart, and not just because it’s her who’s saying them. He knows he comes off like a drill sergeant sometimes, but it’s all for good reason. He just wants to take care of his team, keep them safe.

“Thank you. The job is tough; I try to support you guys anyway I can.”

“It shows. Thanks for having my back,” she says softly, tilting her head, and then she sighs and smiles, sits up in her seat. He’s known her long enough to be able to tell when things are getting a little too heavy for her, knows she’s looking for lightness, now. “If we have time for drinks after this case, we have to go to Tito’s, just putting it out there.” Morgan hears her, leans over from his seat across the aisle.

“Tito’s! I haven’t been there in years.”

“Neither have I. They have the best portobello tacos in Chicago. Drowning in chimichurri,” she says to Hotch, and he smiles a little at her excitement. “Give me a Corona and lime and a plate of tacos and I’ll forget all about Douglas fucking Jeffrey.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” he says, and he spends the rest of the trip sitting between the two of them as they reminisce about their favorite things about Chicago.

He actually really enjoys it.

When they arrive at the precinct, she is decidedly less jovial, and Hotch immediately understands why, when he introduces himself to Detective Jeffrey.

“Cortes, good to see you again,” he greets, while his expression tells a different story entirely. “Are you his... assistant?” He pretends to be confused, and JJ bristles beside them at the implication, but Sophie remains impassive, doesn’t even look tense. It’s possible his pep talk had more impact than he thought.

“She is no one’s assistant, she’s a supervisory special agent with the FBI just like me, and she will be taking point on this case. I expect you to defer to her expertise,” Hotch informs him with no room for misunderstanding in his tone. Again, if she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it, just continues reading over the case file provided.

“No offense, but this is a serial killer we’re talking about. It’s worlds away from chatting up a meth addict CI in a McDonald's parking lot.” She does close the file at that, and it appears to him that she can handle personal insults just fine, but that jabs at her work are where she gets defensive.

“You wouldn’t have closed half of your cases if it weren’t for my CIs, and you know it. But I’m not in Intelligence anymore, I’m a profiler, and I’m good at what I do.” She crosses her arms, exhales, and turns away from him, a clear dismissal. “Hotch, Prentiss, and I will go to the crime scene. Reid and Gideon will meet with the second victim’s wife, Morgan and JJ will work victimology, and we’ll reconvene here.”

“You got it, boss,” Morgan says, taking a seat, and in times like these he is really proud of his team. He knows as well as Sophie what it means to show Jeffrey that an alpha male like Morgan will take her orders, and Morgan took them and ran. He hides a smile.

They are unfortunately stuck with the detective when they are rerouted to a new crime scene as another body is found, but Hotch isn't worried. It will be a great place for her to show him what she can do.

“What do we know about the victim so far?” Sophie asks Jeffrey, her posture open.

“Sheila Lapinski, 27, hooker.” Prentiss rolls her eyes behind his back. “No one has reported her missing, no next of kin anywhere we can find. Coroner puts her time of death between 3 and 5 AM.”

“Does she have a record?”

“Osele’s pulling it now,” he says with a sigh, and she stops scanning the scene, looks to him with a cocked brow.

“Then how do you know she’s a prostitute?” He chuckles, puts out his hands like the answer is obvious.

“You know where we are. They’re like fleas around here, infesting, multiplying.” Cortes crouches down and lifts the sheet covering the victim, who is wearing a cardigan, pencil skirt, and flat shoes.

“She dressed like a prostitute to either of you?” she asks, looking up at Hotch and Prentiss, and he shakes his head, though he’s not sure why he’s surprised; the detective may actually be worse than she described him. Prentiss bends down, looks like she’s trying not to smile.

“No. She looks more like a school teacher, actually.”

“I’m telling you, they call this—pardon my French—” Sophie stands, crossing her arms, and cuts Jeffrey off.

“Pussy Alley. I know what guys like you call it. But you have no evidence this woman is a sex worker, and if she’s not, it’s extremely important that we find out how and why she was dumped here.” An older, bearded detective walks up to them, notebook open, and he smiles at her.

“Hey, Cortes. Nice to see you again, though not under the circumstances.”

“You too, Osele; these are Agents Hotchner and Prentiss. I worked with Osele in Intelligence way back when.” They all shake hands, and she nods to his notebook. “You have her record?"

“Yep, she’s squeaky clean. Not so much as a parking ticket.” Sophie shares a look with the both of them, and Jeffrey splutters.

“That’s—that’s not possible.”

“I think you’ll find that plenty is possible when you open your eyes, Detective,” Hotch can’t resist replying. Cortes crouches down again.

“There are no signs of a struggle. The bottoms of her shoes aren’t worn. Her clothes are clean, not cheap; hair done recently, not cheap.” Jeffrey puts his hands on his hips, all but rolls his eyes.

“Ah, there’s some hard hitting detective work.”

“You’re not even attempting to prove your theory that she’s a prostitute, so we’re disproving it for you,” Prentiss explains, pulling out her phone. “Easily. Garcia,” she begins, and she steps away from them to talk to the tech.

“What else do you see?” Hotch asks softly, meeting her on her level. “Anything that indicates occupation?” Her eyes are focused as she scans the victim, lifts her hand to examine her nails, her lip to examine her teeth.

“She has ink smudges on her hands, so she could be a teacher, but she could also be a receptionist, writer, accountant, secretary, bank teller… any type of administrative professional. She’s got a fresh manicure, teeth are in good health, so I’d bet she’s got insurance or has had it recently. No wedding ring, she’s too old to be on her parents’, so all signs point to a steady job.”

“Okay, there is no god damn way you can tell if she’s got health insurance just by looking at her.” She stands, and Hotch follows, covering the body with the sheet.

“No, you’re right, I can’t. It’s an educated guess based on analysis and not snap judgement. Do you have any insight into this case, aside from the fact that you think she���s a sex worker because of where she was found?”

“There’s not much to go on. Sometimes these cases go unsolved.” It’s then that Prentiss returns to them, and this time she is smiling.

“I had Garcia run our victim’s info, and it doesn’t look like she’s currently employed—no recent bank deposits, appears to be living off of her savings.”

“So not a teacher after all,” Jeffrey states, looking smug, and Hotch waits patiently, because he knows there’s more.

“Not right now, but she just moved to the area from a suburb called Evanston, and she was a third grade teacher there for two years. Private school, really nice place. Great insurance.” Sophie looks at her like something she said clicked, and she pulls out her phone.

“The ink on the heel of her hand could be from a newspaper; maybe she’s job hunting.”

“Wasn’t our first guy unemployed?” Prentiss recalls. “We should have Gideon and Reid ask his wife if he’s been job hunting. Could be a connection.”

“I’ll call Reid.” The fact that the victims were job hunting is what breaks the case. They work late into the evening, but they’re actually able to find the unsub—a man posing as a prospective employer only to people who are new to the area—relatively quickly once they put it all together.

The officers who remember Sophie from her time in Chicago are all clearly impressed with her and the team, and it makes him very, very proud.

Jeffrey clearly hates how quickly they solved the case, and he enjoys that, too.

That night, they do make it to Tito’s for drinks and Mexican food, and the team goes around the table and talks about their ‘Jeffreys’ in honor of Sophie showing up hers.

Morgan buys them all a round of Coronas in her honor as well, and later, Sophie offers to buy another; Hotch heads up the bar to help her carry.

“Since we’re here another night, is there anyone you’re going to try to see? Catch up with?” he asks while they wait for a few of the drinks. She smiles softly, tucks a hand under her chin thoughtfully.

“No, there’s nothing for me here anymore. Coming back, facing Jeffrey, was my last battle to fight, and you made that possible, so thank you.”

“It was my pleasure to see him knocked down a peg… and to watch you shine.” She reaches out, covers his hand with her own, which he did not expect, and nods back to the table with the rest of their coworkers, their friends.

“Come on. We’re going to have to rein them in soon. I could use a little back up.”

“Any time."

[lady-divine-writes]

The Hitchhiker - Chapter 1/4

Picking up a hitchhiker isn't exactly the dumbest thing Kurt has ever done, but it's not exactly the smartest either. When he comes across Blaine Anderson caught in a sudden downpour, he can't just leave him on the corner to drown... can he? (1756 words)

Read on AO3.

“Excuse me? Sir? Do you need a ride?”

Kurt flashes as confident and honest a smile as he can to the man standing on the side of the road. But the second those words leave his mouth, he hears his father’s voice in his head yelling: “Kurt Hummel! What the hell are you doing? Picking up a hitchhiker? Are you out of your mind!?”

And Kurt has to admit, the voice is right. 

There is a fifty-fifty chance that this man, standing alone in the dark by the side of the road, is a violent serial killer. His outfit alone perpetuates the stereotype - indigo jeans, white t-shirt, leather jacket. He has an olive-green duffel slung over one shoulder and he's carrying a guitar case, for God’s sake! What are the odds that there’s actually a guitar in there!? If Kurt picks this man up, he has a greater chance of becoming a statistic than of that man being a musician! Kurt should drive away now without an inch of guilt, floor it without looking back.

And he probably would have deferred to his better judgment and stepped on the gas had it not been for a few things. 

It's pitch dark out for a start. Only a handful of street lights line the curb, installed twenty or so feet apart, which creates long expanses of shadow in between. The road they're on is in the middle of nowhere, with trees towering on both sides of them. This doesn’t help Kurt’s argument any since it seems like just the place a killer would lie in wait for a potential victim. But, in that same vein, someone or something could be stalking him, waiting for Kurt to drive away so they can pounce on him from the trees. Then it would be up to the reach of this man's legs and his athletic ability to save him.

This leads directly to reason two: the man is a klutz. In the five minutes Kurt has been stuck at this red light, he’s seen him smack himself in the face with his own bag, drop his sunglasses (pink rimmed Wayfarers, no less), catch them, then fumble them again, and step in the same puddle twice. If this man is a serial killer, he may not be the most competent one on the planet. 

Three, just as Kurt’s light turned green, it started raining. And not the light drizzle he has come to expect during his infrequent forays to San Diego, but an honest-to-God downpour. Kurt saw the man turn his face up to the sky, his shoulders slumped, wholly defeated by this new development. He put the butt of his guitar case on the toes of his shoes to keep it out of the mud, then attempted to wrap his jacket around it.

And Kurt’s heart melted. 

Kurt is a musician himself. Singer more than musician but he has friends who play the guitar. His stepbrother Finn owns a Fender that he sold plasma to afford. Puck's Gibson is the only thing he has never hawked when he needed money. And Sam, in this man's position, would take off every stitch of clothing to protect his Blueridge if it came down to it. Kurt can imagine this man’s whole life wrapped up in that case, which he is now convinced does hold a guitar.

Kurt isn't a gun enthusiast by any means, but he thinks a semi-automatic should be able to withstand some weather. He may want to Google that one later on… provided he’s still alive.

And about that guitar case: it isn’t a plain, generic, black guitar case. The thing is covered in travel stickers and bling. It has a personality all its own. An easily identifiable personality. If this man is a killer, Kurt is pretty certain every human on the West Coast would know about it. He’d be nicknamed the Kitsch Case Killer or something along those lines. That case sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s no way a man carrying a guitar case decorated like an old-school Lisa Frank binder is getting away with swiping a pack of gum, not to mention murder.

To a lesser degree (Kurt tells himself so he doesn't have to admit how idiotic this idea is), this is the most a-dork-able man Kurt has ever seen. He looks more like a puppy than a predator (weak reasoning, he knows). But Kurt has instincts about people that are usually on the money. He has to give himself credit for making it this far in life. Kurt is tougher than he looks. He has taken his fair share of licks, and he’s still ticking. 

Plus, he has bear repellent in the pocket of his jacket the size of a can of Aquanet. He feels he has his bases covered.

The man walks slowly towards Kurt's car, the curls piled atop his head hanging heavily down his cheeks the wetter he gets.

No, Kurt can’t leave him out here.

“Um. Thanks. Thanks a lot,” the man says, cautiously eyeing Kurt up and down as if he may be asking himself Kurt’s same string of questions in his head. “But I… ” The fact that he isn’t jumping at Kurt’s offer, that he’s glancing anxiously down the road, mulling his options even as rain pours down his back, puts Kurt at ease. The man looks like he’s trying to gauge if Kurt might have a weapon hiding somewhere on his person, contemplating if he’ll come out of this alive if he accepts this ride. 

Ironic, but that proves that there are two sides to every situation.

The man looks about to step away and decline until a fork of lightning turns night into day for five seconds, a boom so loud following it shakes Kurt’s rental car. 

“Sure. Okay. Why not?” He pulls open the rear door in a rush but still wary as he puts his belongings into the backseat and joins Kurt in the front. “Thank you so much. I didn’t expect it to rain this hard, or I might have stayed in my hotel room one more night.” He runs a hand through his hair, cringing at the water that sprays the headrest.

“Not a problem.” Kurt reaches behind the seat and grabs the towel he’d fished out of his luggage earlier when he’d done the same thing. But the rain was only a sprinkle then – angel spittle, his mom would have called it. “I couldn’t just drive by and leave you out here to drown.”

The man chuckles. It, much like the rest of him, is too cute for words. “My name’s Blaine.”

“Kurt.” Kurt extends a hand for Blaine to shake. Blaine looks at it, hesitates a second before taking it, still questioning Kurt and his intentions, Kurt assumes. Despite being stuck in the rain, Blaine’s hand is warm, comforting in a way Kurt speculates a serial killer’s hands would not. “Well, Blaine, where you headed?”

“Oh, uh… I’m trying to make my way to L.A. But you can drop me off anywhere between here and there.”

“Ooo. Actor? Producer?”

“Unemployed schlub, unfortunately. Currently riding my brother’s couch. He’s the actor. I’m the… the failure.”

Kurt pulls onto the road again and heads for the highway. “That’s a really unkind thing to say about yourself.”

“It’s what… well, it’s what my father would say.” He wrings his hands uncomfortably. “He’d also say I’m a disappointment, a waste of a Harvard education, a bum… ” He shivers. Kurt raises the temperature of the heater. Blaine glances at Kurt in embarrassment, and Kurt gets the hint that it’s not the cold that has him trembling.

“I know it’s not my place to say, but I’d stop listening to your father if I were you. It doesn’t seem like he has anything worthwhile to say.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me,” Blaine says under his breath, with an edge like a growl, the kind wild animals give when you stumble into their territory unaware. It sets the hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck on end, and he starts second-guessing this decision. 

Relax, Kurt. The man’s just beat down. Exhausted. You understand what that’s like.

Blaine sighs, sinking into the passenger seat and leaning his head against the window. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to be nice. It's been a long day." 

“I understand. And I may not know you, but I know fathers," Kurt continues. "A father’s job is to be supportive of their children, no matter what they do in life. Succeed or fail, win or lose, they should always be in your corner. And if he’s not, screw him! Surround yourself with people who want to lift you up, not tear you down.”

Blaine winds his arms around his torso, hugging himself tight. “I---is that the way your father treats you?”

“Yup,” Kurt answers with a subconscious smile at the mention of his dad. “He supports me in everything, even the stuff he doesn’t entirely agree with. And when things don’t work out, he’s the first person there, helping me to my feet and encouraging me to try again.”

“Sounds like a great guy. You’re lucky.”

“He is," Kurt says proudly. "And I am.”

Blaine fixes his gaze to the road ahead as Kurt merges onto the highway. He chews the inside of his cheek, stares too hard at the rain-slick asphalt, not shifting focus. It's as if he can't bring himself to look at Kurt when he asks, “So, you think you’re a good judge of character?”

Kurt nods. “Yes, I do."

"How do you know?"

"Experience. I have a decent track record.”

"Surround yourself with a lot of questionable people, do you?"

"I guess you can say that," Kurt agrees with a laugh, thinking of the people who have come into his life that he has adopted as his own: Rachel, Dave, Santana, Puck, all of them rivals or bullies. Or both. But now, a cherished part of his found family.

People he hopes will miss him if SDPD finds him by the side of the road tomorrow with his throat cut.

Stop it, Kurt! Relax! You're in no danger! Everything is going to be fine!

Blaine shrugs, examining his wet hands as if he’s reading something etched on his skin. “Someday you’ll be wrong.”

“Probably." Kurt meets Blaine's eyes in the reflection of the windshield, flashes his confident smile again. "But I don’t think that day is today.”

[luxwielder]

hello and welcome to my long rambling post about Keyblades! I just had a lot of thoughts I wanted to put on paper, and I figured I might as well post them, because maybe someone else has answers.

I did minimal editing on this, and there’s no concise points anywhere tbh, I was just rolling with my thoughts. I’m one of the unfortunate players who only ever had one or two consoles, so I’ve had to keep up with the series other ways, and I’m only just now getting to play the entries I missed; please forgive me if I overlooked any obvious information. And on that note, there’s definitely spoilers in here somewhere lmao

So. Keyblades. 

[counterparts]

Obviously the first one we see is Sora’s, and as the protagonist for most of the series, his is kinda forefront. The Kingdom Key.

From what I remember, the only other time we see anyone using a Kingdom Key is Roxas and Xion, which makes perfect sense because they’re both extensions of Sora. Roxas’s Keyblades go on to evolve into their new default forms, and it seems like Xion’s Kingdom Key as of KH3 is explicitly classified as a replica, implying it’s not considered a true Kingdom Key— maybe even not a true Keyblade?

And then we get to the Kingdom Key D.

Apparently the D stands for “darkside,” and this Keyblade— used by King Mickey in KH1, and then across multiple games— is explicitly a Realm of Darkness counterpart to Sora’s Kingdom Key. 

I guess the main thing I’m thinking with this is like. Are there Light and Dark counterparts for every Keyblade? I could easily see something like Oblivion or Rejection of Fate being Realm of Darkness Keyblades. Actually, several of Roxas’s keychains could suit that aesthetic, which I think would’ve been really cool given that he’s Sora’s Nobody.

Anyways, is there any reason that the Kingdom Key is the only one so far with an explicit counterpart, beyond “protagonist weapon?” I just think it’s an interesting concept.

[obtaining]

Bequeathing. I just think this is really interesting and we don’t see it apart from this one game, right? Terra made the active decision to grant Riku a Keyblade— but Kairi’s receiving one was accidental. I think my main question here is. . . can the Bequeathing be done with anyone? Or does it have to be someone who has the innate potential or strength of heart to earn a Keyblade on their own? 

Also in the process of looking around for information while I wrote this big thing, I rediscovered an old interview with Nomura, and that kinda headed off my questions about Sora being chosen by Riku’s Keyblade. Since that’s a LiveJournal link I’m also just going to include an image here.

This does also have me thinking a little bit more, though; what are the “right qualities” for wielding a Keyblade? It’s very easy to think “it’s a hero’s weapon,” but Xehanort and Vanitas have Keyblades of their own, and Riku is able to regain one despite his stint in the darkness. Is it simply a matter of conviction? Strength of heart? 

I also wonder a bit about Lea’s Keyblade, since we don’t get to see much of the process of him earning it. When we meet him as Axel, he’s no doubt a villain, and he seems to enjoy his role— it’s difficult to imagine that an attitude like that could earn a Keyblade. When he went off to train in Dream Drop Distance, as a reformed human instead of a Nobody, did he have to start at the very beginning? Or would his previous growth as a Nobody still be influential and contribute to a Keyblade, since he was growing a new heart?

[sharing]

One thing that really stands out to me is like. Under most circumstances, Keyblades seem to be individualized, reflecting specific aspects of their wielders. The main exceptions I’ve seen to that are:

1: Oathkeeper and Oblivion are both keychains Sora can obtain starting from KH1, and they go on to become Roxas’s default Keyblades. However, as Sora’s Keyblade clearly still uses Kingdom Key as its default form, I don’t really consider these shared Keyblades; I think Sora’s other Keyblade options are simply for the player, and he as a person only seems to use one form.

2: In BBS, Terra, Aqua and Ventus share a few keychains and can wield the same kinds of Keyblades across the three of them, but as with Sora’s keychains, that seems to be purely for the player, and in-story their Keyblades never seem to change from their defaults— except for when Terra becomes Lingering Will. The Lingering Will uses the Ends of the Earth Keyblade, as opposed to Terra’s default Earthshaker.

Anyways all this to say. Why do so many of the KHUX wielders have Starlight?

I don’t remember if it’s ever addressed, but it’s obvious that many other keykids have the Starlight Keyblade, and I only really think about it because it’s a protagonist Keyblade— in the same way the Kingdom Key is unique to Sora. Even if we ignored all the minor background characters, just under the impression they reused assets,,, Ephemera, Skuld, and Strelitzia use Starlight. I don’t believe they’re ever seen using other keychains, either.

We also see other keykids using the same Keyblades we could earn by progressing through the game— in that final image alone, one girl has Lady Luck, and the moogle boy, Mog, appropriately has Moogle O’ Glory. So clearly those Keyblades can be earned by multiple people— I assume they’re mostly tied to the worlds themselves, instead of depending entirely on the wielder— so. . . could we assume Starlight is the Daybreak Town Keyblade? In the same way you always earn Lady Luck from Wonderland, or Olympia from Olympus? That would explain why so many people have it.

[change and growth]

Another thing I wanna talk about, although I know it’s been covered by others before; as I’ve mentioned several times, some Keyblades have gone on to change over the course of the series. Roxas goes from one Kingdom Key to dual-wielding Oathkeeper and Oblivion; Riku goes from Way to the Dawn to Braveheart. I don’t recall it being extrapolated on in-series, but these changes clearly correlate with character growth.

So Ven’s Keyblade. In BBS and KH3, he uses Wayward Wind, and it’s obviously the current default form. But in KHUX, he uses Missing Ache.

That appears to be its third form as well, implying that he’s had it for quite some time. Do we still not know anything about this? Has it been acknowledged anywhere yet that his Keyblade changed? Also, and I’m adding this part way after I wrote this full section, I can’t believe Ventus has a Keyblade called Lost Memory lmaooo

In other instances, the transformation is an important one— I believe Roxas is first shown dual-wielding in Deep Dive, when he’s attempting to storm the castle and take down the Organization on his own. Riku’s new Keyblade in 3 is clearly representative of all the growth he’s gone through, as the same game also brings his storyline with Ansem to a close. After Terra is possessed, Lingering Will uses a new Keyblade instead of carrying on with Terra’s default keychain. 

Maybe Missing Ache became Wayward Wind after Ventus appeared in the modern era? He’s explicitly amnesiac, so is it possible that his heart “regrew” a different Keyblade to match who he is now?

I’m going to assume this is part of Ven’s Mysterious Backstory, and given the character’s circumstances, I’d say we can also safely assume we’ll be getting more information. I’d just like to know why his Keyblade changed over time

[etc]

The only thing I could think of in terms of this section is just the idea of “alternate keyblades,” and I know that sounds really similar to some of what I’ve rambled about above, but I’m really just thinking about things that don’t suit the “standard,” even though that standard is so flexible.

Xion’s Keyblade. In both her original existence in Days, and her revival in 3, Xion inhabits a Replica body, but obviously her heart is her own now. So why is her Kingdom key still considered a replica as well? It does make sense to call it a replica during Days, but now that she’s returned and been through so much, has she not earned a true one? And any Keyblade she obtains next— would that be a replica too?

Vanitas is explicitly created from darkness, but he manifests a keyblade of his own despite not having a complete heart. The idea of Keyblades being restricted to the Light is obviously incorrect— Xehanort being the prime example, but also the previously mentioned Kingdom Key D that I talked about all the way back at the top of the page.

Ven doesn’t have a complete heart either, but I kinda chalk his Wayward Wind up to the fact that, as mentioned, he’s an ancient Keyblade wielder— he’s had one for centuries. But Vanitas doesn’t quite have the same excuse. Back in KHUX, we see that one of the Darknesses uses Ventus as a vessel; Darkness doesn’t have a Keyblade of its own, but if this one resided in Ventus for centuries and then was used to create Vanitas, is it possible that granted him a Keyblade? Simply through prolonged close proximity to a Keyblade-wielder’s heart?

And then,,, the Keyblade of Heart itself.

Apparently Keyblades of Heart are a given category of Keyblade, which implies that there’s more than just the one we see in the first game. One thing that stands out to me is this is the only Keyblade we see that manifests from people who aren’t Keyblade wielders; yes, the Princess of Heart are special in their own right, but apart from Kairi we have no indication that the other Princesses could ever wield a Keyblade of their own. Is that what sets this Keyblade’s origin apart from others? 

It’s apparent throughout the series that Keyblades “originate,” for lack of a better term, within their wielders. Even after the Bequeathing in BBS, Terra and Aqua keep their own Keyblades— they simply passed on the ability for Riku and Kairi to manifest Keyblades of their own. 

So. . . the fact that the Master of Masters explicitly creates the Foretellers’ Keyblades. I feel like that’s really glossed over. As mentioned, apart from the Keyblade of Heart, all other Keyblades have been manifested by their users— the fact that this presumably human man is able to draw Keyblades out of people’s hearts is absolutely crazy. Does this mean the Foretellers’ Keyblades can be considered Keyblades of Heart? They originate from the Foretellers, but not in the traditional way, being dragged out by a third party. And on that note, could the Master create a Keyblade from someone who wasn’t intended to wield one?

And then I think I’ll end this long thing by mentioning the Keyblade Graveyard.

We’ve seen throughout the series that Keyblades vanish, effectively. They’re summoned weapons— they can be dismissed, and it seems like whenever the wielder is disarmed, that’s exactly what happens. The Keyblade does not seem to be an item that can even be held by just anyone. So the fact that these Keyblades are all here, centuries after their wielders have passed. . . it’s striking. I assume it’s because now that the wielders are dead and gone, the Keyblades themselves effectively have nowhere else to go?

anyways. there’s my long and completely random thoughts on Keyblades. If you read this far then I’m going to be very 2005 and offer you a cookie. Thank you for your time!

[whumpwriterforlife]

Your writing is always so amazing! There are so many of the bingo prompts that I would love to see what you do with, but I'll narrow it down. Could you please try stalking with Nyx? You write him so well, and as my current favorite character, I love seeing him put through the wringer. Thanks! <3

Why hello there! This is all your fault. Have 9k words of Stalking <3

Feat: Love confessions, soft moments and protective friends

Stalking

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Nyx Ulric, Cor Leonis, Libertus Ostium, Crowe Altius, Titus Drautos

Whumpee: Nyx Ulric (some Cor Leonis)

Word Count: 9190 (a.k.a HUGE)

Warnings: Gun violence, creepy stalker

Can be read on AO3 here

--

The date night was a success. This time it had been Nyx’s turn to choose the place, so he had taken Cor to Yama-chan’s. The food there was quite tame compared to the usual Galahdian foods so even Cor had survived that. It had been a fun and relaxing evening, one that was unfortunately coming to a close now.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,'' Nyx said, pressing a quick kiss to Cor’s cheek before getting out of the car. He wished they didn’t have to call it a night just yet but they both had to show up at work early in the morning. Nyx especially had gotten his own share of reprimands for coming in late or with a wrinkled uniform in the past, and he was dangerously close to the point of getting himself assigned on gate duty. Again.

One side of Cor’s lips twitched into a smile. “You’re not going to invite me in?”

“You know damn well we won’t be getting any sleep tonight if I do that.” Nyx huffed a laugh as he leaned in through the open window. Not that he would mind. “Besides, I think we should save some mystique for the relationship...don’t you?”

Cor snorted and twisted in his seat so Nyx could see just how unimpressed he was. “You just don’t want me to see what a mess your piece of shit apartment is.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Mystique, remember?” Nyx said as he stepped away from the car. “And your car stands out. It won’t be here in the morning if you leave it unattended.”

Cor made a face. “You need to move into a better neighborhood.”

Nyx shrugged. “I like it here.”

Cor gave him a dubious look but didn’t comment on it. “If you’re not inviting me in… I’ll be back to pick you up in the morning. Around seven?”

Nyx smiled at him. He had tried telling Cor he would take the subway, it was free for Glaives in uniform after all, but there was no changing Cor’s mind when he had decided to do something. ”Sounds good.”

They exchanged a few more words but then Cor was off. The smile stayed on Nyx’s lips as he made his way inside. It had been a really good night. There was so much more to Cor than he had ever thought. He made him feel good in a way no one else did. Gods, Nyx was really falling for him hard, there was no doubt about it.

Nyx hummed an old Galahdian song under his breath as he unlocked his door and stepped inside. He tossed his keys onto his desk and was in the process of taking off his jacket when he saw the giant letters on the wall above his bed.

He’s not good enough for you

Nyx’s blood ran cold. In a flash of blue there was a kukri in his hand. His apartment was small, there were few places for someone to hide in there. A quick sweep of the place revealed nothing. No items out of place — which was a minor miracle considering how frequent that had been in the past weeks — and no intruders.

“What the fuck?” Nyx walked over to the… message. The paint was still fresh and left a dark smudge on his finger when touched it. It couldn’t have been made that long ago, not with the way the smell was strong in the air as well. Nyx ran a hand through his hair and swore. There was definitely something shady going on.

The door had been locked. No one should have been able to get in, not unless they already had a key. Libertus was the only one with a copy of his key and Nyx knew he wouldn’t do something like this, none of his friends would. Somehow someone had gotten into his apartment though, possibly multiple times.

Nyx sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and pulled out his phone. He chose the first number on the speed dial and waited.

The line crackled to life a few moments later with the disgruntled voice of his best friend. “Nyx? What the hell are you calling me at this time for, you know we got an early shift tomorrow!”

“Sorry, big guy, but this is kind of important.” Nyx said, bouncing his leg up and down restlessly. ”You have the key to my apartment?”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a huff from Libertus.“Don’t tell me you lost your key again.”

Nyx snorted with laughter despite the situation. Of course Libertus was never going to let him forget that one. ”No, not this time. I just need to know if you still have the key.”

“Why? What’s going on Nyx?” Libertus’ voice changed, a hint of confusion mixed with suspicion seeping into it. Nyx’s lips twitched up a tiny bit. Libertus had always had an ability, a sixth sense of some sort, to tell when something wasn’t right with him.

“You know how I told you about how my stuff keeps disappearing and all that?” Nyx asked as his gaze flickered back to the message. Just the sight of it made his skin crawl.

“Yeah?”

“I just came home and someone’s left a message on my wall,” Nyx said.

“Left a message… Nyx what’s going on?” Libertus asked, alarmed.

Nyx ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He really hoped this was someone playing an idiotic prank on him and nothing more. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you about the key. Do you still have it?”

“Yeah, I have the key,” Libertus told him and a moment later Nyx heard a door slam shut in the background. “I’ll be there in five, don’t do anything stupid.”

Then he hung up.

Nyx tossed his phone to the side and buried his head into his hands. This was messed up.

Libertus arrived exactly five minutes later, bursting through the door without bothering to knock. Nyx would’ve rolled his eyes if he hadn’t already been on edge because of the whole thing. He dropped his hands and watched as Libertus kicked off his shoes and eyed the apartment with a frown.

“What the fuck?” Libertus hissed as he saw the message. Nyx could see the exact moment he slipped into the ‘protective older brother’ mode with the way his shoulders tensed and eyes narrowed. “And you have no idea who could’ve done this?”

Nyx shook his head. “I locked the door before I left. You’re the only other person with a key.”

“Shit. There were no signs of forced entry?” Libertus asked and turned to look at him. “And what about your landlord? They should have a key.”

“My landlady is a sweet 80-year-old woman, she would never do anything like this.” Nyx snorted but grew serious fast. “Whoever got in here had to have a key though.”

Libertus sat down next to him, the bed creaking under them. “You think this has something to do with your stuff going missing?”

Nyx shrugged. “It would explain it. If someone has gotten access to my apartment, they could’ve easily taken my stuff too.”

“But why? Why would someone do that — this? It makes no sense.” Libertus made a disgruntled sound.

Nyx flopped onto his back and groaned. “I don’t know.”

Neither of them said anything for a while. Nyx didn’t know what he was going to do. The cops wouldn’t be any help. There was no real evidence of a break-in and, well, the cops weren’t exactly all that interested in what went down in the refugee district. That meant he would have to figure it out himself. Libertus and Crowe would most likely help, maybe even a few other glaives if he asked. Cor, too, possibly but Nyx didn’t want to bring that kind of pressure on their thing when they had only known each other for a few months.

“You can’t stay here.” Libertus said a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

“Lib,” Nyx began as he craned his head to look at his friend.

Libertus threw his hands in the air and growled. “Nyx, you’ve got to be kidding me! There’s someone out there with a key to your apartment — someone that has been coming here for gods know how long and you want to stay?”

“I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go to,” Nyx remarked and shifted to lie on his side, pointedly not looking at the message on the wall.

“Garulashit! You can always stay with me and you know it,” Libertus told him and nudged his leg as a mischievous smile spread over his lips. “And you’ve been getting all cozy with the Marshal too, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to have you over.”

“Shut up!” Nyx grumbled and made a half-hearted attempt to shove Libertus off the bed. Libertus just laughed and moved out of his reach.

“Speaking of which. You told him, right?” Libertus asked a moment later, making Nyx’s eyes narrow.

“Told him what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Libertus’ eyes narrowed right back. “You can’t seriously be thinking about not telling him! He has a right to know about the message.”

Nyx huffed and turned his attention to the poster on the ceiling. “I was going to tell him…”

It wasn’t a lie. He was going to tell Cor... at some point. He just needed to figure out how to do that first. It didn’t seem right to just text or call the man and inform him that oh yeah, while we were out on that date, someone broke into my apartment and wrote a creepy message on my wall about how they don’t think you’re good enough for me. Ugh.

“Sure you were.” Libertus didn’t believe a word he said. Not that Nyx blamed him, he probably wouldn’t have believed himself either. “Either you tell him or I will.”

“Lib!” Nyx yelped and sat up. Libertus looked every bit unimpressed as he stared Nyx down. Nyx crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Fine! I’ll tell him tomorrow after work. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” Libertus said dryly.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.” Libertus replied and grabbed Nyx’s arm to pull him up. “You’re staying the night at my place, grab your coat.”

“Lib!” Nyx didn’t whine. He did not.

Libertus ended up winning the ensuing staring contest and a couple of minutes later Nyx was somewhat reluctantly putting on shoes. He supposed he could stay at Libertus’ place for one night. It just wasn’t something he wanted to make a habit of.

“Alright, let’s go,” Libertus said and basically shoved Nyx out of the door as soon as he had grabbed his coat. “Just so you know, I’m blaming you when I’m falling asleep during my shift tomorrow.”

---

It took some creative measures but Nyx managed to escape from Libertus the following morning so he could catch a ride with Cor as promised. He went back to his place to grab his uniform — he had a feeling Drautos wouldn’t be too impressed by him showing up in his date attire — and was greeted by the lovely message on his wall. He had hoped it had been some bizarre nightmare but of course that wasn’t the case.

Nyx sighed. He would have to talk to his landlady about changing the locks at some point. The wall would need a new layer of paint too which meant he would have to make a stop at a hardware store after his shift. Wonderful. Nyx muttered a curse under his breath as he tossed his jacket over his shoulder and headed back out again, just in time to see Cor arrive.

“Morning,” Nyx greeted the man with a tiny, barely there smile as he sat down on the passenger seat. He still didn’t know what he was going to tell Cor or when. Libertus would go through with his threat to tell Cor if he didn’t do it himself and that would be a disaster Nyx wanted to avoid at all cost. But how was he supposed to tell Cor? He didn’t even know who was behind the whole thing or why.

“You look like you didn’t get much sleep,” Cor noted with a slight frown as he pulled back into traffic.

“Yeah, well that’s because I didn’t.” Nyx said. It was true, he hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep. He had spent most of the night trying to figure out who would do something like this but he had no idea. His friends might have been absolute menaces at times but they wouldn’t be stupid enough to paint on his wall. Not even Tredd would do anything like that. Then there was the whole thing with the key and there being only three copies that very few people had access to. It was a whole shitshow. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

Cor made a thoughtful noise and a moment later he was pulling over again. He shifted the car onto park and turned in his seat to look at Nyx. “You know you can tell me if there’s something bothering you, right?”

“I- Yeah, I know,” Nyx sighed. He averted Cor’s probing gaze and chose to look out of the windshield instead. Cor was smart. It would be for the best if Nyx just told him now but just the idea made him nervous.He had no idea how Cor would react. There was an irrational fear lurking in the dark corner of his mind, trying its best to convince him that Cor would somehow think Nyx was crazy or too much trouble and leave him over this.

Even if that was the case, Nyx couldn’t keep it from him. Libertus had been right when he had said Cor had the right to know. The message had clearly been about Cor, and as such he deserved to know. The person behind the message could go after him, and he needed to be prepared if that happened.

“Listen, something happened last night,” Nyx hesitated, licking his lips as he tried to figure out what to say. “There was a message on my wall when I got home. Freshly painted. I think it’s connected to my stuff going missing.”

“What did it say?” Cor asked. There was something akin to concern in his voice. “Nyx?”

“It, uh, it said ‘He’s not good enough for you’.”

Cor was silent for a moment, and it gave Nyx the perfect amount of time to regret telling him. It had been a mistake. He should’ve just stayed quiet and-

“Well, fuck.”

Nyx laughed, taken aback by Cor’s response. Of all the things he had expected, that was not one of them. “That’s all you have to say?”

Cor did not look amused as he looked at Nyx. “Did you stay there last night?”

“No, Libertus had me stay with him.” Nyx shook his head. He felt like he should say something more but he didn’t know what.

“Good, I don’t want you to go back there alone before this is solved,” Cor told him firmly. “With your permission, I’d like to get a few of my trusted people on this. They’ll be careful and keep it under wraps, I promise.”

“Cor-” Nyx shifted uneasily. He wasn’t sure how to respond. It made his heart flutter, glad to see that Cor cared about him enough to do all that for him. At the same time, he worried it was too much. He didn’t want to burden Cor with any of this, especially not when he would essentially put more work on his plate if he assigned people to find the mystery person. “You don’t-”

“You can stay with me.”

Nyx blinked. “What?”

“Stay with me,” Cor repeated, his eyes carefully tracking Nyx’s reaction. “At my place.”

“I can’t just leave like that, there are people in Little Galahd that need me,” Nyx shook his head with a sigh. He reached for Cor’s hand and intertwined their fingers. Staying with Cor sounded wonderful if he was being honest but he couldn’t. Not like this. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Besides, I could take care of it if the person tried something.”

“Nyx,” Cor drawled.

Nyx felt his heart stop. There was something about the way that Cor had said it that made him look up. He didn’t know how to interpret the expression on Cor’s face. It was slightly unnerving.

“Your apartment isn’t safe. The situation has already escalated, what happens when the person decides they’ve been hiding in the shadows long enough? I don’t want to see you get hurt. Stay with me,” Cor said.

Nyx ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. “And what if they don’t find the person? I can’t just stay with you forever, I need to-”

“Why not?”

It was a simple question but all words died in Nyx’s throat when he tried to respond. He looked at Cor. The man had sounded sincere, even with his question, as if there would be no problem if he stayed for a long time.

“Nyx, I love you.” Cor said.

Nyx blinked. His brain stopped responding. The world screeched to a halt. Nyx couldn’t think, couldn’t remember how to breathe. Had Cor really just said that?

“You-… you what?” Nyx asked, his voice a few octaves higher than normal as his brain tried to catch up. “You- you do?”

Cor’s brow knit together. His expression was a mix of concern and amusement as he looked at Nyx and squeezed his hand. “I do. I love you Nyx Ulric, and I want you to stay with me. At least until the person is caught.”

Nyx ducked his head as a faint blush crept up his neck. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest from the whirlwind of emotions that he was feeling. He brought Cor’s hand to his lips.

“I- I love you too,” he admitted.

Cor tugged Nyx closer and pressed a kiss on his temple. “Stay with me?”

Nyx closed his eyes and smiled. He couldn’t say no to Cor, not after he had broken out the L-word. Cor, the little shit that he was, had to have known that. “You can be awfully convincing when you want to… I’ll stay with you.”

Cor gave a satisfied smile as he sat back. “Good. We can grab your things later today after work.”

“Yeah, okay.” Nyx sighed and reluctantly let go of Cor’s hand when the man got ready to pull back into the traffic. This was the last thing he had expected to come out of the conversation but he couldn’t be happier with the way it had gone. He felt all warm inside. Happy.

That feeling just about vanished when he got to work ten minutes late and came face to face with a pissed off Drautos.

“How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Glaive Ulric,” Drautos said as Nyx got into the line with the other Glaives.

“Sorry, Sir. Won’t happen again, Sir,” Nyx replied. He could see Crowe and Libertus sending questioning looks his way but they would have to wait until later. If he was still alive after Drautos had chewed him out that was.

“No, it won’t,” Drautos agreed. “You’re all dismissed. Ulric, you’re with me.”

Nyx ignored the whispers and snickering around the room as he jogged to catch up to Drautos. “Sir? I was assigned to the East Gate today.”

“Not anymore,” Drautos told him as they walked down the hallway towards the training rooms. “Today we’re introducing the new recruits to hand-to-hand and magic combat. You get to be my assistant.”

Nyx grimaced. The position of Drautos’ assistant was a rare gift to those that were on his shit list. In other words, it was just another punishment and Nyx was going to get dropped into the mat until he was one giant bruise. “Right.”

Drautos glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “You have a problem with this, Ulric?”

“No, Sir, none at all,” Nyx was quick to say. He just couldn’t stop pissing off Drautos, could he? If only Crowe was here to smack some sense into him, he could really use that.

“Good,” Drautos said as they entered the training room. “This should be fun.”

Nyx was wise enough not to respond.

---

Nyx groaned as Crowe put her tray down on the table with an unnecessary amount of aggression. He had his arms folded on the smooth surface, head propped on top of them as he tried to nap. He was sore and exhausted. He had heard one of the recruits joke about his bruises having bruises after Drautos’ demonstrations and that’s exactly how it felt like.

“What’s up with him?” Crowe asked. as she sat down and poked him in the arm. Nyx considered glaring at her but he figured that would be a waste of energy and he needed every last drop of it to survive the rest of the day as Drautos’ plaything. Libertus could be his spokesperson for the time being.

“He’s been playing Drautos’ training dummy the whole morning,” Libertus said with a hint of amusement in his voice. Nyx grumbled something incoherent under his breath and buried his head deeper into his arms. His friends would take any chance they could to enjoy his misfortune.

“Ah, that explains it,” Crowe snorted. There was a clink of utensils as she dug into her lunch. “That’s what you get for being late.”

“Why were you late anyway?” Libertus asked before Nyx could say anything.

“Ooh, do you think he and the Marshal did the deed before coming in…?”

“Crowe!” Nyx exclaimed and reached out to shove her. “Why do you have to be like this?”

Crowe just cackled. “He lives!”

“Just let me sleep,” Nyx muttered and put his head down again.

They didn’t. Of course they didn’t.

“Why were you late then?” Crowe asked as she continued to wolf down her food.

Nyx sat back in his chair with a sigh. He snatched an apple from Crowe’s tray and nearly got stabbed with a fork for his troubles. Crowe’s eyes narrowed dangerously but Nyx was too tired to care and stuck out his tongue at her. If he was going to miss his nap for this, he deserved some compensation for it, even if that was in the form of an apple.

“I’m assuming Libertus couldn’t keep his mouth shut about what happened last night?”

Libertus made an indignant voice and Nyx gave him a smug smile.

“Of course he told me about your mystery Stalker,” Crowe scoffed. “I think most glaives know about it by now.”

“So did you tell Leonis?” Libertus asked but the quick change of subject didn’t go unnoticed by Nyx and he narrowed his eyes. Libertus just gave him an innocent look.

Nyx rolled his eyes and took a bite out of his apple. “I did.”

“Yeah? And what did the Marshal say to that?” Crowe asked, her lunch forgotten as she leaned towards Nyx.

“Asked me to stay with him.” Nyx shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. He didn’t need these two to know about the exact details of that conversation. They would never let him live it down if they found out he had completely frozen when Cor had first confessed. “Said he would have a few of his guys investigate.”

“They’re so disgustingly in love,” Crowe cackled and shook her head.

Nyx looked at Crowe incredulously. “What? Where did you draw that conclusion from? I just said he would have someone look into this.”

“Exactly. You don’t see the Marshal doing that just for anyone,” Crowe pointed out smugly. “Don’t try to deny it, you’re in love.”

“Shut up,” Nyx groaned, tempted to throw the apple at her. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that she would absolutely obliterate him if he were to try. He didn’t think he would even be fast enough to warp away.

“Hah! I knew it!”

“I hate you both.”

“Hey, what did I do?” Libertus exclaimed. To his credit, he had actually been quiet for most of the conversation while Crowe had been the bigger menace.

“You love us,” Crowe said with a highly unimpressed look as she finally turned her attention back onto her tray and stabbed a piece of broccoli with a fork. “So are you going to be staying with him then?”

Nyx shrugged. “I guess? I did tell him I would.”

Crowe grinned widely, her eyes shining in a way that Nyx knew meant nothing good. She looked at Libertus. “Fifty bucks says they’re officially living together by the end of the month.”

“You’re on.” Libertus didn’t even hesitate before responding.

“Hey!” Nyx threw his hands in the air as he looked between the two. “I’m right here!”

“You wanted to nap, didn’t you?” Crowe asked him pointedly and made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Go back to napping.”

Nyx’s eyes narrowed. “Rude.”

“You know you want to,” Crowe said before glancing at the clock on the wall. “You’ve got ten minutes. If I were you, I would use that time well.”

Nyx muttered something unflattering under his breath. Ten minutes was way too little time for a nap. He had no idea how he was supposed to survive the rest of the day. Groaning, Nyx pushed away from the table and stood up. “I need coffee. A lot of it.”

His two loving friends just laughed at his misery.

---

Somehow, Nyx was still alive when his shift ended. His body was all kinds of stiff and sore and a glance in the mirror showed bruises of varying shapes and sizes decorating his skin. A hot shower helped ease the worst of the tension that had built in his shoulders before he dried himself off and changed into the sweats he kept in his locker.

Libertus gave him an amused look from where he was rummaging through his own locker. “Rough day?”

“Shut up.” Nyx threw a sock at him, only to regret it immediately when he realized he would need to walk across the room to get it back. He leaned against the lockers and groaned. Libertus chuckled but he seemed to take pity on him as he bent down to grab the sock.

“Rumor has it that our dear Captain is going to head outside the Wall tomorrow to check on some stuff so you should be safe for a while,” he said as he brought the sock back to Nyx.

“Yay,” Nyx muttered in response as he took the sock from Libertus and put it on. He didn’t want to think how that could mean there would be a deployment waiting for them somewhere in the near future. Stupid war.

“So are you going to Leonis’ place tonight then?” Libertus asked. Nyx lifted his head and squinted at him. There was something in his voice that made him think Crowe was somehow behind this.

“Yeah, we’ll go pick up a few things from my place when he gets off,” Nyx told him and leaned forward to tie his boots. He should probably get a pair of sneakers to keep in his locker as well, just so he could put on something other than his sweaty boots after a long day of work. Not that he really had many pairs of shoes to begin with — especially since one pair had mysteriously disappeared a couple of weeks back alongside some other clothes.

Libertus nodded as he turned around to walk back to his locker. “Doesn’t he live in some upscale neighborhood? Security should be better than at your shithole at least.”

“He does not live in an upscale neighborhood,” Nyx rolled his eyes, “And you’re one to talk! Your place is just as much a shithole as mine.”

“At least my apartment isn’t the size of a broom closet,” Libertus shot back pointedly as he closed his locker. To his credit, his place was actually larger and didn’t look as much of a disaster as Nyx’s did. Libertus’ phone pinged with a message and Nyx watched him pull the device from his pocket with a frown. There was a heavy sigh and then the phone was back in his pocket. “It’s my uncle. He’s having some trouble at the bar, asked me to go over.”

Nyx nodded in understanding. “Go, call me if you need an extra hand.”

“I won’t,” Libertus replied with a knowing smirk. A moment later he was gone from the room.

Nyx shook his head with a smile as he reached for his own phone. He lifted it to his ear after choosing Cor’s number on the speed dial. Exactly three rings later the call was picked up.

“Cor Leonis speaking,” came a gruff response.

Nyx snorted and leaned forward to prop his elbows onto his knees. “Didn’t even bother to check the caller ID?”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a heavy sigh. Nyx’s smile faltered a bit. “Sorry, Nyx. I’ve been incredibly busy this whole afternoon and I don’t think I can pull away just yet. There was an incident earlier today and I need to clear a few things up before I can leave.”

“It’s fine,” Nyx reassured him. Cor sounded just as tired as he felt. “I can go and wait for you at my-”

Cor cut him off with a firm ‘no’ before he could even finish. “I don’t want you to go there by yourself. Is there someone you could stay with until I’m done here?”

Nyx sighed. “It’s not a big deal, I’ll just go in and grab a few things before coming right back to the Citadel. It’s safe.”

“It’s not safe,” Cor told him. “Nyx, we have no guarantee that the person won’t be there. Promise you won’t go there on your own?”

Nyx pressed his lips into a thin line, half tempted to whine. He didn’t though. Cor was just trying to look out for him. He could understand that. Taking a deep breath, Nyx closed his eyes. “I guess I could ask Crowe to come with me.”

“Good.” The relief was audible in Cor’s voice. “I’ll be done in an hour, tops. I’ll call you then?”

“Yeah,” Nyx said as a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He hesitated slightly before adding, “...I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Nyx sat still for a few more minutes after the call ended, deep in thought. Cor was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. There had been times when he had thought he would never find anyone to spend his life with. Not many were willing to get together with someone who had a dangerous profession like he did. But then he had met Cor. Cor was everything he could have ever hoped for and more. Nyx was never going to let go of him.

When he finally got to his feet, Nyx shot Crowe a message, asking about her whereabouts as he left the locker room. He ended up finding her in the hallway outside of the mess hall before she could even respond.

“Crowe!” Nyx called out and waved at her.

“I thought you would’ve left with your dear boyfriend by now,” Crowe said with a chuckle as she walked up to meet him.

“Yeah, well, he’s working late,” Nyx told her with a sigh. “Which is why I came looking for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Nyx nodded. Then he saw a smile forming on her lips and started wondering if he should’ve waited for Cor after all. Crowe would without a doubt find some way to make fun of him over this. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “So, uh, I was thinking about going over to my place to grab some things but Cor doesn’t want me to go alone.”

“So you thought you would ask me?” Crowe asked with a dangerous twinkle to her eyes.

Nyx groaned. He knew this had been a bad idea. He should’ve just trusted his instincts. “Libertus had to go help out his uncle and you’re the only other person available.”

“Except I’m not available,” Crowe replied and motioned at the uniform she was still wearing. “Drautos has me pulling a double… and I would like to stay off his shit list if possible.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Nyx could think to say. Well, that made his plan a bit harder.

Crowe snorted. “I have to say, I’m surprised you, Mr. Independent, are actually listening to someone. You’re not scared of this stalker guy, are you?”

“Of course I’m not,” Nyx huffed, crossing his arms defensively. “Cor just doesn’t want me to go alone and I’m trying to be considerate.”

“Right,” Crowe cackled and gave him a playful shove. “Maybe I need to get to know him better since he seems to be the only person you listen to.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Nyx asked her in an attempt to change the subject.

“I do,” Crowe said with a wide grin. She patted him on the arm. “Try not to do anything stupid, okay?”

“When do I ever?” Nyx smirked and waved goodbye to her as they went their separate ways.

Now Nyx had two options — he could either wait for Cor to get off work or he could save them both time by going to his place and picking up his stuff by himself. He had made a promise to Cor, though, and he would hate to break it. He didn’t want to lose Cor’s trust, not when they were still building it too.

On the other hand, they were both tired. Nyx had heard it in Cor’s voice. He could make the evening easier on them both and just get one thing off their list. Besides, it wasn’t like the stalker, as Crowe had kindly dubbed the person, had shown any signs of aggression towards him. He had never run into the person before, so what were the chances of that happening now? And he was a trained soldier, one of the best. He could take care of himself if there was trouble.

Nyx snuck out of the Citadel quickly, and it really did feel like he was sneaking off without permission. In a way, that was exactly what he was doing. Cor would understand though. Nyx hoped at least. He hailed a cab and twenty minutes later he was standing on the street outside of his apartment. A guilty feeling had crept up on him during the drive. Crowe would make a joke about how he was whipped but maybe she wouldn’t be that far off. Nyx didn’t want to betray Cor’s trust like this.

Cursing under his breath, Nyx took out his phone and called Cor. All he got was a busy signal. Great.

Nyx sighed and opened their text messages. A text message would be better than nothing, right? ‘Hey. I tried to call you but you were busy. I just got to my place. Alone. I’m sorry but I’ll be back in 30.’

With the message sent, Nyx pocketed his phone and headed inside. He would grab some clothes, maybe his guitar. His pictures too, he didn’t want to take the chance that the stalker would do something to them if they snuck in. In and out in ten minutes. Nyx’s lips pressed into a thin line as he pulled his keys from the armiger to unlock the door.

The apartment was dark as he entered, and he felt his way along the wall until his hands hit the light switch. As soon as the lights flickered on, his gaze was on the figure standing next to his desk. The figure, a man slightly smaller than Nyx, turned on his heels and looked at him with an unsettling smile. In his hand, was the picture of Selena and him. Nyx tensed.

“Close the door, would you?” the man asked, perfectly casual as if there was nothing wrong with the situation.

Nyx frowned, and against better judgement, closed the door behind him. There was something familiar about the man, something that made Nyx think he should know him from somewhere.

The man put the picture down — much to Nyx’s relief — and turned to lean against the desk.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Nyx said nothing at first as he thought. The man held himself in a manner that indicated a military background. He had an accent, somewhat similar to what Nyx had heard near the border of Galahd. The man had no other signs that would make him Galahdian but Nyx knew many people who chose not to braid their hair or wear beads and traditional clothing. Galahdian background would point towards the man being or having been a part of the Kingsglaive, as they weren’t as easily accepted in the Guard.

The man shifted, pushing away from the desk to stand straight. As he did so, Nyx caught a glimpse of a scar running across his neck, one that sparked recognition in him. Liero Malum. He had saved the man on a deployment a few months back when he had gotten cornered by a bunch of demons. It had been a really close call for the both of them, but especially for Liero who had nearly bled out after a particularly nasty hit.

Nyx swallowed hard. He had only seen the man a couple of times since, nearly forgotten about him too.

Liero clearly hadn’t forgotten about him.

“Is that- Is that my shirt?” Nyx asked, voice uncertain as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer as he noticed a familiar band t-shirt peeking under Liero’s coat. A sick feeling started forming in his stomach.

Liero smiled even wider and reached down to feel the hem of the t-shirt with one hand. “It’s so soft, you know, and smells so much like you. You hadn’t used it in a while so I thought I would borrow it.”

Nyx suppressed a shiver. Something about Liero was off. He put his hands out in a placating gesture as he spoke. “Listen, uh… Liero. That’s your name, right? You need to stop doing this. You can’t break into people’s houses and damage their property.”

“You don’t understand, Nyx! I’m just trying to protect you!” Liero shouted. His expression twisted into dark fury as he pulled a gun from his armiger in a flash of blue.

“Liero, put the gun down.” Nyx twitched at the outburst but forced himself to stand still as Liero pointed the gun at him. He had to defuse the situation, fast. If Liero pulled the trigger, the bullet could easily go through the wall to the neighboring apartments that housed families with young children.

“Move away from the door!” Liero snapped at him, waving the gun around. He was clearly unstable and in no state to be handling a firearm. Nyx clenched his jaw but did as told, careful to telegraph his moves to avoid any incidents. As he moved, Liero continued ranting, “Why don't you understand! They want to separate us! They want to take you from me!”

Nyx stopped when he was next to the foot of the bed and looked at Liero. The man was delusional, dangerously so.

A plan slowly forming in Nyx’s head. It would be risky but if he could just reach into his pocket, he could alert someone. He wouldn’t be able to do that with Liero keeping such a close eye on him, not if he didn’t want to get shot. Another option was to fight, try to disarm the man but it carried even more risks. Nyx didn’t want to take the chance some innocent person would get hurt if the gun went off.

Nyx sighed, his voice calm as he spoke, “Liero, you need to put that gun down. You don’t want to accidentally hurt someone.”

“Who says it’d be an accident?” Liero asked, his eyes narrowing as he walked closer. “Nyx, don’t you see it? You can’t go with the Marshal! He’s not the right person for you! This — us — is meant to be!”

A shiver went down Nyx’s spine. “Can we just take a moment and-”

“He’s not even from Galahd, he doesn’t understand!” Liero exclaimed. “Are you willing to abandon your heritage, your roots, for someone like him?”

“It isn’t like that. He’s-”

“Don’t tell me what it is and isn’t!” Liero surged forward and slammed Nyx against the wall. A startled gasp burst from Nyx’s lips. As delusional as Liero was, he was still strong and used his whole body weight to pin him there. Nyx grimaced, one of his arms was trapped between his back and the wall, essentially useless. He curled his fingers into a fist and struck out with his free hand but Liero caught it before he could make contact.

“I didn’t want it to come to this but they clearly have you fooled! I can’t let you ruin your- our life like this!” Liero told him and shook his head. “You brought this down on yourself but I will make everything right again.”

“You’re delusional.” Nyx hissed as summoned a flame into the hand Liero was holding.

Liero released Nyx with a pained cry. Nyx used the situation to his advantage and wrenched himself away from him. He managed two steps before something hard crashed down on the back of his head. A strangled noise slipped from his lips as he struck the ground and his head bounced off the unforgiving surface. Dazed, he couldn’t move fast enough before Liero was on him again, manhandling him onto his stomach.

“Stop squirming!” A heavy weight settled over his back as Liero straddled him. Nyx bucked under him, his fight or flight instincts kicking in but it did little to help. Hands caught his wrists and wrested them behind his back. He gasped a sharp, pained noise.

“Liero-”

“This is for your own good!” Liero insisted with a snarl. He snapped a pair of cuffs around Nyx’s wrists, tightening them to the point where they bit into his skin.

Nyx pressed his forehead against the floor, eyes closed. He cursed at himself for being so stupid, for not listening to Cor. His head hurt, as did his whole body. If he wasn’t already worn out from Drautos’ treatment, maybe he wouldn’t have gone down so easily. “Liero, think about what you’re doing.”

“I have. I’m doing this for you.”

“You’re not,” Nyx said, tugging at his wrists futilely. “Let me go. I don’t want any of this.”

“That’s because they’ve brainwashed you. You’ll thank me later.”

Nyx opened his mouth to retort but a knock on the door distracted him. His heart felt like it skipped a beat and he craned his neck to look at the door as a familiar voice called out, “Nyx, are you in here?”

Liero clamped a hand over Nyx’s mouth. “Stay quiet! He’ll be gone soon.”

“Cor!” Nyx shouted into the handgag. The sound was muffled, not even close to being loud enough to reach the door. Desperation filled him as Liero cursed and lifted his gun to point at the door. He tried to squirm, struggled to get free but it was all futile. He had to warn Cor.

Cor knocked again. “Nyx?”

Liero cocked the gun.

Nyx’s heart stopped. He shook his head to dislodge the hand, wrenching his head to the side as hard as he could and bit down on Liero’s hand. Liero cried out and yanked his hand away but Nyx paid little attention to him.

“Cor, watch out he’s-”

A gunshot rang out, and the bullet penetrated the door.

“No! Cor!” Nyx shouted. The smell of ozone filled the air as magic surged inside him, the crackle of lightning magic building. Liero swore. Fingers sunk into Nyx’s hair, gripping tightly before slamming his head against the floor harshly. A strangled cry ripped out of his throat and he slumped down and his vision greyed around the edges.

“I told you I’m not letting them separate us!” Liero growled as his hand pressed down between his shoulder blades to keep him down. “Stop fighting this!”

Nyx made a pained noise. His whole body felt sluggish, too slow to respond as he tried to struggle. He couldn’t give up. Cor could have been shot, he could be bleeding out on the other side of the door. Nyx had to help him. He called out again but Liero stuffed a cloth into his mouth.

“Be quiet!”

Right then the door busted open. Liero startled, his gunhand twitching dangerously but fortunately it didn’t go off. Nyx turned his head and his breath caught in his throat as he saw Cor standing in the doorway with a gun in his hand. He was alive. He hadn’t been shot.

“Step away from him!” Cor ordered, his voice dark in a way Nyx had never heard. He held the gun steady and his expression was one of pure determination, a steep contrast to the frenzied Liero.

“He’s not yours!” Liero shouted. “You’re not the right person for him!”

“I’m not going to repeat myself. Put your gun down and step away from him!”

Liero let out a snarl and Nyx felt him tense up above him. He tried to warn Cor but then Liero was off him in a crackle of magic. There was a grunt of pain as Liero crashed into Cor. Nyx yelled into the gag, struggling to turn onto his side and get up to help. He didn’t know how much he could do with his hands cuffed behind him but he couldn’t not do anything. This was all his fault, he didn’t want Cor to get hurt because of him and his stupidity.

Cor and Liero continued to grapple with each other, Cor’s moves sharp and those of a trained soldier. Liero was growing more desperate and frantic as the fight went on. Nyx managed to get onto his side but just that left him feeling dizzy. He saw Cor take a nasty punch to the face and flinched as he staggered back. He shouted at Liero to stop but it came out muffled.

Cor recovered fast, though, and caught Liero’s hand when he tried to throw another punch. He used the man’s own momentum to twist him around and put him into a chokehold. Liero let out an enraged yell and thrust his elbow into Cor’s ribs. Cor grunted. They staggered back a few steps but Cor didn’t let go.

Ten seconds later he lowered unconscious Liero to the floor and summoned a pair of zipties out of the armiger.

Nyx tried to say Cor’s name but the gag muffled it almost entirely. Cor still heard him, his gaze flicking over to him. His expression softened, even as his eyes shone with worry. “Hang on, Nyx, I’ll be right there, I just need to tie him up.”

Nyx nodded and dropped his head down as guilt and exhaustion set in. Cor could have been seriously injured or worse because of him — because he had been stupid and underestimated the situation. It all could have been avoided if he had just listened to Cor and his friends.

“Nyx?” Nyx startled, eyes flying open — when he had closed them? — to see Cor on one knee next to him. His gaze instantly flickered to the side where Liero was, bound and gagged in the corner. The man was still unconscious but most likely wouldn’t stay that way for long. Nyx twitched when he felt fingers on his face, tugging the gag out. He made a face and coughed weakly.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Cor reassured him, hand on his shoulder. “Just breathe. We need to get you out of those cuffs.”

Nyx looked at Cor, wanting to say so many things but somehow unable to get a word out. “Cor-... Wait, are you- you’re bleeding!”

There was a wet, dark patch on the sleeve of Cor’s jacket. Nyx chest tightened with worry. The gunshot. It hadn’t missed.

“It’s just a graze, I’ll be fine,” Cor told him with the slight shake of a head. He cupped the side of Nyx’s face with his hand, his thumb caressing his cheek. “And so are you. Do you think you can sit up so we can get those cuffs off?”

Nyx frowned but nodded after a moment. Cor carefully maneuvered around him, hands on both of Nyx’s shoulders as he helped him sit up against the bed. Nyx groaned. His head did not like the change in position.

“Just breathe,” Cor reminded him once again as he reached down to take the cuffs off. “He hit you in the head?”

Nyx sighed and slumped against the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“We can talk about that later. Let’s focus on getting out of here first, okay?” Cor told him as he got one of Nyx’s hands free.

“Okay,” Nyx replied quietly. He brought his hand to his face but Cor gently made him put it down before he could touch anything. “Wha-”

“You have a wound on the side of your head, I don’t want you touching it,” Cor said, calm but stern to get the point across. He released Nyx’s other hand too before throwing the cuffs and the key into his armiger. “He hit you?”

Nyx nodded. He was feeling downright miserable and the last thing he wanted to do was lie to Cor again. “He hit me in the back of the head with something hard, the gun maybe. Slammed my head against the floor too.”

Cor’s expression turned grim, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay. Any nausea, light sensitivity, the usual concussion symptoms?”

“Just hurts,” Nyx shook his head. Instant regret. “...and a little dizzy.”

“Okay, we’re going to the hospital,” Cor decided. His voice left no room for objections, not that Nyx really had the energy to do so in the first place. This was his mess, he could listen to Cor for once.

“You’ll get checked out too?” he asked. Cor looked at him, eyes sharp and assessing as they roamed over Nyx’s features. A minute later he nodded. Nyx was surprised, having half expected him to just brush it off. It made him relax a bit, to know Cor would have his injuries looked at as well.

Then his gaze flickered over to Liero. The man was awake now but he seemed unnervingly calm as he stared at the two of them. Nyx forced himself to tear his eyes away and look back at Cor. “What about him?”

“My people will take care of him, don’t worry about it,” Cor said without any hesitation. He glanced in Liero’s direction as well and his expression darkened minutely before he turned back to Nyx. “Think you can stand?”

“Yeah,” Nyx said. There was no way he was going to let himself be carried out. He was going to listen to Cor but he still had his stubborn streak and that meant he would walk out of there on his own two feet one way or another.

Cor didn’t fight him on that. He just nodded and slung one of Nyx’s arms over his shoulders to help him up.

“Shiva…” Nyx groaned as the world tilted around him. He screwed his eyes shut and leaned on Cor a little more.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Cor promised him as he wrapped his other arm around Nyx’s middle for additional support. “Let’s just take it slow.”

Nyx swallowed hard and welcomed the added support without any complaints as they slowly made their way outside. Cor helped him into the passenger seat and gave him a clean handkerchief to use on the head wound. Cor had to stand outside for a moment or two longer as a new car pulled up and some people got out to talk with Cor. Based on their Crownsguard fatigues, Nyx assumed they were the people Cor had talked about.

A few minutes later Cor got into the car and they headed to the hospital.

---

It was nearly midnight by the time Cor and Nyx got out of the hospital, and closer to an hour later when they got to Cor’s place. Nyx had gotten stitches to his head, and had a concussion and some spectacular bruising to go with it. It wasn’t the worst concussion he had ever sustained, but coupled with the exhaustion and events of the day still left him feeling lightheaded and miserable.

“Here,” Cor said as he helped Nyx sit down onto the bed and out of his shoes. It made Nyx feel guilty, the way Cor was so caring and gentle with him even after the stunt he had just pulled hours ago, the way he had broken his trust.

“Thanks,” Nyx sighed as he lay down. Cor’s bed was so much softer than his own, he felt like he could just sink into it. Closing his eyes, he reluctantly shuffled out of his jacket and pushed it over the edge of the bed to the floor. Cor chuckled, most likely at him, before the bed dipped as the man joined him.

“Have the painkillers kicked in yet?” Cor asked. Nyx cracked his eyes open when Cor tugged him to his side with surprising ease and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Yeah.” Nyx nodded, all but melting into Cor’s arms. “This isn’t hurting your arm, is it?”

“It’s not, I can barely even feel it,” Cor reassured him. He had gotten stitches to his arm but it was nothing serious. A few days without any life-threatening situations and he would be as good as new. “You’re the one that got more banged up.”

Nyx exhaled slowly. His gaze flickered up to look at Cor. “How did you get there so fast? To my place?”

Cor’s hand snaked down to intertwine fingers with Nyx as he sighed. “Someone saw you leaving the Citadel on your own. It wasn’t hard to figure out what your plan was.”

“Sorry.”

Cor shook his head and leaned over Nyx to kiss the bandage on his forehead. “It’s in the past now. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re too good for me,” Nyx muttered. He pulled Cor down so he could kiss him on the lips. It was short and sweet and left him longing for more.

“You’re perfect for me,” Cor corrected. He tugged Nyx closer and made sure they were both covered by the duvet. “Get some rest. We can talk more in the morning.”

“I love you,” Nyx told him. He leaned his head against Cor’s shoulder and let out a pleased hum when the man ran his fingers through his hair gently.

“I love you too.”